No, she just crossed over into Old Cordon from the Plains. Sorry, I probably should have said where she was coming from somewhere in my post..
Although, depending on what those pesky bandits decide to do, she might be moving up north pretty damn quick.
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Figured I'd jump on the firefight-drama-bandwagon. Gotta love disposable NPCs.
Aynur gripped her AK tightly, anxiously, impotently. A chorus of snarls sounded around her as four blind dogs drew close, their noses quivering with an anxiety that likely rivaled her own. Suddenly, a shot rang out - two shots - three - two of the dogs crumpled to the ground, and the survivors promptly fled, tails tucked as they left their fallen brethren behind without a second glance.
“That’s four bottles. We’ve barely been out here an hour, Sister. If I have to keep rescuing you, I’ll be a very drunk man once this is over with, and you’re going to be very, very poor.” The pleasure in Lampochki’s voice was obvious. When Aynur decided to hire an escort for her journey to Yantar, she knew he would be the perfect man for the job: he was quick, bloodthirsty, and easily bought, agreeing to take her as far as Freedom HQ in the Garbage in exchange for one bottle of vodka for each kill he made to protect her. She realized now that choosing someone whose company she actually enjoyed, even remotely, might have been a good idea, but it was too late for that. He was a good shot, and most important of all, she was about 80% sure he wouldn’t stab her in the back, which was more than she could say for most stalkers. With credentials like that, she didn’t have to like him.
A plaintive whine caught her attention. Crouching down beside one of the felled dogs, she saw that it was still alive, though only barely. She laid a hand on its side, feeling the matted fur and jutting ribcage that rose and fell with each frantic, shallow breath. “You poor thing,” she murmured in Kazakh, as she stroked its shoulder and allowed herself one tiny moment of pity.
“Three bottles,” Aynur corrected. She stood, took aim at the dying dog’s head, and put the wretched thing out of its misery. “Finish the job next time if you want to get paid.”
Ten minutes later, they sat with their backs against a crumbling concrete barrier, the checkpoint to the Old Cordon about 60 meters behind them to the northeast. Aynur uncapped a bottle of water and took small sips while her companion tore hungrily into a hunk of bread. The sound of his open-mouthed chewing was disgusting, but she didn’t say anything. When he ripped off a piece and held it out to her, she held her silence, though her eyes widened in surprise at the gesture; after a moment, Lampochki grunted around a mouthful of dry crumbs and shoved the bread at her, finally forcing her to speak.
“No,” she said simply, placing her hand on his and pushing it away, gentle but firm. He rolled his eyes, shrugged, and swallowed.
“Let’s get moving, Sister.” Lampochki shouldered his pack and got to one knee, but Aynur put a hand out to stop him. Peeking over the slab of concrete, she surveyed the checkpoint, eyes moving from one building to the next in search of any movement. It was a well-known fact that Bandits liked to frequent this part of the Zone, and the checkpoint was a perfect spot for them to lie in wait, the slimy bastards. Yes - there - he was half-hidden in the shadows, but she could just make out a rather seedy looking silhouette patrolling the upper level of the watchtower.
“Guard tower, upper level. I only see one, but..”
“Two more by the barracks, and there are bound to be more. No way we can bust our way through that.” Lampochki sucked in his upper lip, apparently deep in thought. He glanced over at the scrawny girl beside him, sighed, and said, "Give me your money."
"What?” Hurt flashed across her face, followed quickly by contempt. “Lampochki, don’t--"
“It’s for the bandits, dumbass. Your money and your vodka. Whatever you can spare for these shitheads."
Aynur stared at him for a moment, her brows knit in frustration as she weighed her options. She could take another route - Nowhere wouldn’t be a challenge, even for her, but then she would have to make her way through the Swamps, which would likely defeat the whole purpose of trying to avoid contact with these damn thieving Bandits. And besides, fuck swamps.
