psychopathickids Member
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Well, I'm not saying you have to be able to make much money off of raiding poor villagers, but actually losing money would break the system. No one for any reason would pillage anyone, unless they either weren't aware they were going to lose money doing it or just wanted to troll their neighbor. ^^ I mean, looking at it logically how much money would there be for the taking at the end of the day, anyway? One hundred spearmen using my system could loot six hundred bullis, and five hundred could loot three thousand, but you're only keeping half of that after expenses, risking death, not faming or contributing back home, pissing off an enemy who will likely be out for revenge afterwards and, really, there's only so much to actually be looted. What is it, half of the population's taxes over the year as a cap? Three thousand bullis or so max? Not exactly a startling amount of money, at that point it's just as much raiding for the sake of hurting your opponent as for anything else.
So, you should totally read the update I made to my last post. Science has pretty much proven the system of two bullis per pillage per soldier would actually do more damage to your own infrastructure than your enemy, vastly more as it were, though as stated in the post that's without factoring in crop displacement because the specifics of how raiding damages production is not stated anywhere I can find it. The Crusaders were certainly raiders and, for a time, made an incredible amount of money killing innocents and stealing their stuff. :P
EDIT:
Even without armor, a guy with a bow and a dagger still costs more than two bullis per season to field. Twice as much, to be exact.
EDIT:
Even without armor, a guy with a bow and a dagger still costs more than two bullis per season to field. Twice as much, to be exact.
Well, no, "you're not only making money," doesn't fit if your losing money, but I digress. Destroying infrastructure certainly has it's place in the context of a raid, but you're really telling me the Vikings went out pillaging to destroy people's infrastructure? If it wasn't profitable no one would do it. Raids throughout history have been to make money. Sure, hampering your neighbor's ability to field armies and feed their people is an essential secondary function, but the money is always the primary purpose, and it still doesn't fix the underlying problem you've presented by forcing a cap of two bullis on each soldier each raid; no one will use knights (at least, they'd be wise not to) if they cost eight times as much as a spearman to do the same damn thing.
EDIT:
In fact, are you not endangering your own production by raiding in the first place? Cut crop production, paying out the wazoo for upkeep on soldiers, etc. If you fielded your own one thousand three hundred soldiers over a year you'd actually lose 34,500b, and approximately 10,920 crops (at infertile production rate, would have to know the fiefdom the soldiers specifically belong to in order to be more exact) to make 5,200b and destroy some infrastructure which I seriously doubt is actually worth 29,300b to begin with. I mean, the fiefdom would have to be pretty rich to be worth that much, wouldn't it? How much crop displacement you cause would have to be factored in, true, a variable I don't have access to, but your wealthiest fiefdom doesn't make that much.
EDIT:
In fact, are you not endangering your own production by raiding in the first place? Cut crop production, paying out the wazoo for upkeep on soldiers, etc. If you fielded your own one thousand three hundred soldiers over a year you'd actually lose 34,500b, and approximately 10,920 crops (at infertile production rate, would have to know the fiefdom the soldiers specifically belong to in order to be more exact) to make 5,200b and destroy some infrastructure which I seriously doubt is actually worth 29,300b to begin with. I mean, the fiefdom would have to be pretty rich to be worth that much, wouldn't it? How much crop displacement you cause would have to be factored in, true, a variable I don't have access to, but your wealthiest fiefdom doesn't make that much.
Flooby Badoop said
That's actually pretty clever. You eliminate the minimum troop number, but still keep true to only being able to get half the pop. number's wealth.That said, it would be odd, since if a fief can only be raided once, all anyone would have to do to protect their own fiefs would be to 'pillage' with one soldier.I think your idea is a good, but there should also be a minimum of 100 soldiers.EDIT: Perhaps whatever is looted is simply reduced from that annum's tax, instead of the pop. not being able to pay taxes that year?
So, just a lurky comment, but if you only have to pay upkeep on soldiers that are actively engaged in combat, and each soldier can only take a maximum of two bullis per pillage per season it would actually make pillaging cost you money. For instance, say my one hundred basic spearmen with an upkeep of three bullis each pillage So Boerd's lands for a season. I've now spent three hundred bullis to make two hundred (not including the fact that I may possibly be losing out on crop production depending on the season, and could actually lose soldiers in the attempt presumably, soldiers who require manpower and bullis to replace). I'd suggest you instead allow soldiers to pillage up to twice the expense of their upkeep per season, giving people a reason to risk losing soldiers over taking from their neighbors, and giving, say, knights (who possess a horse, barding, plate armor, and multiple melee weapons) and other similarly armed units more reason than being heavily outfitted for flavor text and a possible advantage in combat with another player to actually pay for their extravagant equipment. I mean, even if you allowed up to two bullis to be taken per season and threw in the price of the pillaging unit's upkeep for free it would still give one hundred spearmen a distinct advantage when pillaging over one hundred knights. It would actually take more than eight times as many pillages for a knight to pay for himself than it would take a spearman, meaning in the time a knight could effectively pay for another knight to be purchased with his earnings a spearman would have paid for eight himself, the first he paid for would have paid for seven, the third for six, and so on eventually coming out to thirty seven spearmen if I'm not mistaken, obviously assuming none of them died in the doing.
