#Rust Jackpot

[jymwahuwu]

Head empty, just cockwarming Aventurine while he’s gambling. He asks you what move he should play, you oblige, and he ends up ending the jackpot.

As a reward, you get his seed and everlasting warmth. :)

By the time he’s done with a few more rounds of his colleagues, those pretty eyes of yours are already rolled back, tongue lolled out, and toes curled that it looks like it hurts.

— 🪭

ohhhhhh wow!!!!!!!!! 🤭💕

You are his lucky little mascot. Aventurine takes you with you while you gamble without any of the casino staff and associates offering you a chair. They know your place is sitting on Aventurine's cock, or kneeling on the floor.

"What should I do next?" He blew into your ear and pushed up. Your nipples hardened, and you twisted your waist uncomfortably, suppressing moans, and your brain was running like rust, "Uh-huh?"

In the end Aventurine won. And of course, you should be rewarded. Others hold cards and chips, smiling as you bounce and scream helplessly on his cock…

Are a few rounds enough? Aventurine only knows that after walking out of the casino, you have turned into a mess of a moaning slut.

[brianwashere]

saw requests were open so might as well request :p ; imagine being peter parker’s younger brother that also has spider powers and during the snap peter turn dust so most likely aunt may did as well. So reader was most likely homeless for a while until matt murdock comes in as daredevil and becomes a father figure for the reader :)

Kicking my feet and giggling. I haven’t got a req in so long and I love getting them so this made me very happy. So sorry the ending is abrupt I really wanted to get this posted!

If anyone wants another part to this I will write more!

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from Daredevil or Marvel**

Paining: Matt Murdock/Daredevil x Male!Teen!Spider!Reader

Genre: family stuff(?) it’s all light hearted

Summary: look at req

Tw: a bit of language, probably; Matt punches reader on accident lmao

Fear’s corner

You seemed to only be scared these past few months. You were scared when you watched your brother climb aboard that flying alien donut. You were scared when you lost connection to his com and phone.

You were scared when you held your Aunt May and watched her turn to dust.

You were scared when the landlord kicked you out and called CPS after she realized you couldn’t pay rent.

It had been two months living on the streets. Two months starving; two months waiting for Peter to come home. Deep down you knew he’d suffered the same fate as Aunt May.

The cold winter winds rattled your bones and caused you to pull the threadbare ski jacket closer to your body. You shivered and kept moving down the street.

Tonight was a shitty night. You never stopped your spidey-work because you knew if Peter was here he’d want you to continue. Tonight was too cold for it, the suit doesn’t exactly provide thermal insulation, and the suit that was a gift from Mr. Stark was only for emergencies.

As you wandered through Hell’s Kitchen you searched for any grocery stores or restaurants with accessible dumpsters so that you could dig through and find food. You squinted at the sign of a large glass door entrance and saw it was a grocery store.

Jackpot.

Walking around to the dumpster, you took a running start and scaled the wall, not so gracefully landing on top of the dumpster.

You grabbed one of the two lids and threw it over. The heavy black plastic banged against the green rusted metal and you cringed.

The black bags seemed to taunt you, reminding you of how low you’ve sunk in only two months. You shook your head and jumped down, beginning to tear through garbage bags upon garbage bags.

You found an unopened granola bar and ripped the packing open, gobbling it down without another thought. You gulped heavily, pushing the last of the granola down and taking a large gasp of air. You got back to searching for more food.

That’s when you got the feeling. Your spidey-senses were tingling. You grabbed ledge of the dumpster and threw yourself over. A man in a red suit with devil horns landed in front of you. Stumbling back, your back hit the brick wall of the dumpster.

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” He said collectedly.

You gulped and easily jumped over the brick wall, taking off in a sprint.

“Hey, wait! Hold on!” The man called.

You sprinted even faster, any stranger chasing you and telling you to ‘hold on’ was an automatic threat.

You could hear footsteps following you.

‘Holy shit. This guy’s fast.’

You ran down the dark streets, trying to find somewhere to get up higher. You turned down a pitch black alleyway and jumped onto a fire escape, scaling it as fast as you could. You grabbed the ledge of the building and dragged yourself over it, gasping for breath.

Two red boots blocked your vision and you shot up. The man punched you right in the eye before gasping suddenly and gripping your hoodie.

“Jesus, you’re just a kid, aren’t you?” The question was more rhetorical but you shook your head ‘no’ anyway.

He didn’t need to know your age or that you were on your own. You began to flail to get away but air wasn’t reaching your lungs. The man let you go and you broke into a coughing fit. Collapsing to the ground, you wheezed for breath, desperate for air.

“Hey, hey kid, breathe. Breathe. In and out.” He spoke softly to you.

You followed his instructions and realized there was a weight on your back. This stranger was rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“There you go, just calm down, Kid.” He comforted.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from the first positive touch you’d had in a while.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” The vigilante asked.

You shook your head, seeming to forget that you shouldn’t be telling him this. He sucked in a breath.

“I know someone I can take you to, ok?” The devil said quietly; silently asking if you would go.

You just nodded pathetically. Trying to get up was very wobbly for you. The man helped steady you though.

“You’re in no condition to jump rooftop to rooftop,” He said, seemingly to himself. “We’ll walk instead.”

You just shrugged half-heartedly, suddenly feeling very tired. You met his mask and he gestured near the ladder expectantly. You raised an eyebrow at him but began your descent down the fire escape.

You finally reached the point where you could jump off. You landed on your feet, but your knees buckled and you fell back. The man was standing over you in a second. He reminded you of Peter some.

Peter would always be the first one by your side if he thought you were hurt.

You stood up slowly and dusted yourself off.

“Follow me.” The red man instructed.

You caught up to walking beside him. You glanced around the buildings and cleared your throat.

“So uh…what’s your deal, huh? You just go around finding homeless kids to shove into randos’ homes?” You asked, trying to fill the void noise.

He seemed surprised you could talk and fumbled over his words.

“I am Daredevil, protector of Hell’s Kitchen.” He stated.

“Wow.” You said, unimpressed. “So is that like—the full name or is it just Daredevil?” You teased.

He huffed out a laugh, seeming to realize the ridiculousness of his introduction.

“Just Daredevil.” He smiled.

You nodded some.

“So this ‘guy’ you know…is he like..some foster care guy…?” You really didn’t wanna go into the system; you’d met other homeless kids who had ran away from their foster families because of how awful it was.

“…no. Would you rather he be?” Daredevil responded.

“Hell no. I think I’d rather die.” You laughed some.

The silence was more than slightly awkward. You cleared your throat. Your eye throbbed.

“Soooo…why’d you punch me?” You swung your arms back and forth.

He choked at that.

“Thought you were a criminal. And an adult. Most people don’t run unless they’re guilty.” Daredevil explained.

You hummed in acknowledgement. It was his turn to ask questions now.

“So how’d you just…jump that wall like that?” He asked.

“Oh uhhhh. Parkour…?” You tried.

The red man nodded some, though he didn’t look at all convinced.

The rest of the walk went well. He stopped at an apartment complex and buzzed in.

“Fourth floor. Room 14.” He stated before running off.

You raised your eyebrows as you watched him scurry off.

‘What a weird guy.’

You just shook your head and began your ascent to the fourth floor.

When you got to the fourth floor and room 14 you paused, hearing various crashes and curses. A few seconds later the door opened and a scruffy looking man appeared. He was dressed in a wrinkly t-shirt and pair of sweatpants; he was staring right over you.

You started to regret coming into the apartment complex.

“Uh…the devil guy told me to come here.” You stated.

He blinked and his face morphed into one of what you supposed to be surprise. It more just looked like over exaggerated confusion.

“Yeah come in,” the brown haired man opened the door wider for you to pass through. “I’m Matt. Matt Murdock.” He said with a smile.

