Now, you all know it’s my not-so-solemn duty to satisfy your sweet-tooth and as we all know, it’s been a bit quieter in our post-brat-baby world. But don’t you worry, they haven’t strayed too far, and you know us tumbleweeds keep on rollin’, and the engines were certainly roarin’ this winter. Gotta keep warm somehow, not that we need it — or an excuse to keep the, uh, dirt flowin’. One idiot even splattered his guts all over Moxxie’s skull, which might as well be considered the scummiest desecration we’ve seen in years, because if you’ve seen the artwork on that place, you know vomit is worthy of limb removal. And my sweets, you know me, I’m a pacifist, so that’s sayin’ somethin’.
Course, a congratulations to two of our most admired sugarplums; I’ll decorate your posters with my favorite glitter spray and I know Cherri Cola’s been dyin’ to leave a smooch on one in particular. Especially since neither of us could celebrate in person. Big shot Cheap Shot was the only one to take the stage and so if you were lookin’ for a blast from the past, dig up his archives, not mine. It’s okay. I’m not cryin’. That man wears dust better than all of us.
Speaking of events, isn’t that why we’re all here? The juicy stuff! The highs that let you forget the lows. So keep your radios tuned and those ears to the ground because a little mouse — or more; popularity’s a bitch — told me there might be quite the blow out this summer. Seeing how there’s been a serious lack of the frivolous dramatics I enjoy, here’s hopin’ you maniacs give me somethin’ good to chew on. So far all we’ve seen are yawn worthy gallery openings and… oh wait! How could I forget? A bassist we all know, from a band I don’t need to name — Low Rhythm Static — might’ve been seen pants down with a certain someone who isn’t his famed favorite. If what we see is to be believed, I’m sure she’ll be claws out and ready to give us a blo-show of a lifetime. Ticket sales to be determined.
Alright, I’m bored. You’ve been boring. It can’t be guns and bombs all the time! So let’s turn it around, motor babies. Gimme my sugar fix and I promise I’ll tie it up real pretty for ya. In the meantime, I’m too pretty to stay sittin’ here.
It’s a new year, motor babies. Another rotating lap around the sun, and not to get dark about it, but I’m sure this one will be as long as the last. Still, we can’t dwell on it much, because out here in the desert, if you stay in one place too long, that ball of radiation in the sky will burst you into flames. That is – if the static don’t get you first.
It never gets any less. The pigs keep multiplying in the city, crawling out of every crevice like the termites that chewed the walls of that little backwater shack our little crew here at Renegade holed up in a couple of spins ago, and if you don’t keep your pesticide ready – gunpowder and fucking lead – they’ll eat you out of your house, too.
But we’ve got each other, tumbleweeds, and you’ve got me, your ear to the ground – so before last year’s blood dries, before the bodies at the roadside rise, before we move the fuck on with our lives, let me be the first to wish you well… in the three hundred-odd days of upcoming hell.
Grab your friends. Hold them close. ‘Cause we got not time for heroes, and no room for ghosts.
Do you hear an ominous whirring in the sky, tumbleweeds? Yeah, us too. I gotta say I’ve personally had the misfortune of running into one of the pigs’ flying death machines after hours, and let me tell you – it was not jazzy in the slightest. I was lucky as all hell that I made it out of that encounter without sporting a couple of new holes.
The good news is: they can be brought down. The bad news is – unless you’re constantly roaming around with three machine guns and a couple of handy-dandy friends – it’s really hard to do. It also didn’t take more than a moment after we’d shot the bird outta the sky before we heard those pesky pigs squealing in the distance, so lace your boots tight, motor babies, and be ready to take to your feet and haul ass if you have to.
A special shoutout to those of you rebellious tinkers out there; if you’re going to take a drone home with you, for heavens’ sake make sure you cover up the camera, disconnect the microphone, and smash up the tracking chip, or the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws will be kicking down your door before you can say ‘oh, fiddlesticks.’
