Lake Placid, New York
February 2nd, 1932

The old gruff German man looked at the rows of cleaned, polished and properly hung harness with satisfaction.  He glanced over at the young American Farmboy who required little watching, however the Spainard required much watching.  The Spainard was impulsive and prone to sloppy work.  He worked hard, but not very smart.  He was so often talking about different places in the world or asking questions about Germany, Europe or the Great War.  The old man had a hard time keeping him focused to the detailed work on should apply to every job. The Farm on the other hand was diligent.  His main problem is he was always tinkering with his motorcycle and other mechanical things.


They were two of many, many workers brought to this little sleepy town in the Adirondacks to get it ready for the International Winter Olympics.  Most had been hear since last Spring.  It started with clearing trails in the mountains, then building venues and features like the bob sled run.  The heavy work was over, now came jobs that sustained the large number of participants and their wealthy sponsors from around the world.  They worked for Frank Zanuck, a Hollywood movie mogul who ran Mammoth Studios.  Mr. Melvil Dewey, the owner of the Lake Placid Club and the local sponsor behind the Olympic Games in Lake Pacid.  The two tycoons, made a deal.  Mr. Zanuck who provide workers through his Film Set division, and Mr. Dewey would provide lodging and meals.

The work day was now over, now time for a bite, a drink and some relaxation.  Tomorrow was going to be a big day with the Kickoff Ball at the Dewey Mansion, but not tonight.  Tonight it was on to Johnnies.  A Speakeasy in the basement of a local Lumber Mill, that was the place the workers gathered at night.  The wealthy at the Lake Placid Lodge mansion were never bothered about drinking booze, but for the workers, they found their way to Johnnies.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:32, Sat 28 July 2018.

Mark put the last of his tools away in the roll-up fabric holder he had sewed. Fixing the power takeoff on the old 1920 International Harvester 15-30 tractor that the lodge used had been easier than he anticipated. It was only a few years after PTOs had been introduced, and the design was still mechanically simple in the way of most first generation technologies. Still, he loved the idea of the power takeoff-- an attachment point that provided torque and rotational power for a host of different implements. It was a sort of universal power source, and he was already creating new devices in his mind to attach to the tractor.

He knew the old German was watching, but growing up on a farm in the Midwest with strict Eastern European parents left him well equipped to clean a stable. Back then they called him Marek, but out here in New York state in this new life he found it easier to introduce himself as Mark. Thinking of them, he pulled a small notebook and much sharpened pencil from his shirt pocket and noted a few items to put in his weekly letter home. Mark sent almost all his money home to them. They were only a few years away from losing their farm and moving to a smaller house near town. Jobs weren't easy to get, and Mark was grateful for the work, and for the chance to travel. He kept only a few dollars each month to buy the parts he could not scrounge for maintaining his motorcycle. Other than that, everything he owned fit in a small bag that fit easily into the front well of the sidecar.

Mark was able to earn some extra money transporting people and small loads in the motorcycle. People would pay a dime or sometimes even a quarter to get their grandmother to town quicker and in more comfort than a wagon could provide to see the doctor, or a farmer sending butchered quail to the high-end restaurants in Lake Placid, or other jobs where a small, fast load could be transported. It helped that the springs on his much modded Henderson KL-1 gave a smooth ride even on country roads-- something that both farm-fresh eggs and rheumatic senior citizens appreciated.

But Mark hadn't heard from any of the stable boys that usually brought these small jobs to him. He considered going out for drinks with the German and the Spaniard. As usual, he would try to nurse a single beer for as long as possible, and he always weighed the necessity to be friendly with the socially mandated expense of buying the group at least one round. He wondered if he could get out of going tonight.

The thought of the Spaniard brought to mind the catchy song that the soldier-of-fortune had taught him, and he began to sing in a low voice as he looked around for any final tasks that needed doing in the stables or the tack room.

"Wrap up all my care and woe / Here I go, swinging low, Bye-Bye Shanghai. Wont somebody wait for me, Please get in a state for me, Bye-bye Shanghai. Up before the colonel in the morning. He gave me a rocket and a warning: You've been out with Sun Yat Sen, You won't go out with him again! Shaghai! Bye-bye"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Thu 02 Aug 2018.