EDIT:
Also, what's with the lack of extended family options in the Royal Family section? Every Lord an orphaned only child in this game? ^^ I mean, of course extended family in the context of royalty carries with it a degree of danger (nothing like getting murdered by your cousin for your title or locked away in a tower by your vizer uncle) so it'd make perfect sense to make uncles and nieces and such cost less than legitimate children, but they're still more useful then courtiers by simple merit of being able to inherit your title. Plus I've never heard of someone making a marriage alliance with another Lord by marrying off their commoner advisors.
And, super props to Fiendish Fox over there for actually having scrublands and infertile fiefdoms in a part of the country which I think I've lurked around enough to know is actually supposed to be a wasteland bordering a frozen desert which, presumably, has little in the way of, "Fair," farmland. <3
The Captain’s Quarters, Fantasy Island, North West Side, in the City:
“What the fuck is this shit?’ ‘ATC, I think,’ ‘Shut the fuck up, bitch. I don’t fuckin’ pay you to talk,’ ‘Well, technically Ken’s paying her, Felix,’ ‘Fuck you, Damien. Ken still owes me twenty bucks,’ ‘Belle here charges four hundred an hour, yo,’ ‘Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ Jew,’ ‘Says the fuckin’ Muslim,’ ‘Both of you twats shut up and cut me another line,’ whether it was a vain attempt to impress the ladies he otherwise seemed to despise in all but their most base appeal, or because surrounding himself with women of questionable morals and dubious cleanliness truly offended him was unknown, but nothing put Felix in a fighting mood quite like the Captain’s Quarters, in stark contrast to Damien who seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal, and Ken who dearly appreciated anyone who would serve him a drink at odd hours of the night (and occasionally day) whilst topless. Though the prospect of throwing an illicitly over the top goodbye party for Damien complete with hookers and blow had been tossed about a time or two in the end they had decided on the usual, Kim, Belle, and Cheri in the VIP Lounge.
Of course, they still brought along enough blow to put down most crack heads, so in retrospect all they really did was replace their apartment with their regular place, and the hookers with strippers. Belle, a brunette who happened to be the most, well, endowed of the three was currently lying on her back, head resting in Damien’s lap whilst her left leg was draped pretentiously over Felix’s shoulder, knee resting behind and just above his head, foot absently playing with his opposite shoulder, a fresh line being cut on a small board covering much of her stomach all the while, the only part of her which was garbed by anything as it so happened. “La la, la-la la,” the blonde, Cheri, whispered in Ken’s ear as she danced in place, hips and shoulders gyrating in time with the beat of the music blaring throughout the establishment, embracing his upper body with her own from behind as the third, Kim, a dark, silken haired beauty whom Ken had taken an immediate liking to just after moving to the City held him seated under her own body weight in a matching leather loveseat as she, “danced,” about on top of him.
“Hey, if a girl’s gonna strip for nasty old fucks while having one dollar bills thrown at ‘em they get to pick the fuckin’ playlist,” Ken shouted across the room at his less accepting compatriot as Kim rose to meet him eye to eye, stopping momentarily to ever so softly brush his lips with her own before, casting him a glance more smirk than smile, began rising to place his face at her chest, picking up his bourbon Old Fashioned and slowly pouring its contents over her flesh into his mouth, laughing at the greedy manner with which he guzzled the poison down. This was the very woman Felix insisted was, in secret, Carly Rae Jepsen, despite her being of South-East Asian descent and her continued stance that she was, in fact, not a famous pop star, and were she, what was she doing working as a stripper? To which Felix most often replied with something misogynistic, usually along the lines of all women being hoes, to which she would generally reply with a witty remark or two on how he’d be a much more enjoyable person should his dick not have forgotten to catch up with the rest of him during puberty, oft’ leaving him speechless.
