Oct 15 07:15:22 106 PA - Something in the junkyard
From Chronicles
Kingsdale - Dregtown Junkyard If one is searching for a pile of junk, they have found the mother lode. For many years, until the dregs got 'bad' this was where the non-organic waste of Kingsdale was dumped. As such, it an absolutely monolithic pile that occupies the space of several city blocks. One can find almost anything here, providing they are trying to find it so decayed it is worthless. Off to the west is a long line of rusted cars and trucks, of no use to anyone. Most look like they will collapse into dust if one breathes on them. They are piled on top of each other six or seven times high. In other places, there is simply just massive piles of -junk-. Stoves, refigerators, ancient rusted tools, building supplies, television sets.. you name it, if it is junk it is here. Mind you, it is pretty much junk as it has been exposed to the weather for years. The actual 'Junkyard' itself is surrounded by a fifteen foot concrete wall that barely serves to keep it contained, and a set of wrought iron gates at the front have been long broken open. Roughly in the middle sits the gutted and graffiti-laden remains of the electromagnetic crane that used to move all of this stuff around. People still sometimes use this place, and near the entrance there are several smaller piles where people of the dregs take their garbage. Not surprisingly, the area stinks. Nobody goes into the deep junkyard either, where there are rumors of vampires, piles of steel that move on their own and even worse. Indeed, if one actually climbed one of the piles near to the entrance they would see that well in the back of the junkyard there is a large crater that is filled with rusty, brackish water too.... and that the twisted tangles of metal and plastic are even bigger and more decayed than in front.
Having heard something about people being bothered around the junkyard, Alistair makes his way down, as discretely as he can - though he's not trying to be a ninja ... merely quiet. He doesn't carry much with him - a pistol hidden under the jacket and a sheathed sword thrown over his shoulder. He looks rather curious though as he walks in.
The morning fog adds a distinctly creepy feel to the junkyard. In the lower areas it is very thick and hard to see the debris through. Aside from the crows feeding on the detritus the place is very quiet at first. Though once in a while something will startle even them into quiet, sometimes followed by the rubble shifting to scare a few off shortly.
"Hm ... " Alistair pauses his step when he hears the crows go quiet. The fog isn't making things any easier; he closes his eyes and exhales softly, listening to the sounds. If these are coming from a particular direction, he'll slowly mosey on towards them, minding his track. It would be a good idea to know where to run back to, or where to hide.
As if on cue some of the refuse shifts and slides behind the lone explorer, settling into the base of the pile. The crows caw in annoyance as the atmosphere feels more active with the presence of the human.
Alistair naturally turns around, and stares at the pile. He tilts his head a little. "Do thinks normally just slide around over here?" he murmurs, making a face as that possibility seems real; he looks at one of the crows. "Would you know?" he smiles, and shrugs his shoulders a little, looking the pile up and down.
The man turns to look at the debris as expected and another pile stands silently as his back is turned. Two solid thuds of footsteps can be felt and heard to give the man perhaps enough notice to escape, perhaps.
Alistair will certainly not wait around if something heavy sounding seems to be coming. From behind, no less? Alistair bounces back towards the way he came from as swiftly as he can.
The huge mass of wreckage is revealed as it moves with alarming prowess towards its intended victim. Its strike was not perfectly silentl in the slightest but its prey is caught none the less ensnared in several slimy tentacles that shot out from the hulk like hungry tendrils.
Alistair is surprised - because really, who expects the spanish hentacle monster?! "Gaaaaah!" he thashes to try and get free, grunting. "That is disgusting, you Sir .. you Sir should bathe!" He'll try to hit the thing or kick at it if and where possible, looking to free himself.
The prey is very strong for a human, but the creature manages to hold him steady with one tentacle about each limb, leaving two to dangle free. The smell gets worse though as the thing wretches up a few gallons of putrid slime over its victim, the two tentacles starting the slather it about the man thoroughly.
Alistair continues to fight; still holding onto his sword, though it is useless since he cannot free his arm - that's the one he keeps trying to free for the moment. There's a slight pause as he goes crosseyed from the smell, and then starts trying to free his arm again. How icky is that?
The victim yanks his sword arm from the tentacle's hold. The significance of that achievement very effectively dampened by a complete lack of reaction or indication of care from the creature. It just keeps slathering to ensure the man is thoroughly coated in the slime.
Alistair raises his free arm and swings the sword hard to toss the scabbard off, at the same time gripping the hilt where required to activate the weapon, causing it to emit a high pitched whine; the sword is raised again to attack the tentacles holding him with a broad sweep, an attempt to nail anything that's in the way.
The lack of concern is revealed as the tentacle that was holding the man's sword arm adeptly parries his slice. Immediately after one of the slathering tentacles briefly stops to flick the blade from the fellows hand unexpectedly.
"Hum" Alistair blinks his eyes; "How unreliable" he murmurs, his skin suddenly becoming covered with something shiny - or just transparent. Something along the lines of being wrapped in glass.
The tentacles slather over the invisible field with evident curiosity before their intent shifts. Two of the free appendages adjust their posture looking very rigid and strong before the stab down at the field.
Alistair resumes his own work after the field has been created - and apparently destroyed also, using his free arm to now pry the other one free, pulling at that tentacle hard.
The second tentacle is pulled away much easier than the first, meriting a gurgle of frustration from the creature as its tentacles lash out to recapture the escaped limbs.
Alistair has a moment of success, during which he goes as far as to say 'Ha!', only to have his arms recaptured, his excitement fading to annoyance. "Oh for!-" he yans one arm again to try and dislodge a tentacle.
The arm pulls free yet again, but the creature is back to its unbothered opinion of the situation as the two tentacles finish slathering the man with the goo. Now thqat start slathering it up, and alarmingly start to suck the mans inner strength up with it. The third tentacle lashes out to recapture that stubborn limb.
Alistair merely jerks to avoid that tentacle, only taking a moment to wonder what this heady feeling is; he reaches into his jacket to break the pistol out, and with his other arm coming loose, he puts both hands on the weapon, points it at where he thinks the center of mass is, and pulls the trigger!
The thin laser beam exits the barrel with its minute flash to effect a diminutive bit of smouldering from the hulk's debris made mass. Meanwhile all four of the tentacles devote themselves to licking the muck back up off the man.
"Right ... " says Alistair, staring at the hulk for a moment. He tries to jerk away then, to reach for his sword once more; it seems like it might make a better weapon in this situation and a free leg would certainly help.
Alistair sees the sword being out of reach, and looks back at the tentacles - he reaches to grab whichever one's within easy reach and closest.
The tentacle is grabbed just as the others finish up the recollection of the dispensed ichor. The creature pauses to consider this new situation as the tentacles holding the mans legs release.
Alistair applies punihsment: Grabbing the tentacle with both hands, he twists and wrings it like a towel! "GET OFF ME YOU LOW-LIFE, ILL-MANNERED FIEND!"
The wringing of the slick slimy tentacle is difficult and ineffective. The appendage is clearly quite durable despite its fleshing comparison to the dense garbage shell enclosing the rest of the beast. So the creature doe not react to the threat at all, rather it just seems to be waiting, no longer holding it opponent at all.
Alistair can never - so far as anyone knows - be angry for very long. At the moment at least the attack is over, and his own ineffective action is rather annoying. "Fine, next time I'll bend, see how you like it" he mutters. "Maybe we should put this thing in a zoo ... " he tosses the tentacle aside, and goes to pick up his sword.
The beast shambles off disappearing among the heaps of junk in a matter of seconds.