Grudgingly, she reached into her pack and withdrew what little money and vodka she had, then handed her paltry offering over to Lampochki. He stood and walked out from behind the Jersey barrier, hands held high to show he came unarmed and bearing gifts. Aynur didn't like it. They had no guarantee that the bandits wouldn't just shoot them after taking their money -- or before, for that matter -- but as much as she hated going into this half-blind, she had to get through to the Old Cordon, and she couldn't think of a better way. Following a few paces behind her bodyguard, she adjusted her mask and hood before holding up her empty hands, noting every possible bit of cover that they passed in case things went south.
They made it about ten meters before the lookout in the tower spotted them. "Hold it!" he shouted in English, along with more instructions that Aynur didn't even begin to understand. Lampochki translated quickly. "They're coming out to meet us. Don't move until I tell you," he whispered. He began to chew on his upper lip again, and she could practically see the gears turning. "You're my son. Don't talk. You can't talk. Slouch. Try to look sullen. Yeah, good, like that. Guess you don't really have to try too hard for that one."
Three of the bandits came out to meet them, exchanging what they obviously thought was witty banter; the way they carried their weapons, loose and lazy, indicated cockiness and a lack of murderous intent, at least for the time being. Apparently she and Lampochki didn’t look too threatening. Aynur was grateful for that. Two of the men flanked them while the third circled around behind and grunted, “Go,” one of the few English words she actually understood, but she waited for Lampochki’s nod before moving. When they made it to the fenced in courtyard, four surly looking men stood waiting, arranged in a rough semicircle around a fifth; his confident stance, lifted chin, and long overcoat marked him as a leader. A sick feeling began to grow in Aynur’s stomach. Something about this was wrong. She cast a worried glance at Lampochki, hoping to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“We just want to make it through to Old Cordon,” he said in heavily accented English, giving his hands a small shake to show the bribe he had so graciously prepared. Aynur wasn’t listening, and she had a feeling the bandits weren’t, either. Her eyes darted around frantically as she collected and absorbed every possible detail as quickly as she could: eight men surrounded them, a ninth in the tower; the two bandits at her 9 and 11 o’clock were about a meter and a half away from her, the space between them wide enough for her to slip through without touching either of them; the five men that she could see were all handling their rifles very attentively; their leader had worn a subtle but very self-satisfied smile from the moment they entered the compound, and nothing Lampochki had said thus far had changed that.
Aynur watched the bandits’ leader transfer his gaze to something over Lampochki’s left shoulder and give the tiniest nod -- behind her, a tracksuit rustled -- her fear gave way to adrenaline and a desperate desire to survive, propelling her forward just as one of the bandits shot Lampochki from behind. Quick as a hare, she darted through the opening between the two bandits in front of her, their surprise giving her just enough time to clear the group and hit open ground before they fired on her. Aynur ran as fast as her malnourished muscles would take her -- which was still pretty damn fast, considering -- zigzagging like a prey animal toward a small stand of trees, praying they would decide it was too much trouble to pursue her. Assuming, of course, she even made it to cover in one piece.
“That’s four bottles. We’ve barely been out here an hour, Sister. If I have to keep rescuing you, I’ll be a very drunk man once this is over with, and you’re going to be very, very poor.” The pleasure in Lampochki’s voice was obvious. When Aynur decided to hire an escort for her journey to Yantar, she knew he would be the perfect man for the job: he was quick, bloodthirsty, and easily bought, agreeing to take her as far as Freedom HQ in the Garbage in exchange for one bottle of vodka for each kill he made to protect her. She realized now that choosing someone whose company she actually enjoyed, even remotely, might have been a good idea, but it was too late for that. He was a good shot, and most important of all, she was about 80% sure he wouldn’t stab her in the back, which was more than she could say for most stalkers. With credentials like that, she didn’t have to like him.
A plaintive whine caught her attention. Crouching down beside one of the felled dogs, she saw that it was still alive, though only barely. She laid a hand on its side, feeling the matted fur and jutting ribcage that rose and fell with each frantic, shallow breath. “You poor thing,” she murmured in Kazakh, as she stroked its shoulder and allowed herself one tiny moment of pity.