The past day had been spent lounging about the apartment eating take out and playing Xbox in between extended bouts of sleep and Netflix binges, as the day after a successful cook usually was, and with the next day already scheduled for reconnaissance on their local prescription drug distribution center, or, more specifically, on the commercial vans and their routes from the outskirts of the City to its every interior nook and cranny, and the day after that the last Damien was to spend in the country before boarding his flight and returning home to London today was the last they had to give a proper send off for their chemically minded partner in crime, and even less the hookers they were well underway towards reaching the, “all-out,” mark. Several lines and quite a few drinks in and the reserved, proper Englishman was howling at the moon, or at least the ceiling, very nearly knocking the cutting board, and the rest of the cocaine with it, off of the naked woman he was using as a table in his jubilation. “Fuck, Andrew! Careful with that shit, it’s worth more than she is,” Felix fumed, clearly referring to Belle.
Truth be told, the six of them were all pretty messed up at this point. Ken was currently guzzling his eleventh drink in the past two hours, and was at least a few lines in, Felix was snorting lines like his life depended on it, and the girls had each had a few. A fourth woman entered, tall, dark, beautiful, bearing a bottle of Dom Perignon and, messily popping the cork and raining the contents down all about Damien, Belle, and Felix, brought the entire room to raucous laughter. Pouring the remaining contents into seven glasses the lot moved from their former positions to cheers, “to Damien, that fuck,” before drinking it down in a single swallow. “Gonna miss you, man,” Ken confided, as the hostess took her leave and the six returned to partying, reinvigorated by the extravagant display of friendship, or something like friendship. “I fuckin’ hate you, Damien,” was all Felix seemed to have to say, but the girls each had more than affectionate words for the subject of their little party. “Next time I have to put up with you two assholes, we’ll be in London,’ ‘Yeah man, doing shots on top of the Millennium Wheel,”.
“What the fuck is this shit?’ ‘ATC, I think,’ ‘Shut the fuck up, bitch. I don’t fuckin’ pay you to talk,’ ‘Well, technically Ken’s paying her, Felix,’ ‘Fuck you, Damien. Ken still owes me twenty bucks,’ ‘Belle here charges four hundred an hour, yo,’ ‘Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ Jew,’ ‘Says the fuckin’ Muslim,’ ‘Both of you twats shut up and cut me another line,’ whether it was a vain attempt to impress the ladies he otherwise seemed to despise in all but their most base appeal, or because surrounding himself with women of questionable morals and dubious cleanliness truly offended him was unknown, but nothing put Felix in a fighting mood quite like the Captain’s Quarters, in stark contrast to Damien who seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal, and Ken who dearly appreciated anyone who would serve him a drink at odd hours of the night (and occasionally day) whilst topless. Though the prospect of throwing an illicitly over the top goodbye party for Damien complete with hookers and blow had been tossed about a time or two in the end they had decided on the usual, Kim, Belle, and Cheri in the VIP Lounge.
Of course, they still brought along enough blow to put down most crack heads, so in retrospect all they really did was replace their apartment with their regular place, and the hookers with strippers. Belle, a brunette who happened to be the most, well, endowed of the three was currently lying on her back, head resting in Damien’s lap whilst her left leg was draped pretentiously over Felix’s shoulder, knee resting behind and just above his head, foot absently playing with his opposite shoulder, a fresh line being cut on a small board covering much of her stomach all the while, the only part of her which was garbed by anything as it so happened. “La la, la-la la,” the blonde, Cheri, whispered in Ken’s ear as she danced in place, hips and shoulders gyrating in time with the beat of the music blaring throughout the establishment, embracing his upper body with her own from behind as the third, Kim, a dark, silken haired beauty whom Ken had taken an immediate liking to just after moving to the City held him seated under her own body weight in a matching leather loveseat as she, “danced,” about on top of him.
“Hey, if a girl’s gonna strip for nasty old fucks while having one dollar bills thrown at ‘em they get to pick the fuckin’ playlist,” Ken shouted across the room at his less accepting compatriot as Kim rose to meet him eye to eye, stopping momentarily to ever so softly brush his lips with her own before, casting him a glance more smirk than smile, began rising to place his face at her chest, picking up his bourbon Old Fashioned and slowly pouring its contents over her flesh into his mouth, laughing at the greedy manner with which he guzzled the poison down. This was the very woman Felix insisted was, in secret, Carly Rae Jepsen, despite her being of South-East Asian descent and her continued stance that she was, in fact, not a famous pop star, and were she, what was she doing working as a stripper? To which Felix most often replied with something misogynistic, usually along the lines of all women being hoes, to which she would generally reply with a witty remark or two on how he’d be a much more enjoyable person should his dick not have forgotten to catch up with the rest of him during puberty, oft’ leaving him speechless.
