December 19, 108 PA - Long-Distance Chatter for Locating the Team

From Chronicles

DAY THREE - December 19, 108 PA

MIXED BLESSING and KINGSDALE

It's ten in the evening at the town of Mixed Blessing on the southern coast of the convergence of the Osage and Missouri rivers. As one of those little-known wilderness gems, it's surprisingly busy. The buildings are nearly all of wood, save for a mechanic's shop being the most obvious exception. Because of its location and purpose, most places that are open during the day are also open at night. The snow has been cleared to the sides of the dirt roads, leaving them muddy for all who pass. Everyone from traders to mercenaries is present, anyone who might have business in this region.

Jaxain having risked life and limb, and coming through it in one piece, Jax has finally arrived back in Kingsdale. Over a hundred slaves directly owe him their lives, and despite being happy over what he managed to accomplish, his 'comrades' leaving him behind still brings a bitter taste to his mouth whenever he thinks of it.

Bartholemew decides to seek out an individual with a long range radio. He goes about it by asking the bartender where he has had a few drinks and a good meal, "Hey buddy. You wouldn't happen to know anyone that owns a long range radio, would ya? One that might hit Kingsdale on a good day?"

"Yeah, yeah," the bartender responds to Bart. "Cross the street, three doors west. Guy owns a little comm shack. He'll make ya pay, but he'll getcha just about anywhere in Missouri, if you want to talk to someone. Tips welcome." He smiles and eases a small jar toward the questioner.

Sore, tired and having had very little sleep over the last few days, Jax decides that he might as well try and make something of the trip. So he goes to the shop of Baptiste, the mage who is, in theory, footing the bill, and knocks on the door. Or tries the intercom. Or walks in if the door is open, calling out 'Hello?' in a tired voice.

Bartholemew smiles and drops a few credits into the jar in thanks, "Thank ya much." Also paying any tab he might owe, he heads off to find the comm shack the man spoke of. It was cold when they got there, and certainly the weather hasn't improved much. Three doors down shouldn't be too hard to find, as long as he goes west.

There's no response from Baptiste's shop. Whether or not he's hiding, eating, sleeping, bathing or dead is impossible to know. His place is simply buttoned up for the night.

The comm building is obvious, not just because of its large antenna array - large for a small town, at least - but also perhaps because of an ancient salvaged sign with a red 'R' off-center inside a circle. Next to it are the words, 'The Shack.'

Bartholemew enters the place, if it's open of course. Immediately looking for someone running the place to talk to.

There's a tall, skinny guy sitting in front of a large set of transmitters and receivers. A younger fellow, also lanky is leaning up against the wall. He looks like another tech, but he's sporting a sidearm as well. Perhaps only his shift as security, if such a small building needed such. "Yo," says the guard by way of greeting. "Lookin' for a radio, huh? One-fifty, up front." A hand is held out. "Ya ain't gonna find a better price or better transmission."

Bartholemew pulls out the one fifty and hands it to the guy. "I need to call to Kingsdale. Can ya reach it?" looking between the two men.

The guard nods over to the skinny guy, who by now has turned in his seat. The operator speaks. "Yeah, no problem. But you'll be broadcasting in the clear. I don't do codes, because it could make it look like I'm taking sides - not real healthy out here. Fifty credits'll buy you ten minutes of talk." He spins a few dials and vacates a seat. Also holding out a hand for payment. "If you're still interested."

Back in Kingsdale, the shop remains quiet.

Bartholemew hands over the money, not seeming to mind, and moves over to be able to use the radio.

Bartholemew grabs the mic and starts calling out, "Jaxain, Jaxain. You out there Prettyboy Skater? Need to know if you got those slaves home safe. If you can get to it, find a town called Mixed Blessing off the Missouri and Osage. We leave for the slavers camp soon. Not much time. Jaxain, Jaxain. Prettyboy Skater. Going after slave camp in 12 hours," pausing to see if any answer is given in return. After a brief moment, he rebroadcasts the same message another time and waits.

Receiving no reply, Jax sighs and calls out, "Get in touch with me if you can, Baptiste. I have some info." He shrugs, and decides to go ahead with his second plan, which was to get in touch with Bart. So he makes his way to a comm station here in Kingsdale, stopping by to ask a guard if he has to in order to find one. Somewhere he can send a long distance transmission from.

In days past, there was a communications specialist out near the landing strip. She hasn't been seen in a while, and a couple of guys are hawking out her radio for now. It's more than sufficient to reach most of Missouri. The techno-wizard shop back in the Magic District makes no show of having anyone inside.

Bartholemew makes the call out two more times in the ten minutes with the brief listening in between. While waiting at the end he looks to the radio guy, "Mind me trying a specific frequency? I'll pay extra."

Jaxain waves at the guys who are taking care of the radio, and says, "Hey, names Jax, nice to meet you." with a friendly smile, his tired looking eyes making the expression look somewhat forlorn. "Can I send a broadcast out from here?"