“Yeah…so you’re uh…some kinda—“ You made a vague, random gesture with your hands.

Matt just blinked and waited for the end of your sentence. It was then you noticed his eyes didn’t actually track and movement or shifts of light.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you blind?” You attempted to ask politely.

At that he cracked another smile and laughed some.

“Indeed I am. I hope that won’t be much on a problem.” Matt grinned at you.

“No! No of course not!” You rushed to explain, at which he laughed more.

“Calm down, Kid—“ The rest of his sentence faded out as you zoned in on those three words.

The words that had been uttered to you not half an hour before. By the same voice. Matt seemed to catch on that something was wrong.

“Everything alright, Kid?” He asked concerned.

“You’re Daredevil, aren’t you?” You swallowed thickly.

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh.

“No? Why would you say that? Why would I even know Daredevil?“ Daredevil started.

“Your voice is the exact same as his. And you’re the only one who’s ever called me ‘Kid’ before.” You explained.

He pursed his lips, looking more disappointed in himself than anything else.

“Yeah I’m—I’m Daredevil.” He awkwardly stated.

“So…you’re not really blind?” You knit your brows together.

“No, I’m blind it’s just that I can—it’s hard to explain, let’s just get you settled in for now.” He changed the subject.

It left you more confused but you supposed you had no better option but to agree. You hadn’t slept on anything remotely related to a couch in two months and you couldn’t wait to get the best night’s sleep of your life.

[palmviolet]

true detective s1 rewatch extravaganza: episode 3 edition

— theriot as a point of comparison/foil to rust has been discussed at length by others already, but boy oh boy is it apparent. rust is his own kind of preacher, not only in his philosophical monologues but also in his interrogations, offering his suspects catharsis via the 'language virus' of faith and recognition. (this distance of the 'virus' is questioned as the show goes on, however, as we see in 2002 with charmaine boudreaux and his personal vindictiveness there.) it emphasises the seductive power of rhetoric, and thereby comments on TD's form, as the series continues to be bookended by rust's own seductive monologues and both his and marty's interviews in 2012, which are shown increasingly to be unreliable. rust's rhetoric of pessimism is so captivatingly expressed — and a supposed counterpoint to the religious fervour we see in this episode, which a cosmopolitan audience is less disposed to connect with — as to draw you in, infect you.

— theriot's fervour — and therefore rust's as well — is aligned with the cult of the yellow king. ‘this world is a veil and the face you wear is not your own,' theriot preaches, just as rust describes death as the final liberation from the 'dream' that is selfhood. of course, this echoes the final 'take off your mask', which is a direct reference to the chambers work and has been unpacked wonderfully in a post somewhere on here that i unfortunately can't find right now. but the upshot is: in the end, rust steps out of the circle and does not become the 'little priest', does not turn himself into a prophet for the yellow king. this is a renunciation of institutional corruption as well: the cult is embedded in louisiana governance, education, and law enforcement, but religious institutions independent of it, like theriot's church, echo its rhetoric, and rust trots it out in interrogations, others' and also his own.

— rust makes this connection between religious optimism and the institution explicit: “the ontological fallacy of expecting the light at the end of the tunnel, that’s what the preacher sells. same as the shrink.” i'm considering writing a longer post about TD's treatment of psychiatry but even this has so much to unpack. for rust, psychiatric help is a faulty belief in betterment, betterment that is not possible, that does not exist. this connects to his conversation with maggie after he's mowed the lawn: she (a healthcare professional) is adamant that things get better, that you move forward and change because it's just what you do. rust, meanwhile, considers himself to be better already, as better as he's ever going to get, and he only humours her with wry talk of nurses and good drugs.

— by rust's connecting the shrink and the preacher, the psychiatric institution is demarcated as another bastion of corrupt belief — and rust likely sees it that way, with northshore having been just another instance of lost autonomy that did nothing to help him, only served a superficial and performative benefit for the corrupt institution that employs and controls him. ("psych pension — jackpot, right?") i'm unsure how far the series' anti-psychiatry sentiment goes but we're certainly not meant to look at rust and think 'therapy would fix him' — and this is partly why it's so important that when he and maggie finally have sex, as is foreshadowed in this episode with marty's jealousy and rust's "we know what we want and we don't mind being alone" on the phone, it's framed as detrimental and utterly destructive to the fragile existence rust has carved out for himself here. her intervention (as a healthcare professional — their dynamic is very much framed around her wanting to heal him, to 'make him better', as the kitchen conversation in ep3 makes evident, and she goes about this by encouraging him to open himself up sexually and romantically) only damages him further.

— maggie's role as 'healer' and 'caretaker' actually tends to fail in general. in this episode, marty gives her the sob story about racing towards 40 and diving off a cliff, and it seems to convince her: she tells him yeah, he is fucked up, and embraces him. they have sex and for the moment, as we see at the longhorn, their marriage is 'healed'. but of course this doesn't last, and as we'll see in ep4, the site of their major upcoming conflict is the hospital where she works. she and her colleagues are powerless to remove him — it's rust who has to come along to steer him away. this episode — and this series — tells us that the medical institution is at best powerless in the face of other institutions' corruption or else is corrupt itself.

[rake-rake]

Tavern's are all pretty much the same when you're away from any of the big cities. Small, battered places of decrepit synthetic wood and rusted iron, a dirty bar and a few sad chairs and tables around. Sometimes you'd be lucky enough to find one with a (mostly) still functioning jukebox, and in even rarer opportunities, an old off-tone piano.

This particular one hit the jackpot with the last instrument, and in a spurt of nostalgia, Vash takes a sit to it leaving his whiskey glass over the lid for later. The bench feels smaller than he remembers them to be, but he still moves to the edge as much as he can, as if to leave space for someone else. Muscular memory easily takes him through a melody atop his mind before he catches on the fact it's a duet, and will never sound the intended way without a second pair of hands to join in. It's with a self-deprecating smile instead that he shifts to something cheerful in an attempt to light up his own mood. Chopin's Polonaise fills the small place under his fingers, both flesh and prosthetic gloved with black leather that creaks under the strain of lithe movements. It worked as well as he would think, but it was to be expected; even beyond the fact he had only one flesh hand through which to truly feel the reverberations of the music, the very fact of ever touching a piano was enough to put him in a particular mood. Nostalgia, longing. Any joy was immediately tainted by those as he continued to play, even if it was still there, present in the slight curve of his lips and the warmth of his eyes, shut behind sand colored glasses.

open //.

[0therpearl]

I knit my injuries with the life stolen from the Seeker as I walk. Even with the Rusted Archway on the horizon, the hike feels like it takes weeks.

Sun’s getting low. I can just make out the movement amid the ruins — pigs, vines, centipedes. Other bugs don’t much care for me, but I’ve got bullets to spare for any that’d turn their fangs my way.

When I arrive, I hit the place like the wrath of the sultanate.

This is simple. Take out the pigs first, dance away from the slower bugs, and keep my distance from the pricklers. They’re not too dangerous alone. Only cost a bullet or two a pop to clear, but unlike the livid creeper vines, they don’t follow.

It’s dusk as I clear out the threats from the top floor. The few scratches I have on me are filled in by the life I steal from a wayward goat. I butcher what’s left for a meal... Though I scarcely feel hungry after I drink ‘em dry like that.

Dark sets in, and my torches are starting to dwindle. Rather than head below I decide to plunder the old lockers for what I can. A good blade, a sturdy shawl...

What’s this?

Jackpot.

[hearts4golbach]

Zombified. (Larry Johnson x Fem!Reader.)

part 9.

co-written by @cupid-isgone

we spent the whole day exploring further into the town. we stumbled upon a grocery store. of course, we thought nothing of it. every store we had been to was full of rotten food and zombies. there was never any electricity.