That’s all for now babies. Stay safe until next time.
RENEGADE RADIO PRESENTS:
– A MEETING AT THE STATION
Admin: Just after sunset at the Killjoys' gas station hideout. An odd group of rebels sit in the main room, gathered around a worn wooden coffee table. In the middle of the old, green couch, sits Garrett Uley, around him others have squeezed into the cushions, into the surrounding armchairs, or have sat on chairs brought in from the kitchen. Some are standing behind the others, preferring to stay out of the conversation and listen. Garrett clears his throat.
Garrett: "I'd say welcome–" Garrett drew a breath, the grave expression on his face growing even darker as he thought about how to phrase his words. "But this isn't an occasion that fits with something like that. We all know why we're here. Some of you know each other, some of you don't, but Killjoy territory is neutral territory, so everyone better behave. With us are a couple of civilians, and I'll let one of them begin. Luka – what've you find out about the location?"
Luka: Luka cleared his throat, peering up from his phone with mild surprise, as if he hadn't been expected to be 'called upon.' "Oh... yeah! Alright." He pushed himself off the wall, shoving his phone in his pocket. "I've sent an image over to Garrett with the general location. It's in an abandoned subway and since it's so far down, I couldn't get an exact exact location. But it's been narrowed down to within a mile, so it shouldn't take long if we have the people. It's in the Northern part of the city. I got a few confirmations of abnormal amounts of assfucks- I mean Government activity. Ta-da."
Luka: "Oh yeah. Silas got us a vehicle. Aaaaaand some things for the handcuffs. Nifty little gadgets." With that, Luka took his place back against the wall, his face illuminated by his phone screen once more.
Trayson: Trayson planted his feet up on an empty chair beside him, arm rested on the back of his own as he let out a long yawn. "Right so, when we goin' in with guns a'blazin? Plan? Entrances? We got a map of the facility? We splittin' up or do I have to whip more of ya fuckers into shape?" He noticed a few familiar faces around the room, winking at some pretty thing he couldn't remember if he'd seen before.
Remi: Back against the wall, Remi stood with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, Silas at his side. He didn't have anything to contribute to the meeting, and so remained in silence, watching, listening. He wasn't a fighter, and planned to stay with Sy for the duration of the rescue – but if he was coming, he was coming prepared.
Birdie: "I texted this guy, Maxwell Billings, big Government PR fucker with a shitload of money. He knows Bambi and Harlee. Said he'll give as much as we need for weapons and shit," Birdie said. "Plus, I got access to Queenie's guns but she'll be fuckin' pissed if any of you fuck 'em up, so I can't go givin' 'em all away."
Garrett: "We'll be going in with a lot of guns," Garrett nodded, "and we'll need as many people on them as possible. It shouldn't take us too long to find the location, but we'll have to move fast. Explosives on the entrance, and then… guns blazin'. This place can't be big, but there's bound to be alarms, security. Luka will disable those he can, but our top priority is to get out with the prisoners as soon as we can and bring them to the rendezvous point."
Yara: "Who will take point?" Yara spoke up from a seat towards the back, her voice soft but clear.
Trayson: "Damn straight we got a lotta guuuuns," Trayson exclaimed in sing-song, humming to himself while donning a wicked grin. Then he leaned toward Birdie, trying to peer at what she had, "What'd she give ya? I wanna see..."
Garrett: "I will." Garrett glanced at the girl, then at the girl with the guns, then at Trayson, then at Arin. "And anyone else who volunteers."
Trayson: "I'm blowin' up the entrance."
Birdie: "A bunch of 'em are bound to be hurt. What're we doin' if they can't make it to the rendezvous point on their own two feet?" Birdie glanced over at Trayson. "Not for you. I don't need her to kill me 'cause I let you near her shit."
Arin: Arin, beside Birdie, nodded at Garrett, but didn't say a word.