The past day had been spent lounging about the apartment eating take out and playing Xbox in between extended bouts of sleep and Netflix binges, as the day after a successful cook usually was, and with the next day already scheduled for reconnaissance on their local prescription drug distribution center, or, more specifically, on the commercial vans and their routes from the outskirts of the City to its every interior nook and cranny, and the day after that the last Damien was to spend in the country before boarding his flight and returning home to London today was the last they had to give a proper send off for their chemically minded partner in crime, and even less the hookers they were well underway towards reaching the, “all-out,” mark. Several lines and quite a few drinks in and the reserved, proper Englishman was howling at the moon, or at least the ceiling, very nearly knocking the cutting board, and the rest of the cocaine with it, off of the naked woman he was using as a table in his jubilation. “Fuck, Andrew! Careful with that shit, it’s worth more than she is,” Felix fumed, clearly referring to Belle.
Truth be told, the six of them were all pretty messed up at this point. Ken was currently guzzling his eleventh drink in the past two hours, and was at least a few lines in, Felix was snorting lines like his life depended on it, and the girls had each had a few. A fourth woman entered, tall, dark, beautiful, bearing a bottle of Dom Perignon and, messily popping the cork and raining the contents down all about Damien, Belle, and Felix, brought the entire room to raucous laughter. Pouring the remaining contents into seven glasses the lot moved from their former positions to cheers, “to Damien, that fuck,” before drinking it down in a single swallow. “Gonna miss you, man,” Ken confided, as the hostess took her leave and the six returned to partying, reinvigorated by the extravagant display of friendship, or something like friendship. “I fuckin’ hate you, Damien,” was all Felix seemed to have to say, but the girls each had more than affectionate words for the subject of their little party. “Next time I have to put up with you two assholes, we’ll be in London,’ ‘Yeah man, doing shots on top of the Millennium Wheel,”.
Apparently wild weekends have become my usual since joining this thread, but I'm back and will be posting tonight.
EDIT:
Well, it certainly wasn't inspired and isn't my best work, but my post's up. ^^
EDIT:
Well, it certainly wasn't inspired and isn't my best work, but my post's up. ^^
Winnebago, in the woods, Upstate:
“Felix, surely you’re not serious? I mean, truly? In here, while we’re working with highly unstable chemicals? Right next to one another?’ ‘Fuck you Damien, pirate, do what I want,” the two had been on each other’s nerves for the past four hours, and it seemed as though things were about to come to blows as the door of the Winnebago crept open. “Do you bloody see this?” Damien demanded of Ken, pointing to the, well, currently indisposed member of their party as the newcomer leaned over him, checking the Wal Mart thermometers placed in some of the heated beakers on the rack. “It’ll fall off if you leave it exposed to these chemicals too long, Felix,” along with a gulp and the audible zipping of pants this was the only response he received, however. “I made tea, Damien. I’ll watch the burners, go get some air,’ ‘thanks, man,’ ‘tea? This is ‘Murica, you fuckin’ limies,’ ‘shut the fuck up, Felix. You need to go wash your shit with soap and water. Vigorously,’ ‘man, that’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,’ ‘lotion is not the same thing as soap you fuckin’ deviant, and git’ me a gerd damn beer while you’re there,”.
The last phrase was a joke aimed at Felix’s drunken hillbilly uncle, Bowe Brown, with whom they had stayed in Georgia, and who had never quite mastered the English language. Or perhaps he was simply too drunk at any given time to speak coherently, either way he was known locally as the single worst electrician to have ever lived, and spent the majority of his time drinking domestic pisswater and playing Call of Duty until he passed out, and the finesse with which Ken could manage an impersonation of uncle Bowe always managed to evoke a hearty laugh from anyone who had the misfortune of having met uncle Bowe, besides Felix. This was no exception. “Why are you even here, Felix? Don’t you have a job?” this question, as soon as it was posed by Damien, brought the two other people in the trailer to an awkward silence. “Fuck you, Andrew,” was all Felix spoke in reply before getting up and walking out, presumably to go wash the toxic chemicals from his flesh. “Dude, Damien. Harsh,’ ‘Well, it’s true! Why is he here, Ken?’ ‘Because, you blithering idiot, you’re leaving at the end of the week, remember?”.
