((OOC: Continuing from the Long Road To Hell thread))

Adrian Vega, John Smith

John, Adrian, and Evans approach the ruined remains of the Oriental. The gutted wreck sits like a skeleton at the edge of the block.

"Well. Here we are." Evans says. "Keep an ear out. I don't want to wind up an amubshee."

((OOC: Take a look at the Game Map and let me know where you want your character to go to set up this ambush.))

Adrian looked around nervously. Every moment since he had arrived in Blackthorn seemed to provide new and unique opportunities to get shot up, blown up or killed. Again. He still hadn't had the time or the opportunity to fully process the information he had been told. He accepted it, and took it in stride. He'd heard of that kinda thing, after all. Just never figured on it happening to him. And it made sense, though he sorta thought he'd remember dying. He did remember the part before, but there wasn't much special about the actual death itself. He shook his head and came back to reality. There would be time for thinking later.

"I reckon we oughta set up inside this husk of a buildin', so we got some cover, and keep watch on the road. If they're immune to bullets, I don't figure they'd be sneakin' around. They'll probably just walk on in heading east down Main Street, or they'll move up north on Victoria. Nice thing about the Oriental bein' that we're sittin' on the crossroads here, so we got an angle on both. Whenever they come down here, we'll spring the trap."

Evans nods. "Sounds like a plan. Ready, gentlemen? Then keep your eyes peeled!"


The trio entered the burned remains of the Oriental Theater. Adrian remembered the clamor about it being built, the civic pride the town had had in bringing a little bit of culture to the boom town. But even before he'd left, the theater had acquired something of a soiled reputation. At first there had been high art performed there, operas from Europe, but such high-brow fare gave way to tawdry melodramas which were more popular among the earthier sorts among the miners. Then people started coming by for the dances organized by the actresses, and as he grew he came to realize that the only real "dancing" going on was the horizontal kind. Sure, there was still the occasional play, but it was rare even before the mine went bust. Now the building was a gutted wreck, half of it collapsed in on itself tanks to the fire. It seemed to encapsulate the slow decline of Blackthorn in its fall from grace, and he wondered briefly if anything could be made right again, and at what cost.

((OOC: Sorry for waxing poetic there...I've been immersing myself in Perdido Street Station and it's been creeping into my writing. Make a Perception check, please.))

Just looking at the Oriental like this made him feel like he was drowning in memories, in a recollection of what once was but would never be again. As a living man, he had faced so many hardships, disappointments, and heartbreaks, but also had experienced so many friendships and successes that it was hard to reconcile how any one thing like this could play into the grand scheme of things. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel differently about it now that he was dead.

Best he could do was try his best to focus and keep an eye out for trouble.

---

OOC:

I like the waxing poetic. I am occasionally prone to the same, especially when I've been reading.

Perception 4
11:40, Today: Adrian Vega rolled 3,4 using d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4. Perception.

As Adrain, Evans, and John are settling in. Adrian thinks he hears something. It seems to be coming from the ruins of the ballroom. It almost sounded like...voices. Voices speaking in some heathen tongue.

Getting to the ballroom through this mess would be difficult, as the main hall had collapsed. But if Adrian could sneak through the rubble, he might be able to make out what was being said...

((OOC: What languages does Adrian know, again? It would be a Stealth -2 check to get to where the voices are without knocking anything down and alerting them...))

Adrian had never had a gift for languages. He grew up speaking English, and never really bothered to try learning much else. His daddy had Mexican blood, but since his momma didn't, he never heard much Spanish before other than some curse words. From his time in New Orleans, he had gotten a familiarity with the sound of French now and again, but mostly he had a hard enough time understanding the Cajuns when they were speaking what they called English so there wasn't much a chance of him picking up anything there.

He couldn't quite hear enough just then to make out what he was hearing. It didn't sound like English, Spanish or French from this distance but he'd have to get a little closer to know for sure. The only problem was, he was liable to knock over half of what was still here in the Oriental, fall on his face, and get himself killed. Well, get Evans and Smith killed, and get himself re-killed. He might not be able to understand them, but if he saw some Comanches, he might be able to get a shot off if he was a little closer.

Before he did that, he waved to where Evans and Smith were, hoping the movement would grab their attention. He tried to listen and see where the sound was coming from. If he couldn't get them in on it, he might have to risk a sneak - though he had imagined he might lay in wait.

---

OOC:
Are the voices moving towards or away from them?

Adrian's only got English. For roleplaying purposes, he probably knows what Spanish and French sound like because of his upbringing and background, but he wouldn't be able to understand conversation.

Evans and Smith seem to be preoccupied setting up their ambush and aren't paying any attention to his direction. Looks like it's up to Adrian to find out what's going on.

((OOC: The voices don't seem to be moving anywhere at the moment. Looks like someone got here before you did.))

Confident that he was up to the task, Adrian pushed away the creeping doubts that had been working their way into his mind lately and steadied himself for the task ahead of him. He hadn't ever really been one for stealth and sneaking, preferring open confrontations, but it seemed that it was up to him now - and he hadn't remembered not being able to do something he put his mind to. Well, maybe a few times, but not that many really.

And quiet as a mouse, at least in his own mind, he crept forward.

---

OOC:
Stealth...2