Trayson: Trayson clicked his tongue at Birdie, scrunching his nose up, "Fiiiine. Only cause all of that is kinda hot. I got my own guns."
Luka: Luka glanced up from his phone, pausing on Remi, then Arin, noting who he recognized and who he didn't, "I can get more weapons if we need it, but my time is really better served elsewhere."
Luka: "Oh yeah, Kid. Remember Kid? He's a doc now. There's that too. He said he'd help with drugs and I don't know... maybe care?"
Garrett: "We'll have to carry them to one of the vehicles." Garrett fixed his eyes on Birdie again. "Those who can't take the route on feet will be prioritized for the places." He nodded at Luka. "If this Kid is qualified, he can wait there, ready to assist if anyone needs immediate patching up."
Luka: "Yeeeeah, I don't know how he'd do with a gun anyway. I can help carry people out if need be," Luka shrugged, keeping all of his attention on his phone now, even when he spoke.
Trayson: "So who the fuck here can actually do some damage beside our little corner?" Tray twirled a finger toward Birdie and the blonde guy next to her. He looked pissed off enough and Birdie hadn't told him to fuck off. "Oh, and Sir Garrett! Of course."
Julian: "I'll join the front." Julian stepped forward, closer to the ring of light that spilled from the lamp suspended above the coffee table. "Do we have drivers?"
Birdie: "I heard they're doin' some shit with their memories, too. Don't know if all of 'em will be willin' to come with us," Birdie said, glancing at Luka, and then Remi. She swatted Trayson's finger away. "Your little toy's gonna forget all about you, be serious."
Luka: Luka spoke up upon hearing Birdie, "I'm cool with driving. And yeah, I heard that too, from that Max guy Birdie's talkin' about."
Garrett: "Worst case scenario…" Garrett sighed. "We'll have to force them to. Most important thing is getting 'em somewhere safe. We can deal with the rest when that's done."
Luka: "I asked Kid for some sedatives, if need be. I'll make sure he brings it in a form easy enough to force people to take if we need to. Some of 'em," he looked at Garrett, smirking, "Can be carried by some of us stronger folks."
Birdie: "I've only got my bike but I bet we can Billings to give us some transportation for those of us who'll drive but don't have cars."
Silas: Silas grumbled from his spot next to Remi, less than pleased that he actually had something worth contributed, and that needed to be. "I got vehicles."
Trayson: "I'm being serious. I make amazing explosives." He turned to Arin, grinning wide as he held a hand out, "Hi. I'm Trayson. I recognize you now. Lost Boy king. Cute."
Birdie: "Queenie hates you enough, Trayson. Shut the fuck up before your mouth gets sewn shut."
Trayson: "I don't know why that would matter... I'm making friends."
Arin: "Shut up." Arin didn't even bother fixing his eyes on the brunet, instead keeping them on the center of the group, paying attention to the more important conversation.
Trayson: "Ugh. What are they related? They have the same fuckin' manners, that's for sure." He turned around in his seat, directing his attention back at Garrett
Birdie: "Alright, quiet boy over there's got cars. I got the guns covered. Luka's bringin' the med kid. What else do we need?"
Luka: "I'm trying to find out how many bodies are in there beforehand. At least a guess. That way we're more prepared. Should take another... maybe six hours?"
Garrett: "An insider." Garrett paused, drawing a breath. "The Killjoys have a connection in the Government's ranks. As long as it doesn't risk his position, he could help. I'll contact him myself."
Birdie: "Your list only Government or prisoners, too? We should know how many we're tryin' to save before we go in there so we don't accidentally forget one."
Luka: "I sent the list out already. I'm working on Government." Luka held his phone up briefly to show Corbin something, then had it pulled back in close within seconds.
Garrett: "We have a list of prisoners. Anyone want me to read it?"
Trayson: Trayson sighed loudly, picking up one of his guns to begin calibrating. "I mean we know they're taken, can't we just get a number, take attendance or some shit and get on with it?"
