#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.

[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.”

[skinksluck]

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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. 

[dennistanner]

“That’s the most interesting thing you’ve heard me say? Really? In the almost hour I’ve known you, I haven’t been a plethora of mystery and intrigue? Gotta up my game.” Dennis said, shaking his head as his expression turned to something that mocked shame and disappointment. In actuality, he was beaming with pride. She wouldn’t have followed him this far is she thought him any kind of a threat to her, nor would she have if she wasn’t interested in what he had to offer, even a little bit. It was an odd thing to have pride over, But Dennis liked that he wasn’t scary or intimidating to women. Unlike most men, he didn’t crave power or strength and didn’t feel like being a danger to others made him feel good. If anything, it was in the reverse. He didn’t mind being submissive to a woman, and often felt like it put him in a much better place in terms of his odds.

Grinning at her, he tutted, intending on jokingly mocking her and sounding offended at the same time. “ I don’t need a big, strong woman to pick my locks for me, thank you very much. Besides, I’m so charming I can just sweet talk the doors open like I do with women’s legs.” He smugly winked. Walking to the doors, Dennis checked the padlock near the bottom and snorted. It was old and rusted over, like whoever had put it there just tried to have it as a deterrent and not an actual security measure. He shook his head at it a bit before wandering over to some bushes. They were overgrown and dried up, but that only made them the perfect place to hide the bolt cutters Dennis grabbed. 

“Nah, when I wanna impress girls I just take off my pants.” He said as he walked back. Stooping, he cut the rusted over lock with ease and discarded it. “ The TVs and really expensive stuff are gone, but they didn’t seem to bother with the food. I think someone bought the better hooch, but the lower grade stuff are still around.” He offered as he lifted the door slightly. “After you. Ladies first and all that chivalry bullshit.” He chuckled. He ducked down after her and went inside, the room a vast space of shelves  half stocked with boxes. “Jackpot.” Dennis grinned. “ Gotta love a crooked business owner, right?” He laughed. “ Bet you wish you bought a truck with you now, huh?” He smirked. 

“Because it’s not.” Dylan interjected between his words, more of his terrible judgement to follow. Something about the topic of conversation was bringing a smile to her face, as if the possibility of inflicting pain on him was almost an ask. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Now she teased, although the idea wasn’t lost on her. She pictured the way his face would go red, veins protruding on each side of his head, the shit eating grin he’d wear if she did. It became more appealing as she pondered on it, but gave into patience for curiosity at their findings.

The further in they went, the more he spoke. It wasn’t so much to fill up the space of their silence, because he didn’t seem so nervous especially not now. He talked about it like a special interest, like he might be glad to share it with someone else for a change. It might have been endearing to someone else, but to her it only made him seem more like fresh and willing bait. He led her towards the back with loading docks, presumably where all the shipments were accepted. It wasn’t much for a sight of interest but what followed did.

Criminal activity wasn’t something she specifically involved herself in, even if she was digging through dumpsters. It often found her and she had never been one to deny it. Self serving and lacking the empathy for others, she would never turn away a good and ample chance to screw over a corporation, especially if she wouldn’t get caught doing it. In fact the idea thrilled her, and if she had the parts for it would’ve made her semi-hard, too. “That’s about the most interesting thing I’ve heard you say all night. You know how to pick a lock or you need me to teach you?” By now the smile lingered on her face, focused on just how giddy her joy would make him. “You break into stores a lot or just to impress girls?”

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter

Skies and the crew make their way to Trashlantis.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

The Handsome Jackpot Part 5

Skies, Timothy, Ember, and the Vault Hunters make their way through the Market District. They’re forced to fight through gangsters and bots who seem even more relentless than before.

“They must be really hard-up for that bounty on your head, Timothy,” Moze says.

“Been there,” Zane comments.

“Too bad they all SUCK,” Amara taunts as she smashes a bandit into the floor.

“Pretty Boy needs better muscle,” FL4K remarks.

“Don’t give him ideas,” Skies grunts.

As they move through the market, they collect bags of trash scattered about the bandit hovels. Once they’ve all got a good armful, they take it to the square by the trash chute and pile it up around a tree.

“There we are,” Ember says excitedly, “now, let’s transform this trash pile into something beautiful!”

She plants a seemingly normal cardboard box in the branches of the tree, and everyone backs away warily.

“Skies, would you like to do the honours?” Ember suggests.

“Me? Really?” Skies questions, flattered. “Why, I would be honoured to...do the...honours.”

Skies shoots her pistol at the box and it immediately explodes, engulfing the tree and trash in flames and sending fire shooting around the square.