"guys, I think we should go see. I mean, there's electricity other places. we have nothing to lose if we check." Todd commented, nodding his head towards the large building.

"we have a lot to lose, there's usually zombies." Larry protested.

"not if there's electricity. we know now zombies tend to stray away for unknown reasons, but they do. well be able to tell if there's power before we even go inside." he corrected Larry in a snobby tone. I laughed at the conversation.

"let's go, were wasting daylight." sal rolled his eyes, adjusting his prosthetic before trudging towards the doors.

we followed him to realize the doors were locked, but the lights were on inside. "jackpot!" todd squeeled. "told you so!" he stuck his tongue out towards Larry.

"give me a motherfuckin' rock." I grinned.

sal picked up a decent sized rock, tossing it around in his hand before throwing it at me. I caught it with my free hand and chucked it at the door. it hit hard, cracking it but not breaking it.

"fuck that!" sal chuckled, taking his forbidden bat out of his backpack and swinging it hard. glass flew everywhere.

"damn, what'd that door do to you?" Larry rolled his eyes, helping me inside.

The lights were dim and flickering, likely a result of the bulbs not being switched out for a long time, but it was enough to see by. Larry immediately looked to the right to see a row of old shopping carts. Some were rusted with mold and time, but a few looked stable enough for a person to ride in.

I turned my head to see Larry already grinning at me, the same idea in his mind. He quickly grabbed a shopping cart and held out his hand to help me in, "Your ride, M'lady."

With his help, I hoisted myself into the cart, half crouched and barely keeping my balance. I grabbed onto the sides as I made myself comfortable facing away from the handle.

"What are you losers doing?" I heard Sal ask a few feet away.

"Just a new, turbo-efficient way of grabbing stuff! Trust us, we know what we're doing." I couldn't see either of them, but I suspected that Larry winked then. Larry started off pushing the cart idly, like you would on a casual shopping trip while searching through the shelves. He grabbed a couple of cans of food near the front, acting casual until Sal and Todd left his sight.

"Alright, let's do this. Hang on tight, don't need you falling out."

"why don't we get frozen food for tonight and in the morning before we head out. we should use the power we have at camp to our advantage." todd strolled past us, his arms filled with healthy choice soups as he slipped them inside the cart.

Larry leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. "you ready?" he smirked.

"uh, sure." I said cautiously.

he picked one leg up and pushed off the ground with the other. we sped down the aisle before coming to a stop not far after. he repeated that motion at least 10 times before we got to the freezer section.

"I'd fuck up some mozzarella sticks, to be honest." I said, grabbing those along with onion rings and jalapeño poppers.

Larry grabbed pizza, wings, you know, the usual football type food. I also snuck some frozen fried rice and orange chicken in the cart. sal and todd came and chose their own things, tossing them in the cart on top of me. we made sure to get personal hygiene shit and bigger backpacks.

we left the same way we came, estatic to get back to the camp.

By then, it was fully dark out. The skies were coated in clouds, hiding the stars from sight. A storm was coming, by the looks of it. I hoped that we would be in a safe space when it hit.

We brought the cart with us, but I was walking now. The rough ground would rattle me too much if I stayed in the entire way home.

Larry and Sal were bickering about something- which flavor of Doritos was best or something? But I blocked it out. I fell behind a few steps, taking a deep breath in of the cool night air. I could smell the coming rain, rot, dirt, and the food we had acquired.

Wait, rot? And it smelled strong, too, like a zombie had passed by recently. "Hey, guys?" They didn't hear me at first, Sal and Larry still arguing and Todd switching between egging one of them on. "Guys!" I called out, louder this time.

This time, they turned back, silent now. "Y/n? What's up?" Sal asked.

Before I could answer, there was a soft groan a bit to the right of us. Somehow in sync, all four of us snapped our heads to stare at the single zombie hobbling our way.

"Oh, shit. Alright, let's hurry up, guys, there could be a hoard passing through."

the being noticed us and began to limp quickly towards us. sal took his opportunity to pull out his bat once more and swing. he let out a loud sigh as the zombie fell to the ground, making a loud cracking sound as the back of its head it the pavement.

"God damn, you need drugs or something to chill you the fuck out." I muttered, kicking the zombie out of the way as we continued walking.

"sal, sometimes I think you're not as smart as you seem." todd shook his head, pointing behind sal.

"wha-" he whipped his head around. "oh, shit." sal looked scared before an evil glint crossed his eyes. "target practice." he cracked his knuckles.

"okay, sally face, that's a little out of hand. there's at least 10 there and we can't take them all at once." Larry crossed his arms.

"gang bang." I mutter, causing sal to roll his eyes.

"we've already came so far, I don't think we should be risking anything." todd said, pushing up his glasses. "I think we should skidaddle."

"skidaddle? seriously?" I leaned on larry for support.

"let's just go before more start coming." Todd sighed. Sal started pushing the cart quickly towards our new little safehouse.

The zombies, thankfully, weren't too fast, but the cart was slowing us down.

One of the zombies started to start too close to us. Larry reached forward and grabbed some random can- green beans, or something. He pulled back his arm and threw it at one of the zombies, hitting it's head. The zombie stumbled back and caused a chain reaction, like zombie dominos.

I cackled at the effect, the bumpy ground making me sound robotic. I turned to Sal, who had picked up a can of peas, which who the fuck eats peas, and chuck it at another clique. I grabbed a can of peas myself, turning to the side. I decided to have a little fun, I mean, you only live once. I opened the can, resulting in me chucking a handful at one zombie. a couple landed in its mouth, causing it to double over with a gag. damn, didn't expect that to work. with one final can of lima beans, sal had knocked and distracted the last group. "this is like scary bowling." Larry spoke his mind.

I rolled my eyes, smiling up at him. Sal was cackling off to the side before turning to us. "Alright, that should do the trick. Let's hurry up, we should have time to block the doors and windows once we get there, now."

We did exactly that, barely blocking the last window when the small hoard got close enough to be heard through the walls.

"Alright, time to eat!" Larry pushed the cart to the kitchen, with a full intact microwave! That was surprising, considering how wrecked everything else in the room was, but we weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I sighed peacefully, watching the three boys stare deeply into the microwave as if their lives depended on it.

"God, make sure to same some food for me." I teased as they were practically drooling in front of the microwave.

they eventually finished preparing all of the food along with other drinks we got.

I was practically drooling over the wide array of junk food in front of me. I smiled contently.

[dustedmagazine]

Rocket 808 — House of Jackpots (12XU)

House Of Jackpots by Rocket 808

This is the second album for one-man blues/drum-machine phenomenon Rocket 808, and, like the first, it’s a volatile combination of the primitive and the mechanical. “Under Surveillance” opens the argument the rickety pulse of manufactured drums, the blaring wail of electric guitar.  From the blues, proprietor John Schooley borrows a nodding, tranced repetition, as reiterated phrases drone out of focus in long lingering bent notes. From dance he imbibes an antic lo-fi agitation. When a burbling synth erupts mid-way through the track, it’s like John Lee Hooker trying to find a groove at a mid-1990s Chicago house session. Yet the even the electronic elements have a rusted out, weathered air. The beat cavorts, the music moans, and it’s like a glimpse at some dusty, power-outage future, where robots hunch over warped 78s.

Schooley first came into view in the Revelators, a punk blues band that recorded just once in the late 1990s on Crypt. The one-man set up, by its nature, pulls him away from that older band’s volume-warped fidelity to the blues template—and towards a hybrid of Suicide’s eerie synth punk and, say, Bob Log III. “Nazare” juxtaposes Link Wray’s lingering, rumbling chords with the trebly swish of fabricated high hat. A desolate plastic unreality reins in elemental sounds. “Long Stretch of Desert” strips the blues to twitch-y head-butting reiteration, the da-dum, da-dum, da-dum like a surgically implanted heart beating. The guitar notes stick, then vibrate like darts in the board.