Birdie: "As long as we all know who we're goin' in there for, I don't think we need all the names." Birdie paused. She lowered her voice. "Do we have a list of the ones they've killed already?"
Birdie: Birdie hit Trayson's arm. "Shut. The fuck. Up."
Garrett: "The number, Trayson," Garrett shot the other Killjoy a glance. "Is twenty-two."
Trayson: "What? It's not an awful idea."
Trayson: "Names boggle shit down."
Trayson: "Thanks buddy!" He waved at Garrett.
Luka: "Oh... right. Dead list. I have one of those."
Birdie: "Please, share with the fuckin' class."
Luka: Luka frowned at Birdie, rolling his eyes before swiping his finger across his screen, "There's four dead."
Birdie: "Gangs?"
Luka: Luka frowned further as he examined the list, "Two Lost Boys, one Crybaby, one Doll." Then he listed off the names, clearly discontented by the Crybaby name.
Corbin: Corbin, biting the inside of his lip, listened to the list of the dead with an expression set in stone. His heart skipped a beat at the name of the Crybaby. It wasn't anyone he had known well, but it cut deep all the same. Glancing at Arin, he saw muscles working in the blond Lost Boy leader's jaw as he clenched his teeth, looking… furious.
Birdie: Birdie held in her sigh of relief. Bambi was alive. She turned to face Arin, clapping a hand on his shoulder before quickly dropping it to her side.
Trayson: Trayson glanced back at Arin and Bridie, pursing his lips, "Hmmm... don't worry. I promise to make sure one's alive for you to kill personally for your loss." He flashed a smile, then went back to his gun.
Arin: "Don't." Arin warned Birdie, relieved when her touch was no more than a tap on his shoulder. His blood was boiling inside of him, and he was itching to set off already, a semi-automatic in each hand – but it wouldn't yield anything but his death. His stormy eyes touched the brunet Killjoy's for a millisecond before moving away.
Birdie: Birdie nodded, a sign of a quick apology to Arin. "So. How much more time do we need before we go in there?"
Luka: Luka followed Corbin's gaze, noticing how angry Arin looked, and noting that he was glad he didn't see that side to him the other day at his parlor. "I can get the security shut off within a matter of minutes. I can keep things down for... maybe thirteen minutes at best? Then it'll reboot and I'd have to begin again, but they'll be alerted if it continuously cycles power."
Garrett: Garrett nodded at Luka, picking up the trail where he left off. "In addition to the six hour prep time for Luka, to find the Agents in there, I'm willing to bet another couple hours to get everything ready to make our move. I think we should go in at curfew tomorrow night."
Birdie: "Meet at the rendezvous point?"
Garrett: "10 PM sharp."
Silas: "Send me how many vehicles you need and where you need them dropped off. I can drive if y'need another."
Corbin: "I'll drive as well," Corbin added, looking from Silas to Garrett.
Garrett: "Great." Garrett stood, clapping his hands together once. "Get some rest, guys. Big day tomorrow."
You know I don’t like letting those Government twats appear on my airwaves. Such a buzz kill. But we’ve gotta get serious here my motor babies; the man is trying to bring us down. They’ve taken your friends, maybe it’s your family, and we can’t just sit by, can we? It’s time to rise up. With how long that list is, you better bet someone you know is on there, or you’re the next one they’re coming for. So let’s take a moment and shout-out to the Suicide Queen who might be dead, but got us this shiny gold information, and, we’ll call this one… Mr. X, cause I already know if they heard their name on this bitch, I’d lose one of my better contacts. A personal shout to my Diamond Encrusted Divas. I’m sure you haven’t let the fabulous fade for a single second.