“Hnh. Still could have used more fire,” Ember comments.

“But it definitely got their attention,” Skies remarks as an alarm starts going off.

“Emergency trash services required.” An angry robot with a broom and a bucket on its head digistructs into the room. “Who is responsible for this mess?”

“Uh, that’d be us,” Timothy replies.

“Unacceptable! You will pay for your crimes against cleanliness!” the bot barks and charges them.

The crew gets ready to fight when fiery bullets fly past them and burn through the bot’s metal. It immediately collapses into a heap.

“Wow, nice shooting,” Skies comments at Ember.

“Merci,” she replies, “now quickly, grab the keys.”

Skies digs through the bots remains until she finds a key ring and everyone quickly heads to the trash chute. Skies scans one of the keys at the door’s control panel and it opens.

“Excellent! The trash chute is open,” Ember comments.

“Will you be alright, getting back to the hideout on your own?” Skies asks.

“You need not worry about me, chéri,” she replies and does a theatrical bow. “Bon voyage.”

Everyone gives Ember a quick wave before going into the trash chute. The door shuts behind them, plunging them into darkness with a dim light at the end of the tunnel. They approach it and look down a sharp drop to a pile of garbage.

“Well, only one way forward,” Skies shrugs and dives off. Everyone else quickly follows.

“Ugh, gross,” Timothy groans as he pulls himself out of a soft, mushy pile of trash. “I’m gonna have to throw these clothes out later.”

Everyone steps out onto ground made of hard, flattened trash. Surrounding them is piles and mounds of even more trash and overhead are large pipes dropping in even more trash.

“This must be the compactor,” Skies says, “all of the casino’s garbage gets dumped down here to get compacted and incinerated. Or at least, that’s supposed to happen. But there’s a lot of garbage down here that clearly has not been compacted and/or incinerated.”

“A trash compactor seems like a bad place to build a society,” FL4K comments.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “the compactor must not be working or something.”

“So we’re not in danger of being crushed right now?” Timothy questions.

The ground suddenly shakes, making everyone tense up.

“Let’s just uh find Trashlantis as fast as possible,” Skies orders and they all agree.

They make their way around the mountains of trash. All is mostly quiet, except for rusted loader bots that randomly attack them, but they pose no real threat.

After a few minutes, Skies’ suddenly gets a call on her ECHO communicator.

“Hey, bodyguard,” Pretty Boy sneers.

“Ugh,” she spits, “don’t make me destroy my own ECHO.”

“Listen, listen,” he says quickly, “I wanna level with ya. I got a good gig here. I can run NEARLY the whole casino from this tower but uh...also, I can’t get out. It’s a palace, sure, but it’s also a prison, see?”

“You got trapped when the lockdown happened,” Skies states, “I figured as much. You wouldn’t be able to unlock the tower.” “Exactly!” he exclaims, “but eventually I figured out how to run things, and take control of the loaders; turn on the lights. I saved this friggin’ casino, and I will clean it up!”

“Clean it up?” she scoffs, “you’re a power hungry tyrant, Pretty Boy. If you weren’t locked away safely in that tower, you wouldn’t survive a second out here.”

“And that’s Jack’s gift to me,” he agrees, “Jack left me the keys to the kingdom up here! Well...almost.”

“I thought I would be trapped in here forever, forced to tepidly rule with only a handful of Jack’s power,” Pretty Boy explains, “until I saw your little clone boyfriend there. He’s my only shot to get out of this tower and really rule this place. And I will get him one way or the other.”

“Look, clearly you’re not very bright, so let me lay this out for you nice and easy,” Skies growls, “if you ever get your sweaty little fingers on Timothy, I will chop them off and make you choke on them. And I’ll do that anyway, if you don’t give up the casino.”

“The casino is mine! I earned it!” Pretty Boy snaps, “and I will gain the full power I deserve!”

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you soon,” she snarls.

She cancels the call, exclaiming angrily. “Oh, that little snot pisses me off! Obviously, we won’t get this casino without killing him. And he knows that.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t show mercy,” Moze says.

“I don’t even know the meaning of the word,” Zane adds.

They continue through the compactor, fighting off more rusted loader bots, when they approach a bridge over the lava pools below made of scrap metal.

“That doesn’t look...stable,” Timothy comments.

“Just don’t look down,” Skies orders.

They all walk across the bridge in single file, Skies and Timothy at the back. But as they near the end, there’s another quake and the bridge trembles before snapping in half.

“Whoa!” Skies and Timothy shout and dive onto sturdy ground, but Timothy slips off the edge and starts sliding down the trash pile to the incinerator.