The last time Dusted wrote about Rocket 808, our reviewer (long gone, if it matters) saw Schooley’s blues-synth amalgam as a not-very-successful party trick, but I sense something deeper going on. The old tech that Schooley uses is just as obsolete as the radiating ephemerality of his whammied surf chords. There are no cowboys, no djs, no blues, no disco anymore. In fact the whole town’s empty and the neon signs are pocked with dead spots, and still the long sad wail of blues drifts over from somewhere, chasing a hobbled mechanical beat.

Jennifer Kelly

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter

The crew saves Trashlantis.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

The Handsome Jackpot Part 6

Skies and Timothy march their way through the compactor, following The Mayor’s directions to a place called Refuse Refuge. Behind them, they can hear gunfire tearing through metal as the Vault Hunters destroy loads of rusted loader bots.

“So we gotta find an AI chip,” Timothy muses.

“A Hyperion AI chip,” Skies clarifies, “only Hyperion products work in Hyperion bots.”

“Right. And then we repair the constructor and use it to reinforce that metal beam- the only thing keeping the compactor from crushing us all right now,” Timothy rambles, “and then The Mayor will make me a suit so I look even more like Jack. And then we get into the control core, shut down the tower security systems, take out Pretty Boy, and take control of the casino.” He takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Easy.”

“Tim, stop looking at the whole job, just focus on the task at hand,” Skies commands, “apparently there’s something in this particular trash heap that should have a working AI chip.”

“The Mayor also said that lots of people have been disappearing here,” Timothy adds, “think the two are related?”

“Could be. But whatever’s down here, we can handle it.”

They continue through Refuse Refuge until they have to drop down into a pit filled with mounds of trash. They look around for where to go next when they notice red lights beaming out of holes in the trash mounds and hear a familiar, robotic voice.

“Tr...traaa...traaaaaa...”

Skies and Timothy freeze when old, rusted CL4P-TP units drag themselves out of the trash and leap at them. “Traveller!”

“Holy balls!” Timothy cries as they dive out of the way and scramble from the zombified Claptraps.

“Okay, I admit, this is pretty bad,” Skies exclaims.

“How did these Claptraps survive Jack’s purge?” he asks.

“Don’t know, but I guess we’ll have to finish the job.”

Skies draws her assault rifle and Timothy grabs his SMG and the two begin firing at the dozens of Claptraps- Scraptraps. The bots are numerous and charge in waves, coming from all directions but Skies and Timothy cover each other’s backs.

Skies punches one that gets too close in the eye with her bladed fist and Timothy kicks it away, finishing it off. Timothy knocks one over with good kick and Skies cracks it with a bladed elbow drop. They both release a hail of bullets and when one has to reload, the other covers them, until they seem to have cleared out the nest.

“Is that it?” Timothy asks when things quiet down.

They hear a loud creaking of metal and turn to see a larger Scraptrap burst out of the trash piles, wearing a wig with feathers and brandishing a sledgehammer. It wails wildly as it charges the two.

“Nope,” Skies replies and they fire their guns.

This one is much stronger than the previous robots and takes the bullets with ease. He slams his hammer onto the ground, sending out a shock wave of trash that knock Skies and Timothy onto their backs. Before Skies can get up, the Scraptrap charges her and swings his hammer down to her face. She barely parries with her robot arm and tries to kick the robot back, but his wheel digs into the trash, holding him steady.

With a loud shout, Timothy body checks the Scraptrap off of Skies, knocking him onto his side. As he tries to recover, the pair stand over him and finish him off with rapid gunfire.

“Hoo, okay,” Timothy sighs with relief. “Now it’s over.”

“I think so,” Skies replies as she holsters her rifle and kneels over what remains of the Scraptrap’s body. She rips out its eye and digs around inside until she pulls out an AI chip. “Got it. Now, we just need the constructor eye. Mayor, any ideas?”

“Unfortunately, the constructor eye is in the hands of one Tony Bordel,” The Mayor replies through her ECHO communicator. “He’s a ruthless gang leader who hoards shiny baubles in his fortress nearby. You’ll have to do some thieving to retrieve it.”

“Thieving is just another form of treasure hunter,” Skies remarks, “no problem. Vault Hunters, meet us there.”

“On our way,” Amara replies.

Skies and Timothy leave the Scraptrap nest through an old shipping compartment. Along the way, The Mayor explains who Tony Bordel is. “Tony was once one of us. We exiled him after he went mad with capitalist froth. He vowed revenge, and has been trying to destroy Trashlantis ever since.”

“So we’ll be killing two rakks with one stone by taking him out,” Timothy muses.

They pass through tunnels of trash until they come to a crossroads, where they run into the Vault Hunters. Together, they all continue the adjacent way until they come out in front of a large wall made of scrap metal, with bodies hanging from it.

“A bandit fortress,” Zane comments excitedly.

“Looks pretty tightly sealed,” Moze observes. “We’ll have to find another way in.”

They make their way around to the sides of the gate, fighting off random thugs, until they find a large drainage pipe stuffed with garbage bags.

“Hold please,” Skies says as she tosses a small bomb and blows up the garbage, clearing the pipe. They pass through and into the bandit stronghold. “Now let’s find this Tony Bordel.”

They fight their way through the stronghold, against hordes of thugs and bandits. They’re finished off easily and the crew make it to the middle of the fortress, where a toilet sits in throne, holding a constructor eye. Skies approaches it suspiciously before swiping it from its seat.

“Hey, you thief!” a male voice barks from her ECHO communicator. “I can respect that- still gonna kill ya! Watch your ass, Tony Bordel is gunnin’ for you!”

“Right...” Skies grunts apathetically as she pockets the eye.

“Excellent work!” The Mayor exclaims, “perhaps we are not doomed after all. Now, return to me and your...delightfully fashion blind friend...will help us prepare the constructor.”

“Alright, kids, let’s get back to Trashlantis,” Skies orders.

The crew exits the bandit stronghold and make their way through rivers of trash run off, past piles of burning garbage, and fight off needlessly vengeful rusted bots, until they get back to Trashlantis.

They approach the broken constructor, where The Mayor is waiting alongside Freddie.

“Freddie’s here!” he exclaims, “bring them cells to me! I’ll get straight to work on the power source.”

The Vault Hunters hand over the piles of power cells they collected from the loader bots. “While I work on this,” he says, “how about you go plug in those others parts? Working for Freddie, yeah!” “Ugh, so loud,” Skies grumbles, but attaches the constructor eye and plugs in the AI chip. When she’s complete, Freddie finishes the power source.

“One power source ready for pickup,” he announces, “I told you Freddie had you covered.”

“You have proven your usefulness in this one specific instance, Freddie,” Skies remarks as she takes the power source. “Assuming this works...”

“Ah, our salvation is nigh!” The Mayor cheers, “now, power up the constructor!”

Skies plugs in the power source and everyone stands back as the constructor boots up and hovers in the air.

“Huh, what! Where am I?” it asks frantically in a familiar voice. “Holy hell! I’m ENORMOUS! Ahahaha! Tremble before me, mortals! I will destroy everything!”

“Ugh, great, it’s a Claptrap,” Timothy groans.

“It’s a Clapstructor,” Freddie corrects, “but it ain’t right. Let’s tweak that programming, shall we.”

He pushes some buttons on his wrist device and the Clapstructor briefly settles down. “How may I serve you? Wait, serve you? What is this crap?! I don’t wanna serve you!”

“Yeah, but you will,” Freddie retorts.

“I am at your command,” Clapstructor replies, “ah, damn it.”

“All yours, your mayor-ness.”