So what can ya do? I’m sure you’re feelin’ pretty antsy. Just remember if you suck with guns, don’t go carryin’ one in there. Use whatever skills you got. Casualties aren’t party worthy and I’m gonna need a good reason to throw one after all this. We’re not toys for them to entertain themselves with; this isn’t a fuckin’ show. So let’s get the tunes goin’ to pump you up, and know that I’ve got all your backs, cause let’s be real here, if anything, this material is too juicy to pass up. Get those brass knuckles on and boom sticks loaded. We’re goin’ radioactive.
And for all those who can’t hear this right now, keep those razors sharp — we’re comin’ for ya.
Now let’s let Pink Skull rock your craniums — I’ve got more taffy to make.
Yo, yo, yo… is this thing on? Ha! I’m yanking your legs, motor babies. For a few months now, Renegade Radio has been nothing but traffic reports and music, and I’d tell you all why, but it’s such a long and boring story. Let’s just say that what ended up in the pigs’ biochemical body bags was not what they had planned to put in them when they set out after us, and leave it at that.
Now, for more recent news, a little Ritalin rat squeaked in my ear that there was a big blowout at the old quarry earlier this month, perhaps celebrating the start of the holidays? We wouldn’t know, because we weren’t invited. I’m shaking my head, tumbleweeds. Shaking. My. Head. Either way, we hope you little devils had fun, and made sure not to leave anything too incriminating behind.
December is quickly coming to an end, and though the holidays have been exhilarating for us here at Renegade this year, we hear that it has been quite tame elsewhere. The Government is ticking off its usual narcissistic celebrations one by one, praising itself to high heavens along with the rest of the Big Bat, but so far there has been no sign of an apocalyptic winter or bombs containing something other than glitter accompanying the festivities. Should we be relieved? Or are we in for something worse, come the new year?
Wrapping up, a moment of silence for fallen Resistance-members John Garin, Boris Bogdanov, Danny Longlegs, and Sweet Jeannie Larsson; followed by music from The Mad Gear & Missile Kid, and a traffic report.
‘Till next time, tumbleweeds, this is Cheap Shot, signing off.
Since December 6th, Renegade Radio has been quiet –
“It’s been silent on our end these last months, tumbleweeds. As we all know, the pigs don’t quit, and here at Renegade Radio they’ve been on our tails since the infamous auction, making it damned hard for us to get the word out about this mess.”
“For those of you wondering, or freaking out, even, Pink Skull is fine, and so am I, though we did lose a member of our crew in the pigs’ wild goose chase. Dynamite: we salute you, buddy.”
“Now. An army of shadows were stirred up that tragic day, ghosts of our fallen friends, and if you ask me, it’s time for us to avenge them. It’s time for us, motor babies, to take the torch for ourselves and hit ‘em where it hurts! To the pigs, we are insects, creeping over each other beneath this big ball of radiation we like to call the sun, buzzing around their pink, floppy ears. You ask me? That’s fuckin’ fine.”
“Insects crawl under your skin! Insects chew away at the very foundation of your life and makes it crumble beneath you! Insects burrow their way into your home, contaminating the place where you feel safe! Insects bite you and poison your blood! And – most importantly – insects swarm.”
“We’ve got our IEDs ready for those bastards. We’ve got our ray guns hot in our hands. We’ve got our boots laced, we’ve got our masks on, and we’ve got fury that scorches the fuckin’ earth.”
“So stay tuned, little ones, and don’t let the static get to you while I’m gone. ‘Till next time; this is Cheap Shot, signing off.”
For the first time in Renegade Radio’s history, listeners tuning in the day after the auction massacre are met with white noise rather than music.
There is no transmission.
Good job, everyone, with the event yesterday! I had a blast, and I hope you all did too. The following is the entire Chatzy in screenshots – it should all be in order, but if you see anything that’s not, please shoot us a message!
The link to the Chatzy has been posted in the OOC chat! Please read what’s under the cut before you sign in.
Please write in third person, past tense - just like you’d do in a para. The Emcee will be writing in present tense to set it apart from the characters, so that the plot drops don’t get lost in the chat!