Awkward silences were all too common among the three friends turned illicit business partners these days, and in the face of Damien’s imminent departure things had only gotten worse, more frustrated and less, well, fun then it had all been in the beginning. “You’re his best friend, Damien. He’s pissed off that your leaving after things were just getting back on track, and he doesn’t know how to handle abandonment well so he acts like a fuckin’ fool,’ ‘Well, it’s not as if I promised to stay here forever! I’m not his fucking wife Ken, surely he’s learned by now that people come and people go, that’s how life is,’ ‘Damien, your still obsessed with Violet. Frankly, I’m pretty sure your madly in love with Lina, who is a hooker I pay to sleep with you, and I’d guess when you go back home you’ll still be talking about her for the rest of the fuckin’ decade. It really surprise you that Felix is having a hard time letting you go?’ ‘Well, he fucking shouldn’t be, Ken. I’m not sleeping with him, now am I?’ ‘Damien. Felix doesn’t give a fuck about the girls he sleeps with, pretty sure he’s gay myself. He does care about his friends, though,”.
Only then did either of them notice one of the beakers had become too hot, and the profuse bubbling this heat had prompted was threatening a chemical spill two feet away from them. “Fuck,” Damien and Ken announced to no one in particular at once, and as the issue was corrected Damien found it an apt time to change the subject. “So, Ken, this job you’re working. Going to be able to pull it off with two guys?’ ‘Yeah, think we’ll manage. I’m more concerned with how much purity’s going to drop with him as the most qualified lab assistant we’ve got. I mean, it’ll drop with me taking over as our chemist, it’s not as if this is my strong suit, but I’ll manage. When I’m sleeping, though? Not sure I trust him to keep from blowing the place up while I’m out. Maybe we’ll bring in a guy to take over as lab assistant, plenty of starving college students looking to live above their means while making a quick buck,’ ‘Yeah, I’m sure you’ll love that, mister OCD. Don’t touch that, do prod that, why aren’t you pouring that already? Felix is the only person I know who might be able to stand learning your system, you controlling fuckin’ twat,”.
This brought both to a hearty bit of laughter before things grew quiet once more, each lost in their own thoughts for a time. “Go talk to him, Damien. I get that you’re done with this, but you’ll both feel better about the whole thing later if you spend some time together now,’ ‘Yeah, sure, you’re probably right. Don’t let anything overheat, burner seven’s been acting up lately. Need to replace it…,” he mumbled to himself as he stood, making his way past Ken despite the narrowness of the Winnebago’s hallway, before stepping out into the twilight, closing the door behind him. Felix was sitting twenty or so feet from the Winnebago having a smoke, staring off into the sunset. “It’ll be done soon, right? Gotta get ready to start packing it all up,” an exaggerated drag led to an equally overdramatic exhale, displaying just how uninterested Felix was in the packing of meth. “Sure, it’ll be over soon, man,” removing his lab coat and gas mask Damien took his seat by his friend, finding a couple unopened beers next to their lawn chairs, along with a few empties and a bottle opener. Cracking them both open he handed one to Felix, and after a silent cheers and the clinking of glass on glass, they both guzzled the elixir, greedily.
“Felix, surely you’re not serious? I mean, truly? In here, while we’re working with highly unstable chemicals? Right next to one another?’ ‘Fuck you Damien, pirate, do what I want,” the two had been on each other’s nerves for the past four hours, and it seemed as though things were about to come to blows as the door of the Winnebago crept open. “Do you bloody see this?” Damien demanded of Ken, pointing to the, well, currently indisposed member of their party as the newcomer leaned over him, checking the Wal Mart thermometers placed in some of the heated beakers on the rack. “It’ll fall off if you leave it exposed to these chemicals too long, Felix,” along with a gulp and the audible zipping of pants this was the only response he received, however. “I made tea, Damien. I’ll watch the burners, go get some air,’ ‘thanks, man,’ ‘tea? This is ‘Murica, you fuckin’ limies,’ ‘shut the fuck up, Felix. You need to go wash your shit with soap and water. Vigorously,’ ‘man, that’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,’ ‘lotion is not the same thing as soap you fuckin’ deviant, and git’ me a gerd damn beer while you’re there,”.
The last phrase was a joke aimed at Felix’s drunken hillbilly uncle, Bowe Brown, with whom they had stayed in Georgia, and who had never quite mastered the English language. Or perhaps he was simply too drunk at any given time to speak coherently, either way he was known locally as the single worst electrician to have ever lived, and spent the majority of his time drinking domestic pisswater and playing Call of Duty until he passed out, and the finesse with which Ken could manage an impersonation of uncle Bowe always managed to evoke a hearty laugh from anyone who had the misfortune of having met uncle Bowe, besides Felix. This was no exception. “Why are you even here, Felix? Don’t you have a job?” this question, as soon as it was posed by Damien, brought the two other people in the trailer to an awkward silence. “Fuck you, Andrew,” was all Felix spoke in reply before getting up and walking out, presumably to go wash the toxic chemicals from his flesh. “Dude, Damien. Harsh,’ ‘Well, it’s true! Why is he here, Ken?’ ‘Because, you blithering idiot, you’re leaving at the end of the week, remember?”.