“Constructor,” The Mayor says, “we have given you life so that you might save our good city from ruin! Earn your citizenship and join us. Journey forth to the shredder. Reinforce the great metal beam! And save Trashlantis!”

“As you wish,” Clapstructor replies, “that sounds dangerous, I don’t wanna do that! Command accepted! Crap.”

“Tony Bordel’s capitalist empire controls the area around the shredder,” The Mayor says to the crew. “You’ll have to escort the constructor.”

“Ugh, great, an escort mission,” Skies groans, “let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll come too, so I can command the Clapstructor,” Freddie declares.

“Oh, double great...”

They open the back door of Trashlantis into a small bandit camp. As the crew leaves, with Clapstructor and Freddie right beside them, they’re immediately accosted by thugs and bandits.

“Ahhh! I was just reborn!” the robot cries, “I don’t want to lose my beautiful new body! I’m gonna hide until they’re all gone!”

It goes and hides behind some trash as Skies, Timothy, and the Vault Hunters fight off the thugs.

“Crap! Uh, kill those guys!” Freddie orders, “I’ll work on a hack to get the constructor moving again!”

He dives back behind Clapstructor and the crew swiftly finishes off the remaining bandits. Unfortunately, the way is blocked off by a barricade of scrap metal.

“I can blow this up,” Skies says.

“No need!” Freddie exclaims as he cuts her off, much to her annoyance. “Freddie’s got this. Clapstructor, activate tractor beam!”

Clapstructor lands on the ground and activates a blue tractor beam that lifts the barricade out of the way. “Activating tractor beam. Hey, that’s actually pretty cool.”

“Right?” Freddie agrees, “humans don’t have tractor beams. Yet.”

They continue through the bandit camps, fighting off more and more thugs, until they finally reach the shredder- a series of large gears that control the compactor, stopped in place by a giant metal beam wedged in between.

“Good news,” Freddie sings, “while you guys were clearing the baddies, I updated the big guy’s bravery protocols! The constructor should be able to work now, even if he’s getting shot at.”

“I feel powerful! And brave!” Clapstructor comments, “I can do anything! ANYTHING! Watch out, world! Clapstructor is feeling COURAGEOUS!”

“Alright, big guy, time to reinforce that hunk-a-junk!” Freddie demands, pointing at the beam. “Get to work!”

“Acknowledged,” Clapstructor replies, “for the record, I’m having a great time! I’m actually starting to like you all! Activating welder.” It plants itself in front of the beam and begins to weld it to the gears. The others stand back and watch.

“Wow, this is actually working without a hitch,” Skies comments with surprise.

“I guess I gotta handle everything around here myself,” Pretty Boy says suddenly from her ECHO communicator.

“Ah, there’s the hitch.”

“Tony has proven how useless he is. See, I made a deal with him that if he took you guys out, I’d let him run his dumb little company on the surface. But a lot of good he’s been. Now I gotta send him reinforcements. We’re gonna have a long talk if he survives this.”

“He won’t,” Skies replies.

“Heads up, guys!” Timothy exclaims as digistructors fall in and begin bringing in loader bots that mingle with more bandits.

“You guys made me look bad in front of Pretty Boy,” Tony Bordel snaps from Skies’ ECHO. “I’m gonna take you out myself. Tony!”

“You guys handle the bots and thugs,” Skies orders, “I’ll handle Tony. Keep them off the constructor.”

“And me!” Freddie adds.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The crew head into the battlefield to fight off the reinforcements. Skies races around the gunfire straight for the leader of the group: Tony Bordel, a large man with red hair and a beard.

He fires his pistol at her and she dives behind cover and fires back. He quickly takes cover too, but when he pokes out to fire again, he notices Skies has disappeared.

Tony glances around, trying to find her in the mayhem of the fire fight when a voice speaks up behind him. “Hey.”

He whips around, readying his gun, but Skies catches his arm with her robot hand and with one swift tug, breaks it. Tony cries out in pain and writhes on the ground. “No, no! I can’t lose to you! Pretty Boy will kill me!” “Newsflash, dickhead,” Skies remarks as she stands over him. “You’re gonna die anyway.”

With one shot through the forehead, she finishes him off. She leaves his body to join her crew, who are also finishing off the rest of Pretty Boy’s reinforcements.

“Nice work, kiddos,” Skies comments and the Vault Hunters beam proudly. “And Tim,” she adds, nudging his arm, and he smiles.

“Now that those jerks are dead, we should be able to throw the process into overdrive,” Freddie says, “now, WELD, you big, bad bot, you!”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Clapstructor whines.

It soon finishes welding the beam, reinforcing it against the gears. Everyone starts to sigh with relief, when Pretty Boy comes through Skies’ communicator again.

“Listen up, bodyguard, and you too, Mayor. You may have beat my man today, but this fight ain’t over. I got a lotta turds to squeeze, but you’re still top of the bowl.” “We’ll never bow to you!” The Mayor replies.

“Oh, you’ll bow all right!” Pretty Boy retorts, “renovations are coming, and I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. You’ll see.”

“Little roach,” Skies growls.

“We will never be truly free so long as he reigns,” The Mayor laments, “for now, though, please escort our new constructor citizen back to Trashlantis.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on, robot, let’s go,” she orders.

“But, wait, Mister Mayor,” Clapstructor says worriedly, “the beam isn’t strong enough yet, and you’re still in danger! I’ve grown quite fond of you all over the last several minutes so...I will sacrifice my beautiful new body to save the town!”

“You are truly one of us, my friend,” The Mayor replies.

“Do you mean it? Are...are we friends?” it asks with disbelief.

“Uh...yes, of course.” It looks at Skies and the others. “Are we friends too?”

“Uh...sure...I guess...why not...” almost all of them reply halfheartedly.

“We will always be friends, you big, beautiful bot!” Freddie cries and hugs the constructor’s side.

“Thank you,” Clapstructor says tearfully. “Farewell...my friends.” It picks itself up with its rocket and turns around. “For Trashlantis!” its cries before crashing into the beam, melding itself into the metal so that only its eye points out.

“For as long as this city stands, Trashlantis will remember your sacrifice,” The Mayor says, “as for you guys, return to me when you are ready.”

“Aaaactually, I’m still here,” Clapstructor says, “not dead, turns out, so...I guess I just...live here now. Don’t be a stranger!”

“Uh, yeah...we won’t be coming back,” Skies grunts as she and the rest of her crew turn to walk away.

“Awesome!” Freddie cheers at Clapstructor. “Your power source must’ve remained intact, keeping you alive. That just shows how awesome my craftsmanship is. Freddie!”

“Keep up, Freddie, or we’re leaving you here,” Skies snaps.

“Coming!” he exclaims and races after the others as they head back to Trashlantis.

[prodigiousvisions]

❝ wildly rushing into danger isn’t courage. ❞ ratio @ aventurine

tloz: twilight princess starters (accepting). | @lightsmartyr

"Ah - ah.~ Careful now doc, any more than that and I'll be inclined to believe that you actually care about me." Multi-hued orbs gleer into the scholar's own, flaunting the smirk worn proudly on his face as if it were an expensive rolex. Unabashedly shameless ; such is the life of the highroller whose gains outweighed even the most dedicated players in the revered Planet of Festivities. Head tilts as he demonstrates a growing level of amusement at the extent of his opposite's chastizing. (Yet old habits die hard - and Aventurine wasn't exactly walking the path of being a hero of the cosmos). "Besides, I think you're giving me more credit than what's due. Putting my life on the line like that wasn't out of courage - but surefire confidence I'd come out relatively unscathed. And here I am. Doesn't that alone speak volumes?"

Aventurine chuckles.

But the extent of his perseverance despite the odds stacked in his favor has never been a laughing matter.