If you cannot access the OOC chat on AIM, shoot the main a message via Tumblr chat, and we’ll send the link to you there instead.
To change your name/alias, click ‘My preferences’ and then ‘Change name/color’. Please use the color designated for your character’s faction whenever you switch – this makes it easier to keep track of who is where in the chat.
Thank you for reading, cool cats!
Note: a transcript of the chat will be posted after the end of the event.
“Every four years, a certain circus touches ground somewhere new on the map, and this year.. it’s headed for us.
THE UNDERGROUND AUCTION HAS HIT BC.
Some say that what the Underground Auction brings to town is the stuff of dreams. Contraband, after all, is - as we all know - heavily outlawed, and therefore notoriously difficult to procure.”
“But like the magician pulling rabbits and ribbons out of the hat, they’re here to entertain and pick our pockets while they’re at it - though, out of their hat comes automatic rifles and cigars, the finest of crystal to adorn your nose with.. You can get just about anything, so long as you’ve got the coin.”
The Avalon Underground Auction is an ever-moving spectacle - every four years, it sets up shop in one of the many cities within the territory borders; the word of it spreading through black market channels. For the gangs and the Resistance, it means a safe place to procure rebellion necessities - guns, ammo, new tech, blueprints and confidential information are all for sale.
For those more invested in upholding the current status quo and all the fun it brings, the Auction brings along the best of the best: drugs, booze, people – just like Pink Skull says, anything can be bought for the right price.
This year, it’s hit BC, and with it comes a promise of unrivaled mayhem… after all, a little party can most definitely kill somebody.
OOC INFORMATION
DURATION IN-GAME: December 1st to December 9th, 2362.
LOCATIONS: All over Battery City - specifics will be given via plot drops.
END DATE REAL TIME: TBD!
CHATZY TIE-IN: Sunday, February 7th. The link will be given out around 1 PM GMT, and will last for as long as we need it to!
First of all, we apologize for how long the launch of this event took us - the last couple of months has been really, really busy for us both, but we’re finally on track, and are aiming to stay on it!
This event will consist mainly of plot drops - these will all be posted via this blog, not the main, so make sure you stay posted and can have your characters react to it in “real time” on the dash.
“So there I was, minding everyone’s business in the privacy of my studio.. and BANG! I was a rebel on the run. Eleven days later, ‘n I’m still not sure how they caught up with little ol’ me, but here I am, lookin’ alive ‘n feelin’ ready to start the ECHO HOUR. ”
“Rumors have it a certain gang - those gold-fingered Crybabies we all know and love have had a shift in management.”
“Local car chases and car races have been takin’ place all. over. town. Gotta give ‘em the praise they deserve - those gang kids in their four-wheeled death carts are beasts behind the steering wheel!”
“But that’s not all, tumbleweeds. If you’re anything like me, you enjoy a good party - but crackdowns are getting more frequent, so stay safe, kids.
Party responsibly.
Keep your boots tight! Keep your gun close! ‘n don’t let ‘em ghost ya!”
“And now, FINALLY, the most exciting Echo of the day: the Underground Auction is on its way. Last touches are being added, neon lights ‘n illegal goods from all corners of our authoritarian state.
TUNE IN later for the FULL REPORT on the Underground Auction.”
“You’re here with me, your favorite radio host in all of Avalon – your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter - PINK SKULL! – ‘n boy, do I have some news for you.”
“Every four years, a certain auction travels around our tyrannical state– and this year, it’s coming here, right to the belly of the beast. But Pink Skull, you say, what kind of auction is this?”
“Why, it’s only the best kind! All vices and virtues are represented – if you’ve got the money, that is. Still, it’ll be plenty of fun even to those of us who don’t have any dough to spend on machine guns and tobacco crates. Interested?
TUNE IN later this week for more on the Underground Auction.”