Awkward silences were all too common among the three friends turned illicit business partners these days, and in the face of Damien’s imminent departure things had only gotten worse, more frustrated and less, well, fun then it had all been in the beginning. “You’re his best friend, Damien. He’s pissed off that your leaving after things were just getting back on track, and he doesn’t know how to handle abandonment well so he acts like a fuckin’ fool,’ ‘Well, it’s not as if I promised to stay here forever! I’m not his fucking wife Ken, surely he’s learned by now that people come and people go, that’s how life is,’ ‘Damien, your still obsessed with Violet. Frankly, I’m pretty sure your madly in love with Lina, who is a hooker I pay to sleep with you, and I’d guess when you go back home you’ll still be talking about her for the rest of the fuckin’ decade. It really surprise you that Felix is having a hard time letting you go?’ ‘Well, he fucking shouldn’t be, Ken. I’m not sleeping with him, now am I?’ ‘Damien. Felix doesn’t give a fuck about the girls he sleeps with, pretty sure he’s gay myself. He does care about his friends, though,”.
Only then did either of them notice one of the beakers had become too hot, and the profuse bubbling this heat had prompted was threatening a chemical spill two feet away from them. “Fuck,” Damien and Ken announced to no one in particular at once, and as the issue was corrected Damien found it an apt time to change the subject. “So, Ken, this job you’re working. Going to be able to pull it off with two guys?’ ‘Yeah, think we’ll manage. I’m more concerned with how much purity’s going to drop with him as the most qualified lab assistant we’ve got. I mean, it’ll drop with me taking over as our chemist, it’s not as if this is my strong suit, but I’ll manage. When I’m sleeping, though? Not sure I trust him to keep from blowing the place up while I’m out. Maybe we’ll bring in a guy to take over as lab assistant, plenty of starving college students looking to live above their means while making a quick buck,’ ‘Yeah, I’m sure you’ll love that, mister OCD. Don’t touch that, do prod that, why aren’t you pouring that already? Felix is the only person I know who might be able to stand learning your system, you controlling fuckin’ twat,”.
This brought both to a hearty bit of laughter before things grew quiet once more, each lost in their own thoughts for a time. “Go talk to him, Damien. I get that you’re done with this, but you’ll both feel better about the whole thing later if you spend some time together now,’ ‘Yeah, sure, you’re probably right. Don’t let anything overheat, burner seven’s been acting up lately. Need to replace it…,” he mumbled to himself as he stood, making his way past Ken despite the narrowness of the Winnebago’s hallway, before stepping out into the twilight, closing the door behind him. Felix was sitting twenty or so feet from the Winnebago having a smoke, staring off into the sunset. “It’ll be done soon, right? Gotta get ready to start packing it all up,” an exaggerated drag led to an equally overdramatic exhale, displaying just how uninterested Felix was in the packing of meth. “Sure, it’ll be over soon, man,” removing his lab coat and gas mask Damien took his seat by his friend, finding a couple unopened beers next to their lawn chairs, along with a few empties and a bottle opener. Cracking them both open he handed one to Felix, and after a silent cheers and the clinking of glass on glass, they both guzzled the elixir, greedily.
At the Winnebago, in the woods, Upstate:
“I’m telling you dude, there’s a guy moving in on the University out East ,” an extended drag of a cigarette, a few solitary puffs in the shape of, “o’s,” and the expected response was mouthed, “so what do you want me to do about it, Felix?” Ken wasn’t the muscle of this operation, and so far as he was concerned procuring the sudo necessary to keep their little operation up and running, coupled with the eminent desertion of their resident chemist was of a much greater immediate demand on his mental faculties than some asshole trying to move in on turf that wasn’t even theirs to begin with. Caught by the statement half way through his own drag Felix attempted, poorly, to keep from spluttering as he choked, “wha--, guh, huh-huh, heh, heh…,” and, noisily preparing a wad of mucus, saliava, and tar for departure in the depths of his throat blurted, “you? Nothing. Me,” before finally releasing the contents of his sinus all about the now slowly rotting tires on the passenger side of their Winnebago, grabbing at the double barreled shotgun, Lucy, he insisted on carrying with him every time they took the truck out.