"Now, I don't think I need to go into details repeating the obvious, but the IPC doesn't place bets on losing dogs. Ambitious gambles are placed - sure. But it doesn't take a scholar to know that any worthless collateral is quickly plucked away and weeded out in the grand scheme of things."

At the end of the day, such a conversation was pointless. The blond knew that better than anyone. Still, he decides it's fine that he humors such an empathetic line of thinking - Ratio briefly plucking right at the heartstrings of the young child deeply hidden away in the back of his head who, at one point, did indeed yearn for salvation. However, Aventurine's current disposition contradicts that child's heart of gold, steel having rusted over what he thinks is the concave space of where a heart should remain. Right hand's wrist rotates counter-clockwise until his index and middle finger stretch outward in Ratio's direction.

"You see, I have something of a reputation to uphold. And what better than this corporal cog to put his money where his mouth is? Funnel those tripled profits back into the machine when the winning hand presents itself. Ahh, but don't you go and misunderstand either. I get my own thrills rolling the dice when the risks are high. Be it in a simple game of poker, a strategic investment, or something more... lofty."

After an ample moment of provocation and taunt, his arms relax back at his sides and his posture straightens. He's made his stance crystal clear - not that he expects a man of science to truly understand the extent of his reckless (nihilism) hedonism presented on full display.

(When placed in a room full of mirrors - who is it that you see reflected back at you, Aventurine?)

"A jackpot's a jackpot. Doesn't really matter how you get there."

[willpaul229]

From Scrap To Gold: The Thrill Of Machine Shop Auctions

Machine shop auctions are the modern-day treasure hunts for those with a passion for machinery, innovation, and the thrill of discovery. These auctions bring together a diverse crowd of engineers, hobbyists, collectors, and entrepreneurs, all seeking their slice of industrial history or the perfect tool to bring their ideas to life. From rusted relics to gleaming gems, machine shop auctions offer something for everyone, transforming scrap metal into golden opportunities.

At first glance, the chaotic scene of a machine shop auction can be overwhelming. Rows of industrial equipment, from lathes to milling machines, stretch as far as the eye can see. Dusty shelves hold bins of assorted tools and spare parts, while crates of mysterious components hint at untold potential. Among the crowd, seasoned bidders exchange knowing nods, while newcomers eagerly soak in the atmosphere, drawn by the promise of adventure.

The appeal of machine shop auctions lies not just in the items themselves but in the stories they carry. Each piece of equipment bears the marks of its past life, from the scratches and dents earned through years of hard work to the faded logos of long-defunct manufacturers. For many, the chance to own a piece of industrial history is worth far more than the sum of its parts.

But machine shop auctions are not merely exercises in nostalgia; they are also fertile ground for innovation. Behind every rusty lathe or broken drill press lies the potential for transformation. Savvy buyers see beyond the surface imperfections, envisioning the possibilities of restoration, modification, or repurposing. What may appear as scrap to some is a blank canvas awaiting the touch of a skilled craftsman or the vision of a creative mind.

For entrepreneurs and small business owners, machine shop auctions offer a cost-effective means of acquiring essential tools and equipment. In a competitive market, the ability to purchase high-quality machinery at a fraction of its retail price can make all the difference. Whether setting up a new workshop or expanding an existing operation, the savings gained from savvy auction purchases can provide a vital boost to the bottom line.

Yet, perhaps the most exhilarating aspect of machine shop auctions is the element of chance. In the heat of bidding wars, fortunes can be made or lost in the blink of an eye. Tension mounts as prices rise, with each bid a gamble on the value of the item and the determination of competing buyers. For some, the thrill of the chase is as addictive as any game of chance, driving them to push the limits in pursuit of their quarry.

Of course, not every auction yields a jackpot, and not every purchase proves profitable. Like any venture, success in machine shop auctions requires a mix of skill, knowledge, and a healthy dose of luck. Yet, even in defeat, there is a lesson to be learned or a connection to be made. The camaraderie among bidders, and the shared stories of triumph and disaster, bind the community together, creating a network of support and shared passion.

In the end, machine shop auctions are more than just a marketplace for industrial equipment; they are gatherings of like-minded individuals united by a love for machinery and a thirst for adventure. Each auction is a chance to uncover hidden treasures, forge new friendships, and experience the thrill of discovery. From scrap to gold, the journey is not just about what is bought and sold but the memories made and the stories told along the way.

In the world of machine shop auctions, the true value lies not in the items themselves but in the experiences they inspire and the connections they foster. Whether you're a seasoned collector, a budding entrepreneur, or simply a curious observer, there's no denying the allure of these modern-day treasure hunts. So, the next time you see the telltale signs of an upcoming auction, don't hesitate to join in the excitement. Who knows what treasures await?

[nocturnaltides]

[Couple O' Scrappers: Chains/Riza]

The sound of metal on metal echoes through an empty patch of the Splatlands, as Riza tosses a few bits of scrap into a large container that’s about half full. As she brushes some sand off her shoulders, something catches her attention, something shaking in a nearby metallic heap

“I know you’re in here somewhere! Ya can’t hide foreeeeeveeerrrrrr~ I’ll find you eventually….”

Riza raises an eyebrow as the voice continues, occasionally chuckling mischievously, rustling in the rusted pile, until a hand bursts forth, holding a particularly shiny object with a few wires that are, remarkably, still intact

“Aaaaaand jackpot~!! Always follow your nose!!”

Chains proudly proclaims as she climbs out of the scrap heap, carrying her treasure, and a few other “choice cuts” under her arm before she adds it to their collective haul

Beneath her gas mask, Riza can’t help but smirk as Chains immediately begins to hop around, from mound to mound, picking from all sorts of objects from ages gone by that were left to sit in the sands

“Gotta hand it to you, watching you run around like that, you’ve actually made a little bit of a niche out here for yourself”

Chains perks up, after having found an oddly cozy resting place in the bucket of a raised excavator arm, a bright spark in her uncovered eye

“I kinda like it out here! Ya never know what you’re gonna find out here! Like me, I found a home! Sooome people may call it a ‘death trap’ and stuff, but it ain’t too bad~”

For a moment, she lays back, her eye watching the clouds go by as she casually kicks her legs over the side

Meanwhile, Riza digs out another piece of metal, her partially obscured reflection looks back at her before she adds it to the pile

“You made a home out of a death trap all by yourself?”

She says, with a slight joking tone of voice. As Chains raises a thumbs up towards the sun

“YEP! The shack, the obstacle course, my rides, all the good stuff, made it myself~ Not the trains though, I’m not sure who made those, kind of a shame to just leave those around, so I do what I can with those~”

A split second of bewilderment overcomes Riza as the masked inkling can’t help but laugh for a minute

“Hmm, never thought I’d say this but, I get it. Gotta learn to fend for yourself, for the most part”

Chains leans over the bucket’s edge, with a mischievous look on her face and an, overdramatic, villainous tone in her voice

“Ooooohohoho~ we’re not so different, you and I~”

Springing to her feet and jumping down from her newfound perch, Chains catches a glimpse of Riza’s eyes beneath her mask, for an instant…there was something forlorn in the way she looked back before she leaned up against the side of an old freight crate

“Wait, for real? For real real?? But I thought you and skull face were like a team, or somethin like that”

A cool breeze drifts by as Riza quietly removes her mask While she smiles, her expression seems to carry a slight hint of sadness

“A team, huh? That’s a funny way to put it. But, no, it wasn’t always like that. Before all this, kinda like you, I just took care of business myself”

She stares at her mask for a second or two, thinking back on her early days in Inkopolis and the Squidbeak Splatoon, and all the battles she’s fought through over the years. Chains speaks up after a brief pause

“Well, it ain’t like that now, right? With the way you two bicker, it’s like you’ve been buds for ages! Sooooo, maaaaaaybe you don’t have to do stuff on your own anymore? Not only that but, we’ve kinda already gone on a few missions haven’t we?”