The lanky fellow shakes his head negatively at Bartholemew and offers him a shrug. "Sorry, man. Love to help ya, but I just can't take the chance. Not even with a bribe." He seems to mean that, too, it's not a quiet invitation.

"Yo," is another monosyllabic greeting, but this time from a radio operator in Kingsdale. "Yeah, how far you wanna go? Anyone call you 'Prettyboy'?" He has an odd twang to his speech. Likely something along the lines of cleaned-up Spanglish and wondering if 'Jax' is equivalent to the called 'Jaxain.'

Jaxain blinks, obviously surprised, "Prettboy Skater, yeah, I got a buddy who calls me that." he laughs, shaking his head. "Why, have I meet you before?" He asks, raising an eyebrow the radio operator.

Bartholemew nods understanding, he doesn't want to burn this bridge now that he knows about it. "Thanks anyway man, I appreciate the try. Can I at least pay ya to listen for another hour or so if no calls are needed to get out? In case the guy needs to find a way to call back."

"Yeah, sure. Drop me another fifty, and we'll keep track for ya. Got a codename or anything to listen for?" The lanky radioman who had been there starts to retrieve his seat.

"Nah, nah," the Kingsdale operator waves away. "Someone just came over the waves lookin' for a 'Prettyboy Skater' named Jaxain. Figured 'Jax' might be short for it. Guess I was right." He offers no further information.

Jaxain raises an eyebrow, "Really?? What was the message?? Can I send a reply? Right away?" He reaches into his bag, pulling out a stack of credits. "Quick!"

Bartholemew drops the other fifty without a problem. "Bart, Prettyboy Skater is the other guy. Thanks again, I'll be hanging at the pub three doors east a here. You can contact me on this frequency on a short range" rattling off a frequency that he tunes his radio to at this moment.

The operator in Kingsdale holds out a hand. "Two-hundred for the message, one-hundred to transmit, sure." One hand is open to receive payment. The other holds a folded piece of paper.

"Got it, friend," the radio operator in Mixed Blessing nods to Bart, then goes back to his work. The light guard offers the man a smile. "Thanks for the business. We hear anything, I'll come find you."

Jaxain gives the operator a smile and a wink. "Oww, piracy! Two hundred for both, and you still have a great night." Handing over the credits he looks at the radio, waiting for it to be ready.

The radioman in Kingsdale happily take the credits, and hands over the message, taken down in scrawled handwriting exactly as it had come in from Mixed Blessing, including some areas of static being noted. However, the transmitter remains locked down until more payment is coughed up.

Jaxain rolls his eyes and hands over the rest of the coin, "Sheesh, nobody bargains any more." He smiles, and takes up the receiver. "Skater for Bart, Skater for Bart."

Many, many miles to the north, the guard at The Shack passes some words with his comrade, then goes out to the pub that Bartholemew had indicated. A hand lands gently on the man's shoulder. "Hey, pal. Someone called 'Skater' is on the comm for ya. In the clear, of course."

Bartholemew nods rushing over with the guard guy, eager to not miss the call, "Sweet. How much more ya gonna need? he asks when he gets there. "Another fifty for ten minutes?"

The guy nods as he exits the chair. "Fifty per ten minutes or fraction thereof. Settle up the bill when you're done. No more than sixty minutes."

Jaxain looks at the communications operator, "That right? Should be transmitting?"

The Kingsdale operator nods. "Should be, and it is. See? Green light." He points to an LED.

Bartholemew nods and grabs the mic as he sits, "Skater, skater. It's Bart. Still there?" asking quickly.

Jaxain nods his thanks to the operator, "Hey, Bart! Yeah, got back alright. How are things on your end?"

Bartholemew smiles, even though only the two other here could actually notice it, "Good. I don't got much time. Remember the camp location?"

Jaxain nods, then, realizing it can't be seen, says, "Yeah, the slaver camp, you mean, right?"

Bartholemew continues on, "Not the one we broke off from, the one we were ultimately going for. The main camp. Find a town called Mixed Blessing. We leave in twelve hours for the slaver's camp. If not here in twelve, continue on looking for the fly buzzing over the puddle of blood."

Jaxain nods again, though for no odd reason. "Alright, I'll try to make my way there. Should I stop by the cranky old bugger in the shop and see if I can bring some extra hands to help out, or are we in pretty good shape?"

Bartholemew continues, now staring blankly at the radio face itself, "Look for where the Missouri and Osage meet. The town is near there. You got 12 hours. Be careful, there are still slavers out there. We are doing ok though. Just look for the fly buzzing over the puddle of blood if you are late. Or call from where I am calling you from. You'll find it easy enough."

Still not sure what the fly and blood thing means, Jax decides it must not be all that important. "Alright, Skater out, on my way soon."

Bartholemew claps both hands together excitedly, obviously the answer he wanted. "Gotcha, Bart out." He then gets up turning back to the other men on his way out, "Thank you again." Handing whomever another fifty for the time.

In Mixed Blessing, the operator takes the credits happily. "Anything else, man?"