“Three bottles,” Aynur corrected. She stood, took aim at the dying dog’s head, and put the wretched thing out of its misery. “Finish the job next time if you want to get paid.”
Ten minutes later, they sat with their backs against a crumbling concrete barrier, the checkpoint to the Old Cordon about 60 meters behind them to the northeast. Aynur uncapped a bottle of water and took small sips while her companion tore hungrily into a hunk of bread. The sound of his open-mouthed chewing was disgusting, but she didn’t say anything. When he ripped off a piece and held it out to her, she held her silence, though her eyes widened in surprise at the gesture; after a moment, Lampochki grunted around a mouthful of dry crumbs and shoved the bread at her, finally forcing her to speak.
“No,” she said simply, placing her hand on his and pushing it away, gentle but firm. He rolled his eyes, shrugged, and swallowed.
“Let’s get moving, Sister.” Lampochki shouldered his pack and got to one knee, but Aynur put a hand out to stop him. Peeking over the slab of concrete, she surveyed the checkpoint, eyes moving from one building to the next in search of any movement. It was a well-known fact that Bandits liked to frequent this part of the Zone, and the checkpoint was a perfect spot for them to lie in wait, the slimy bastards. Yes - there - he was half-hidden in the shadows, but she could just make out a rather seedy looking silhouette patrolling the upper level of the watchtower.
“Guard tower, upper level. I only see one, but..”
“Two more by the barracks, and there are bound to be more. No way we can bust our way through that.” Lampochki sucked in his upper lip, apparently deep in thought. He glanced over at the scrawny girl beside him, sighed, and said, "Give me your money."
"What?” Hurt flashed across her face, followed quickly by contempt. “Lampochki, don’t--"
“It’s for the bandits, dumbass. Your money and your vodka. Whatever you can spare for these shitheads."
Aynur stared at him for a moment, her brows knit in frustration as she weighed her options. She could take another route - Nowhere wouldn’t be a challenge, even for her, but then she would have to make her way through the Swamps, which would likely defeat the whole purpose of trying to avoid contact with these damn thieving Bandits. And besides, fuck swamps.
Grudgingly, she reached into her pack and withdrew what little money and vodka she had, then handed her paltry offering over to Lampochki. He stood and walked out from behind the Jersey barrier, hands held high to show he came unarmed and bearing gifts. Aynur didn't like it. They had no guarantee that the bandits wouldn't just shoot them after taking their money -- or before, for that matter -- but as much as she hated going into this half-blind, she had to get through to the Old Cordon, and she couldn't think of a better way. Following a few paces behind her bodyguard, she adjusted her mask and hood before holding up her empty hands, noting every possible bit of cover that they passed in case things went south.
They made it about ten meters before the lookout in the tower spotted them. "Hold it!" he shouted in English, along with more instructions that Aynur didn't even begin to understand. Lampochki translated quickly. "They're coming out to meet us. Don't move until I tell you," he whispered. He began to chew on his upper lip again, and she could practically see the gears turning. "You're my son. Don't talk. You can't talk. Slouch. Try to look sullen. Yeah, good, like that. Guess you don't really have to try too hard for that one."
Three of the bandits came out to meet them, exchanging what they obviously thought was witty banter; the way they carried their weapons, loose and lazy, indicated cockiness and a lack of murderous intent, at least for the time being. Apparently she and Lampochki didn’t look too threatening. Aynur was grateful for that. Two of the men flanked them while the third circled around behind and grunted, “Go,” one of the few English words she actually understood, but she waited for Lampochki’s nod before moving. When they made it to the fenced in courtyard, four surly looking men stood waiting, arranged in a rough semicircle around a fifth; his confident stance, lifted chin, and long overcoat marked him as a leader. A sick feeling began to grow in Aynur’s stomach. Something about this was wrong. She cast a worried glance at Lampochki, hoping to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“We just want to make it through to Old Cordon,” he said in heavily accented English, giving his hands a small shake to show the bribe he had so graciously prepared. Aynur wasn’t listening, and she had a feeling the bandits weren’t, either. Her eyes darted around frantically as she collected and absorbed every possible detail as quickly as she could: eight men surrounded them, a ninth in the tower; the two bandits at her 9 and 11 o’clock were about a meter and a half away from her, the space between them wide enough for her to slip through without touching either of them; the five men that she could see were all handling their rifles very attentively; their leader had worn a subtle but very self-satisfied smile from the moment they entered the compound, and nothing Lampochki had said thus far had changed that.