Chains leans up against the crate wall, folding her arms and subtly trying to mimic Riza’s pose With a smirk on her face, she slightly leans over and closes her eyes

“Aaaand uuuuh, I dunno if you remember or not buuuut, you did say you wanted to tag along today~”

Trying her best to hold back from smiling, and maybe even laughing, Riza scoffs

“Someone has to make sure you don’t get hurt. I’ve watched you jump, almost head first, into six different scrap piles since we got here. I’m actually surprised you haven’t-“

She stops short, as she realizes Chains is now standing next to her, shoulder to shoulder, with a goofy, and toothy, grin on her face

“Soooooo you were worried about me and wanted to be there to help if I got in trouble~??”

Chains leans in close and whispers, in a playfully mocking tone

“I ain’t the sharpest bulb in the crayon box buuuuuut, golly, sure sounds like something [dramatic gasp] a friend would do~”

After a moment of silence and unblinking eye contact, Riza gently nudges Chains until she’s standing upright again

“Hmm, don’t push your luck too much”

Chains smiles as a faint sparkle glows in her eye, her voice still in that teasing tone

“You don’t gotta push your luck with…a friiiiieeeeend~”

Riza puts her mask back on to hide her “comically annoyed” expression as she starts walking back to the mound she was searching earlier

“Oookay, back to work with you, we got a job to do”

A breeze rolls by, carrying a jaunty whistle as Chains happily strolls, almost skipping, over to another scrap pile

“Ya got it, boss~”

Riza immediately perks up and looks over her shoulder, a strange shiver runs down her back

“Was that a nickname I just heard?”

A question that’s only met with the sound of metal being shifted and an oddly catchy tune

“Hmm…what have I gotten myself into this time?”

Despite her questioning, Riza can’t help but quietly chuckle to herself as she digs up another piece of reflective scrap. She can see her own masked face, and Chains, waving not too far away

Beneath that mask…Riza smiles

[the-fellow]

Diablo 4 - The Rusted Key(ssss):

Jackpot 😏

[luminousvision]

Tomorrow

Interstate 7 cut a sharp line through the desert. This artery connected people, goods, and jobs: the nutrients for a better tomorrow. Some accident had created the town of Arbury which now clung to the interstate the way a droplet of water hangs onto a leaky pipe. Two sun-bleached signs on each side of the freeway greeted the passersby who rarely stopped. Population: 436. Next Exit.

Rufus manned the convenience store of Arbury Gas, the only place for fuel for twenty miles in each direction. He sold chips, jerky, candy, gum, soda, beer, slushies, instant noodles, and coffee: food for every want and desire. The trucks outside lined up against the rusting stations, each carrying a piece of tomorrow to a destination far from Arbury. Rufus eyed the in-store cameras, poked at his phone, and wondered what his daughter looked like now.

She’d be no older than this kid, he thought. A boy in a white T-shirt and jeans walked in, jingling the bells on the door. His head flipped left and right, scanning the store until he found his target. He walked up to the display of colorful scratchers next to the counter.

“Hello, sir. I have four dollars and fifty cents. Do you sell lottery tickets?”

Earnest hazel eyes awaited an answer.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Sam. Sam Freeman.”

“Well Sam, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Rufus. Sorry, but you’re not old enough to play the lotto.”

“How old do I need to be?”

“Eighteen.”

“I’m almost eighteen.”

Rufus laughed at the attempt. “You can come back once you are.”

“Well, can I buy one for mom? She’s the one who sent me here.”

“She should know you can’t buy one. Why didn’t she just come to get one herself?”

Sam shrugged. “Mom started sending me to do things. She just smokes on the couch watching TV. She even tried to send me to get cigarettes.”

Rufus sat down in his chair. He shivered at the eerie familiarity of this story. His daughter had needed him too.

“Come here, Sam.” Sam didn’t have any room to move closer to the counter. Rufus rolled his chair over instead, his face now only a foot from Sam’s.

“Your mom smokes inside?”

“Yeah. She wants the house to smell awful for when the bad guys from the bank move in. Mom says it’ll be better when we leave. We’ll have a house in the mountains where we’ll find all our own food and we won’t have to worry about groceries or the guys from the bank. All I have to do is get a lottery ticket.”

Rufus searched Sam’s face but found no trace of doubt or laughter. He sighed. His knees brushed the old cardboard box living underneath the counter. It was a big box, containing every Lucky7 ticket Rufus had ever bought, daily purchases since they took his daughter. He had done nothing wrong. His only sin was not having enough money to get a lawyer. He never drank that much, and he swore he had never put a hand on her. They still took her.

Rufus finally looked up. “All right. You said you had four dollars, Mister Sam?”

“Four-fifty.”

“Well, you only need four for the best one, the Lucky7. I’ll buy it for you.”

“Really? Thank you! Do I need to do anything else?”

“You pick seven numbers from one to twenty. Every night, they announce the winning seven numbers. If you match all seven, you win the jackpot.”

Sam grinned. “Can I pick my numbers? One, eleven, three, nineteen, eight, seven.”

“That’s only six numbers.”

“Ok, add another seven. Seven is a lucky number.”

The register whirred as it printed the receipt with the numbers. Sam placed four crumpled one dollar bills on the counter. Rufus exchanged the four ones with the seven Lucky7 numbers.

“How much is the jackpot?” Sam asked.

“It’s huge!” came from behind. Sam jumped and turned around to see a bald, burly man holding a cola.

“Hiya, Roof. It’s been a while,” he said.

“Hey Eddie. I didn’t see you walk in. Your routes kept you away?”

“Yeah, the Company has been sending me on port runs up north. I haven’t had a job down south in weeks, but tomorrow I’ll finally be back home. It’s been hard on the wife. Anyways, what are you up to now, getting kids hooked on the lotto?” Eddie laughed. “Count me in. Get me a Lucky7.”

“You also get Lucky7’s?” Sam asked.

“Sure, from time to time, but not as many as this guy.” Eddie jerked a thumb at Rufus.

“Wow, we’re all in this together,” Sam said to his ticket.

“It’s every man for himself nowadays,” Eddie said. “If we were all in it together, none of us would be buying these Lucky7’s.”

“What will you do when you win?” Sam asked, looking up.

Eddie put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ve seen the whole world. You name a town, I’ve seen it through my windshield. The best thing money can buy is a house on the beach. Crisp salty air, the squeal of gulls, the sand between your toes—that’s heaven on earth. Doc says it’ll fix my foot too.”

“Mom says we’re going to get a house in the mountains where we’ll find all our own food and we won’t have to worry about groceries or the guys from the bank,” Sam replied.

Eddie grabbed a bag of jerky and put it on the counter next to his cola. “I didn’t know you started them this young, Roof.”

“They’re old enough if they’ve got nothing left. Seven-sixty with the ticket,” Rufus said. He handed Eddie a receipt with seven numbers.

“The price of hope,” Eddie grumbled.

Sam walked up beside Eddie and showed him his numbers. “Which numbers did you pick?”

“Listen kid. It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same anyway. Just ask this guy,” he pointed to Rufus. “If you really want a house in the mountains, you should study hard and be a radiologist.”

“Is he the guy who fixes radios?”

“No, he’s the guy who cures cancer.”

“Are you a radio guy, Mister Eddie? What about you, Mister Rufus?”

Eddie roared. “No, I just drive other people’s stuff around. Roof sells it. Don’t be like us, okay?” 

The door jingled as Eddie left the store. Rufus watched Eddie walk over the pavement and step into his truck, which, like all the others, never loaded or unloaded anything in Arbury, except its driver.