“Tim!” Skies cries and leaps after him. She grabs his arm with her left hand and digs her right hand into the trash wall, her finger blades extending to get a grip.

Timothy starts to smile with relief, but it quickly dissolves into more panic as they continue sliding. “Uh, we’re not stopping!”

“I know!” Skies exclaims as she claws at the trash. “I can’t get a good grip, this stuff’s too loose!”

They get closer and closer to a sheer drop into the incinerator. Timothy whines fearfully as his feet go over and Skies watches in panic.

Suddenly, they stop, Timothy half over the edge. They both look up to see Zane’s clone has grabbed Skies’ right arm. Holding onto the clone is Zane himself and behind him is Amara, then FL4K, and finally Moze in her Iron Bear and Mr. Chew on the path, to make a human- and robot and skag- chain.

Skies and Timothy both sigh heavily with relief. They all work together to pull themselves back onto the path.

“Thanks, guys,” Skies says.

“We told ya, we got your backs,” Zane replies, playfully punching Timothy’s shoulder.

“Let’s hurry up and get out of this death trap,” Timothy grunts, rubbing his arm.

They continue down the path until they finally arrive to a large metal door with ‘Trashlantis’ overhead in big, neon letters. Next to it is a giant turret aiming at burn rings on the ground

“I think this is the place,” Moze remarks.

As they approach the brightly lit door, a voice calls to them from an intercom.  “Welcome, travellers, to Trashlantis. We are a society free of materialism and greed. We reject the ways of the wicked casino above. Now, if you are to enter our fair city, you must first place the key to happiness upon the ground there.”

They all look at the spot where the turret is aiming.

“What’s the key to happiness?” Timothy whispers.

“I dunno. Gold?” Skies questions.

“Guns,” Moze suggests.

“Muscles,” Amara adds.

“Booze,” Zane says.

“The blood of your enemies,” FL4K states.

As they deliberate quietly, the intercom comes on again. “Ahhh- I see you are already wise. That is correct. The answer is...nothing. There is no material possession which can bring true happiness.”

The crew incredulously glance at each other then nod sagely. “Ah, yes, of course.”

The door opens up to a one-eyed, well-dressed man with red hair and a beard, who gestures to the area around him. “Welcome, to Trashlantis!”

The crew passes through the door into a village with people milling about. As they do so, the man continues speaking. “Here, we take refuge in the refuse! Yes! We live a simple life among the discarded remnants of a world run on greed. Do you smell that? That’s the smell of human camaraderie. Now, what brings you to our little scrap of utopia?”

“It’s human something alright,” Skies mutters, rubbing her nose, then clears her throat. “Uh, you’re the mayor, right? Jack’s old tailor? We’re working on taking out Pretty Boy, and we need you to make a suit for my pretty boy here.” She pats Timothy’s arm.

“Ah...I see,” The Mayor muses, “I swore to never return to the wicked world above. But Trashlantis is in danger. Help me save this city, and I will join your cause.”

“The only thing jamming the compactor is a single piece of iron,” he explains as he points off to the distance at a large beam holding up the ceiling. “The beam. Our salvation. It must be reinforced or we will die and our dreams with us! If you want your suit, help us save...Trashlantis!”

“Sounds fair,” Skies nods, “kids?”

“For Trashlantis!” the Vault Hunters cheer.

“Then welcome, comrades!” The Mayor says and leads the crew to a downed constructor. “Now, this constructor can reinforce the beam, but it requires some repairs. You must find a compatible AI chip, and a new constructor eye.”

“Freddie’s been listening in, and Freddie can help!” Freddie suddenly exclaims from Skies’ ECHO communicator. “If you’re installing aftermarket stuff on a constructor, you’re gonna need lotsa power! Smash some loaders and grab their power cells. You need a bunch. A whole bushel!”

“The feral bots of Refuse Ridge should have a Hyperion AI chip,” The Mayor adds, “acquire it. For Trashlantis!”

“For Trashlantis!” the Vault Hunters cheer.

“But be wary,” he warns, “we have lost many a Trashlantean in Refuse Ridge.”

“Ah, what can be there that’s so bad,” Skies scoffs and claps her hands. “Alright, we got a helluva of a shopping list here. So we need a bunch of loader bot power cells, an AI chip, and a constructor eye. Fortunately, there’s tons of discarded loaders around here so it shouldn’t be hard to get the power cells. Vault Hunters, why don’t you do that while Tim and I head to this Refuse Ridge and get the chip. We’ll figure out the eye after.”

“Got it,” Moze salutes. Everyone heads out of the town together before splitting into two groups to complete their missions.