“Put that fuckin’ thing down before you hurt yourself,” Ken groaned more frustrated than legitimately concerned or angry, the weight of this quite possibly being their last cook together growing more burdensome with each passing moment, as he dug through a side pouch in the duffle he had brought along for their weekend getaway, producing a small plastic packet containing a few neatly folded tissues. Taking one before blowing his nose in the most melodramatic of fashion within its plush folds, Felix balled the thing up before catching a glare from Ken in his direction and stopping flat in his tracks. “Oh, right, you fucking puss,” was the only reply Ken’s glance seemed like to receive, however, before Felix moved to place the tissue in the garbage can where it belonged. “It’s for your safe--‘ ‘fuck, Ken, I’ve heard it a hundred times, don’t leave DNA, that includes motherfuckin’ tissues, listen to me, I went to college,” the absurdly pointless mock yipping gesticulations made with his fingers, however, served only to cause Felix to burn himself on his lit cherry, dropping the butt with an audible yelp in his instinctive haste to flee from the heat.
Before Lucy could hit the ground Ken moved to catch her with a knee, then moving to place a hand on the weapon opened her up and dumped the shells onto his lap, handing Felix’s prized possession back to him empty. Of course he had other shells, but it was done more for the satisfaction of seeing the look on the guy’s face than in an effort to effectively disarm him. Retrieving his cigarette both Felix and Ken each took another drag in silence. “Hear me out here, Felix. We need sudo,’ ‘no shit Sherlock,’ ‘shut the fuck up dude. We need sudo, right?” the silent, derisive response he received did nothing to stem Ken’s building excitement towards his newfound scheme. “So this whole time I’ve been thinking to myself, ‘where do I get sudo? It’s not as if the big city has any ma’ and pa’s hick drug stores, and even if they did every street has ten cameras pointed right at it,’ right?’ ‘I swear to God, if you say let’s steal a barrel of methylene,” the creaking of the Winnebago door, and Damien’s sudden appearance through it’s doors had gone unnoticed in the commotion, but managed to stymie Ken’s speech for but a moment regardless.
“Shut up Andrew. We can’t do another drug store heist up here, almost got clipped the last time ‘round, security in the city’s too extensive and I’m not taking a chance running it up from out of state. Instead, we let the sudo come to us,”. This revelation was met with exchanged glances, mutual in their confusion and dubious outlook. “Listen, the sudo comes from somewhere, right?’ ‘well, obviously,’ ‘I said listen the fuck up Damien. It comes on a truck from out of state, down South, up North, out West, doesn’t matter. When it gets here it goes to a distribution center out of town, and gets shipped in smaller batches via commercial van to Walgreens and shit in the city,” the grin on the young man’s face was swelling so much it seemed he might burst, clearly taking an inordinate degree of pleasure in the suspense he was forcing on his colleagues, though neither of them spoke. “So, we wait until the vans are loaded, watch where they go. Walgreens only stocks so many things, every van that goes out to them’s gonna have a case of Allegra-D, maybe some legit sudo,’ ‘so let me get this straight, Ken; you want to steal a high security van on the street in the middle of the day? It’s GPS monitored you twit!” Damien’s disapproval, however, only increased Ken’s giddiness.
“Sure, it is. That’s why we’re never going to deviate from it’s route,” now open mouthed, and in utter disbelief, both Felix and Damien fell absolutely silent. “I’m not saying we’re breaking into the distribution center, or stealing the van. Just a little run of the mill vandalism. See, those van’s are mighty heavy, and have massive tires, too big for a normal guy to put on without tools. We look up local prescription drug distribution centers on Google, watch where the vans go for a few days, then put a few nails on the street and wait. When they pop a tire they’ll call for a tow, and, ‘and then we hit ‘em?” Felix blurted, now wholly immersed in the prospect of some good old fashioned highway robbery. “Fuck you Felix. We watch what tow truck company picks up the van, look up their address, then we break in, pop the back and make off in five minutes or less with as much of the usual suspects as we can carry. Security’s lax, even if they have a system it won’t be on during the day, and everyone takes a piss break sometime. Best part? Company’s in the fuckin’ boonies. We just walk out, park a half mile in the woods and we’re golden. Can even close the van back up after we’re done, no one will notice a thing until it gets to the pharmacy,”.
“I’m telling you dude, there’s a guy moving in on the University out East ,” an extended drag of a cigarette, a few solitary puffs in the shape of, “o’s,” and the expected response was mouthed, “so what do you want me to do about it, Felix?” Ken wasn’t the muscle of this operation, and so far as he was concerned procuring the sudo necessary to keep their little operation up and running, coupled with the eminent desertion of their resident chemist was of a much greater immediate demand on his mental faculties than some asshole trying to move in on turf that wasn’t even theirs to begin with. Caught by the statement half way through his own drag Felix attempted, poorly, to keep from spluttering as he choked, “wha--, guh, huh-huh, heh, heh…,” and, noisily preparing a wad of mucus, saliava, and tar for departure in the depths of his throat blurted, “you? Nothing. Me,” before finally releasing the contents of his sinus all about the now slowly rotting tires on the passenger side of their Winnebago, grabbing at the double barreled shotgun, Lucy, he insisted on carrying with him every time they took the truck out.