Aynur watched the bandits’ leader transfer his gaze to something over Lampochki’s left shoulder and give the tiniest nod -- behind her, a tracksuit rustled -- her fear gave way to adrenaline and a desperate desire to survive, propelling her forward just as one of the bandits shot Lampochki from behind. Quick as a hare, she darted through the opening between the two bandits in front of her, their surprise giving her just enough time to clear the group and hit open ground before they fired on her. Aynur ran as fast as her malnourished muscles would take her -- which was still pretty damn fast, considering -- zigzagging like a prey animal toward a small stand of trees, praying they would decide it was too much trouble to pursue her. Assuming, of course, she even made it to cover in one piece.
I'm still here, don't worry!
I'm moving in a few weeks, so things have been kind of batshit around here lately, but I'll have a post up soon. Tomorrow should be relatively quiet. Knock on wood.
Btw, love everybody's posts so far! You guys write some pretty entertaining stuff. C:
I'm moving in a few weeks, so things have been kind of batshit around here lately, but I'll have a post up soon. Tomorrow should be relatively quiet. Knock on wood.
Btw, love everybody's posts so far! You guys write some pretty entertaining stuff. C:
Late.
Acacia sure knew how to make a good first impression.
“I’m sorry!” she called when she finally made it back to the courtyard and saw that she was the last to arrive, issuing another breathless apology as she skidded to a halt at the edge of the group. Her cheeks and neck were flushed, partly from the breakneck pace she had managed to maintain for almost the entire trip from the medical ward, and partly -- mostly -- from the waves of embarrassment that washed over her with increasing force as she tried to catch her breath.
“I, uh,” she began, praying it wouldn’t sound like an excuse, “I had to get some stuff from the med ward.” As she spoke, Acacia tugged self-consciously at her left sleeve; her arm and shoulder were already half-covered in a spectacular reddish-blue bruise, although icing it had helped to keep the swelling down some. At least she matched her team now.
In truth, she had spent a ridiculous amount of time checking, and re-checking, her pack once her arm had been tended to. She wanted to be sure she had everything she might need on this mission, because if she wasn’t properly prepared, her team would suffer. But she didn’t want to bring too much, or she might get weighed down and lag behind.. This cycle of indecision led her to unpack her supplies multiple times, only to throw everything back in after a few minutes of scrutiny -- lather, rinse, repeat. Anxiety was a pretty foreign emotion to Acacia, who always seemed to carry an extra helping of optimism in her back pocket, so she found herself ill equipped to do much else but succumb to her newfound neurosis until it subsided on its own. This was a new, exciting, terrifying step in her life, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was falter when others were counting on her.
She realized, too late, that by wasting so much time worrying about nothing -- in the end, not a single item was added or removed from her kit -- she might have come very close to doing exactly what she was afraid of. She would have to work on some coping skills. Meditation, maybe. For now, she just hoped she hadn't done any permanent damage to her still-developing reputation.
Acacia sure knew how to make a good first impression.
“I’m sorry!” she called when she finally made it back to the courtyard and saw that she was the last to arrive, issuing another breathless apology as she skidded to a halt at the edge of the group. Her cheeks and neck were flushed, partly from the breakneck pace she had managed to maintain for almost the entire trip from the medical ward, and partly -- mostly -- from the waves of embarrassment that washed over her with increasing force as she tried to catch her breath.