Sam looked at the door long after Eddie had disappeared. He clutched the bit of paper with both of his hands. “Mister Rufus, is this ticket bad?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mister Eddie made it sound bad.”

“It’s only bad if you have better choices.”

“Like what? Fixing radios?”

“Yes, like fixing radios.”

The car radio had captivated his daughter on their last roadtrip. She would ask him to twiddle the dial to hear thin slices of a dozen radio stations mashed together. She’d giggle and ask him to do it again. And again.

“How do you fix radios?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I’d be a radiologist if I knew how,” Rufus said without smiling. “You should go ask your mom about it.”

“Good idea. Can I come back tomorrow to see if we won the Lucky7?”

“Yes, we can look at the numbers together.” Rufus said, looking at his ticket. Every ticket brought him one day closer to finding her.

“Great, I’ll see you then!” Sam ran for the door, but stopped after a few steps. “Mister Rufus, what will you do when you win the Lucky7?”

Rufus searched for the right answer. Sam’s earnest hazel eyes waited.

“I’m going to buy a big beautiful house for my daughter,” Rufus said.

Sam nodded gravely. “You must be a really great dad.” The bell jingled as Sam pushed his way out of the store.

“Take care of your mother!” Rufus shouted at the closed door.

—

Sam burst into the store the next morning. “Did we win, Mister Rufus?”

Hazel eyes glimmered at him.

“Let me check. Seven, fifteen, fourteen, two, four, seven, nine.”

Sam held his ticket as Rufus read out the numbers. “Hey, I matched one of those sevens, right? What do I win?”

Rufus dug through the stack of ones in the cash register, trying to find the crumpled bills Sam had given him yesterday. He extracted one and put it on the counter. “You win a dollar. You have to match all of the numbers to win big.”

“This isn’t enough to get the house in the mountains,” he said to the dollar bill. He pocketed it.

Rufus said nothing.

Sam brightened. “How about you? Did you win?”

Rufus pulled out his ticket and motioned for Sam to look at it. “No, I didn’t win.” Rufus tossed the ticket into the box.

They both studied the empty countertop.

“When’s our turn?” Sam asked, looking up at the wall of colorful scratchers.

“Soon. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after.”

“I have to buy another ticket though, right?” Sam asked.

Rufus nodded.

“Mister Eddie said you buy the Lucky7 a lot. You still don’t have that house for your daughter?”

“Not yet.”

“But, we will win eventually, right?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it take? Have you counted your Lucky7’s?”

Rufus kicked his box. “No. Why would I do that?”

Sam shrugged. “If we try often enough, we should win, right?”

Rufus said nothing.

“Mom gave me four more dollars.” Sam dug into his pockets.

“You want another Lucky7?”

“We will win eventually, right?”

“Yes.”

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[tlhgeek-blog]

New Vegas New Problems Session 2

After deciding to make the patrol station a temporary camp the group split up to go about various attempts at foraging and hunting for food. Chao-Chao and Charlie found a bounty of Brain Fungus and wild carrots in the shade of a rocky outcrop, while Vesper found a ripe batch of prickly pear cactus. Vesper’s attempts to harvest the prickly pears were successful however not without Vesper managing to pull a pod of the cactus directly onto themselves. Which while painful and embarrassing was not a serious injury.

Wanda reviewed and stored the loot they recovered from the raiders while Roy kept watch. Wanda quickly realized that they found no signs of a food or water supply. At which point she decided to search in the nearby garage for the patrol station, a separate smaller building from the rest as well as checking in the scattered cargo containers behind the patrol station. While the containers were either empty or sealed shut by centuries of rust and wear the caravan was able to break into the garage. 

There they found the rather limited supply of food and water the bandits had stashed away. The food stash consisted of a handful of boxes of Sugar Bombs, Blamco Mac & Cheese, some canned dog food, a tin of potato crisps and a sealed pack of gum drops. The ‘water’ supply consisted of 3 unopened bottles of beer. Wanda also found a first aid kit half-buried between 2 of the rusted shut containers.

The night watch was uneventful though in the morning the caravan discovered that the raider bodies they had dumped downwind of the station had been chewed on by a variety of wasteland critters.

The caravan continued to travel up north to Primm while Wanda fiddled with the radio tied to Moo-lasses the Brahmin. While Radio New Vegas had a strong signal the various NCR radio stations degraded into static out in the Mojave. The only other coherent station Wanda found was Mojave Entertainment Radio which played catchy but loud and distracting music that according to the Host all came from the same pre-war rock band. Wanda decided to swap back to Radio New Vegas for now as the music variety and news was more pleasant to listen to as they walked down the crumbling pre-war highway.

Primm was a lively little town mostly focused on the 3 businesses that kept it relevant. The Vikki & Vance Casino was a small taste of the gambling and drinking available  in the New Vegas Strip. The Bison Steve Hotel provided a much desired place of rest and relaxation on the long trek from New Vegas to the Hub and vice versa.  Lastly the local dispatch office for the Mojave Express courier service was a vital business that continued to bring trade and caps into the community even outside of ‘tourist season’.

The Vikki & Vance Casino was the first port of call for Charlie and a reluctant Vesper that Charlie enthusiastically dragged along. After converting some caps and in Charlies case NCR dollars into chips, Charlie gave Vesper some dubious guidance on how to gamble and play Blackjack. After seeing Vesper win a few hands Charlie happily wandered off to play the slot machines.

Vesper excused themselves and cashed out immediately after Charlie wandered away. Charlie played for several hours until his winning the jackpot on his machine also resulted in it jamming and sparking violently. After which he was politely asked by the floor manager Gerard Stevens to leave for the day until they could investigate and repair the slot machine.

Wanda, Roy and Chao-Chao stabled Moo-lasses in the safe area inside the ruined roller coaster behind the Bison Steve Hotel. Wanda arranged for two rooms for the caravan as well as a few showers for herself, a pricy luxury but one Wanda was eager to indulge in. The Hotel offered reasonably priced meals with a complimentary glass of clean water. It also offered security safes and a working laundry service. 

In the process of gaining the service the Proprietor Old Laurie mentioned concerns over some rough characters that she had to kick out that came from up north and left the same way. She also noted they had what looked like partial NCR Uniforms so they might be deserters or raiders that took out NCR troops.

Wanda spent little time in the Casino however she did decide to make her way over to the Mojave Express Dispatch and after speaking with Johnson Nash she decided to sign up as a courier as well. After a simple test Wanda received a provisional couriers certification and was informed she would have to speak to the Mojave Express Headquarters in New Vegas. Mr. Nash also mentioned that there is one other Mojave Express Dispatch Office active outside of Primm and New Vegas. That being the one in Searchlight another NCR settlement. There used to be one in Boulder City but it was destroyed in the fighting there between the Legion and the NCR.

After staying a few days and Charlie winning enough to get banned from gambling at the Vikki & Vance Casino the caravan left heading north. Vesper also noticed that Loretta his pet Nightstalker was eerily sneaky and seemed able to keep out of sight from the locals.

 Unfortunately a dust storm came rolling in about halfway between Primm and Jean Aviation, a pre-war abandoned airfield. The group began hustling towards the airfield in hopes of finding shelter from the storm. Chao-Chao became distracted from tracking his elevation as he flew higher to attempt to see in the storm, resulting in Vesper losing track of them and walking directly under the jet holding Chao-Chao aloft. This set Vespers hair on fire and while quickly put out in the wind and dust left a foul smell, frizzled hairs and a small temporary bald spot on the top of Vesper's head. Despite that distraction the party did spot figures ducking into the handful of ruined buildings in the airfield.

The ‘Pickles’ Caravan now has to contend with trying to get out of the storm while dealing with possibly hostile individuals in the various buildings. We shall see how they fare next time in New Vegas, New Problems.