“Put that fuckin’ thing down before you hurt yourself,” Ken groaned more frustrated than legitimately concerned or angry, the weight of this quite possibly being their last cook together growing more burdensome with each passing moment, as he dug through a side pouch in the duffle he had brought along for their weekend getaway, producing a small plastic packet containing a few neatly folded tissues. Taking one before blowing his nose in the most melodramatic of fashion within its plush folds, Felix balled the thing up before catching a glare from Ken in his direction and stopping flat in his tracks. “Oh, right, you fucking puss,” was the only reply Ken’s glance seemed like to receive, however, before Felix moved to place the tissue in the garbage can where it belonged. “It’s for your safe--‘ ‘fuck, Ken, I’ve heard it a hundred times, don’t leave DNA, that includes motherfuckin’ tissues, listen to me, I went to college,” the absurdly pointless mock yipping gesticulations made with his fingers, however, served only to cause Felix to burn himself on his lit cherry, dropping the butt with an audible yelp in his instinctive haste to flee from the heat.
Before Lucy could hit the ground Ken moved to catch her with a knee, then moving to place a hand on the weapon opened her up and dumped the shells onto his lap, handing Felix’s prized possession back to him empty. Of course he had other shells, but it was done more for the satisfaction of seeing the look on the guy’s face than in an effort to effectively disarm him. Retrieving his cigarette both Felix and Ken each took another drag in silence. “Hear me out here, Felix. We need sudo,’ ‘no shit Sherlock,’ ‘shut the fuck up dude. We need sudo, right?” the silent, derisive response he received did nothing to stem Ken’s building excitement towards his newfound scheme. “So this whole time I’ve been thinking to myself, ‘where do I get sudo? It’s not as if the big city has any ma’ and pa’s hick drug stores, and even if they did every street has ten cameras pointed right at it,’ right?’ ‘I swear to God, if you say let’s steal a barrel of methylene,” the creaking of the Winnebago door, and Damien’s sudden appearance through it’s doors had gone unnoticed in the commotion, but managed to stymie Ken’s speech for but a moment regardless.
“Shut up Andrew. We can’t do another drug store heist up here, almost got clipped the last time ‘round, security in the city’s too extensive and I’m not taking a chance running it up from out of state. Instead, we let the sudo come to us,”. This revelation was met with exchanged glances, mutual in their confusion and dubious outlook. “Listen, the sudo comes from somewhere, right?’ ‘well, obviously,’ ‘I said listen the fuck up Damien. It comes on a truck from out of state, down South, up North, out West, doesn’t matter. When it gets here it goes to a distribution center out of town, and gets shipped in smaller batches via commercial van to Walgreens and shit in the city,” the grin on the young man’s face was swelling so much it seemed he might burst, clearly taking an inordinate degree of pleasure in the suspense he was forcing on his colleagues, though neither of them spoke. “So, we wait until the vans are loaded, watch where they go. Walgreens only stocks so many things, every van that goes out to them’s gonna have a case of Allegra-D, maybe some legit sudo,’ ‘so let me get this straight, Ken; you want to steal a high security van on the street in the middle of the day? It’s GPS monitored you twit!” Damien’s disapproval, however, only increased Ken’s giddiness.
“Sure, it is. That’s why we’re never going to deviate from it’s route,” now open mouthed, and in utter disbelief, both Felix and Damien fell absolutely silent. “I’m not saying we’re breaking into the distribution center, or stealing the van. Just a little run of the mill vandalism. See, those van’s are mighty heavy, and have massive tires, too big for a normal guy to put on without tools. We look up local prescription drug distribution centers on Google, watch where the vans go for a few days, then put a few nails on the street and wait. When they pop a tire they’ll call for a tow, and, ‘and then we hit ‘em?” Felix blurted, now wholly immersed in the prospect of some good old fashioned highway robbery. “Fuck you Felix. We watch what tow truck company picks up the van, look up their address, then we break in, pop the back and make off in five minutes or less with as much of the usual suspects as we can carry. Security’s lax, even if they have a system it won’t be on during the day, and everyone takes a piss break sometime. Best part? Company’s in the fuckin’ boonies. We just walk out, park a half mile in the woods and we’re golden. Can even close the van back up after we’re done, no one will notice a thing until it gets to the pharmacy,”.
Guy got murdered in the room you were supposed to have earlier.
Smiral said
in comparison to which sport?
Heart sucking. </3 Heart sucking's super hardcore.
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