“I, uh,” she began, praying it wouldn’t sound like an excuse, “I had to get some stuff from the med ward.” As she spoke, Acacia tugged self-consciously at her left sleeve; her arm and shoulder were already half-covered in a spectacular reddish-blue bruise, although icing it had helped to keep the swelling down some. At least she matched her team now.
In truth, she had spent a ridiculous amount of time checking, and re-checking, her pack once her arm had been tended to. She wanted to be sure she had everything she might need on this mission, because if she wasn’t properly prepared, her team would suffer. But she didn’t want to bring too much, or she might get weighed down and lag behind.. This cycle of indecision led her to unpack her supplies multiple times, only to throw everything back in after a few minutes of scrutiny -- lather, rinse, repeat. Anxiety was a pretty foreign emotion to Acacia, who always seemed to carry an extra helping of optimism in her back pocket, so she found herself ill equipped to do much else but succumb to her newfound neurosis until it subsided on its own. This was a new, exciting, terrifying step in her life, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was falter when others were counting on her.
She realized, too late, that by wasting so much time worrying about nothing -- in the end, not a single item was added or removed from her kit -- she might have come very close to doing exactly what she was afraid of. She would have to work on some coping skills. Meditation, maybe. For now, she just hoped she hadn't done any permanent damage to her still-developing reputation.
How long would it take, roughly, to get from the Plains to Yantar? I'm not gonna timeskip right on over, but I also don't want to drag things out too much. Also, if anyone wants to meet up along the way, totally down for that.
Aynur’s pencil hovered above the dirty scrap of paper, suspended in a moment of thought. What else did she need to restock? That nasty gash on Lampochki’s cheek had required more butterfly closures than she would have liked to part with in one sitting. She always needed bandages, but the past few days had really taken a toll on her supply; between the trio of rookies who had bumbled right into a pack of dogs, and the quiet, surly stalker who refused to tell her just how he managed to lodge his own knife in his own ass cheek, she was running dangerously low.
Aynur winced as a spike of pain flared behind her eyes, followed closely by what felt like an elaborate acrobatic routine in her gut. Her narrowed vision came to rest, accusingly, on the nearly empty vodka bottle peeking out of her backpack. God, she hated the stuff, but for the past four nights, she hadn’t been able to sleep without it; and while the deep, dreamless sleep it delivered was just what the doctor ordered, Aynur knew she couldn’t afford to make a habit of it.
Considering the fitful nights she was resigning herself to, Aynur figured it might be a good idea to snag some energy drinks instead, though she disliked those only slightly less than liquor. Still, lesser of two evils and all that.
As she jotted it down, an urgent chirp sounded from deep within the pocket of her parka. Aynur considered ignoring it -- she had, after all, planned a busy day of nursing her hangover in solitude and isolation -- but after a few seconds, curiosity got the better of her. It might be Topol. She had been bugging him for months for whatever information he could give her on Space Anomalies, but so far he hadn't been able to tell her what she needed. Maybe he had found something new..
No. Of course not.
Despite her disappointment, Aynur read on. The message was intriguingly ambiguous, and from another mobile lab no less -- she knew she was probably putting too much faith in coincidence, but she couldn't help thinking Kruglov might be able to help her. For almost a year, Aynur had begged, traded, cajoled and harassed in a quest for intel on Space Anomalies, the rare Compass artifact, and even the fabled Wish Granter; and for all her hard work, she had almost nothing to show for it. If there was even the slightest chance Professor Kruglov, or anyone else at the Yantar lab, could tell her something she hadn't already heard, she was going to take advantage of it.
Still, there was something about the professor's parting words that set Aynur on edge.. She tried to push her unease to the back of her mind, at least for the time being. For whatever reason, he had reached out to her for help, and she couldn't have said no to that even if she wanted to.
I'll have a post up sooooon. My move date is coming up, so I've been crazy busy and excuses excuses, but I've finally got some free time this weekend! So yeah. Sooooon.
I'm hoping to get a post up later today! This whole week has been job searching and getting ready to move so things have been slightly hectic, soz errbody.
STAHP
I wish I had HBO.
I wish I had HBO.
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