The Old Man wiped his hands with a wrag, then folded it and put set I on a rough wooden shelf.  Walking over to the Farmboy and the Spaniard he spoke in an odd mix of German and English that sometimes was understood, and other times was all mystery.


Danke, four this Nacht.  Morgen will pass Schnell Jugend.

Kommen, August will buy this Nacht.  Der Master has paid me mehr.
Wir organisieren die morgige Nacht bekommen.


August(the old man) seems to be thanking them for their work, and he will be buying because the boss has paid August to get workers together for the dinner tomorrow night.


The Spaniard hops up, dusts off his pants and smiles, twitching his eyebrows up and down in excitement.

Johnnies was a ad hoc drinking hall in the basement of the local lumber mill.  The mill was built into a hillside, local stone foundation with massive beams above and the wooden main work floor supported above by the beams.  This part of the lumber yard was built to house the massive hit and miss engine that ran the primary power shaft for the entire mill.  From that primary shaft, wide leather belts would be strung to transfer power to different machines.

A large wooden sign above the wide doors on the exterior of the mill announced.  J. Paul Clausen Lumber and Shake Co.  The J stood for Johan, Danish for John.  as with many immigrants they tried to play down their foreign ancestory in advertising and business naming.

Unlike the big city Speak Easy’s there was no secret entrance, no special nock and no peep hole.  Everyone knew it was here.  It was generally a few locals, but with all the activity of the Olympics, it was now busy on a nightly basis.  In the last few weeks when athletes started showing up in town form all over the world it required Johan to bring in more benches and tables which were easily built during the day above.

The main hall that made up Johnnies smelt of fresh sawdust, pitch and a trace of oil from the massive engine.  The bar was in the corner, where a root cellar built into the bank kept beer and spirits cold.  The bar itself was merely a single slab of fir, 30 inches wide and 40 feet long.  Simple stumps made up barstools.

Walking in the old timer, the farmboy and the Spaniard were greeted from a nearby table by several others that worked in Lake Placid, making the Olympics happen.  Amongst that group , really only one stood out.  It was Vendel Berg.  Known simply as Ven by his friends and Swede by others.  He is nearly Six and a Half Feet tall, muscular, barrel chested, white blonde hair and  rich blue eyes. He worked for Johan most of the time, while doing odd jobs for some of the dignitaries here for the games.

In the room were many others, athletes, Dutch, Czechs, Fins, and Swiss to name a few.  The only non-Europeans here were the Japanese contingent.
Ven hailed the three when they walked through the door.

Mark was glad to see Ven. They had worked together a few times, and drank together a few times, and the big Swede was one of the few men he had warmed to. He clasped hands with the large man. Ven would be easy to talk to, and he could keep an eye out for any of the athletes or workers that might have a small job for him.

Ven welcomes them warmly in his thick Swedish accent, and his odd habit of using long versions of names, even if they weren't fully correct.

Markera Reparatör, I'm surprised the Old Bra ätare let you quit verking,
vill he have you verking through to Söndag.


Mark knew that Ven called him Mark the Repairman, and he knew Bra ätare was a derogatory term for a German, but he didn't know what it meant.  The old German didn't seem to mind too much.

The old german and Ven both buy a round of beers.  Mid way through the second drink as the small group talks a man walks through the door and walks up behind Ven, putting his index finger to his lips signaling Mark to stay quiet.

The man approaches slowly, he is in his early 40s, sandy hair, round rimmed glasses, a slender but sinewy frame.  The man moves athletically, dressed in wool pants and jacket, with a fedora on his head, a scarf around his neck.  He is about 5'10, 160 pounds.  The man is smiling as he approaches and then it turns to a grimace of determination as he drops his right arm around Ven's thick neck quickly.  As the arm touches Vens throat, the giant stands.  Simultaneously, the small man clasps his left hand around his right forearm and he is lifted off the ground.

Ven's massive frame pushes the table forward and the bench backward.  Then the giant starts to swing his torso side to side, the small man becomes a rag doll, his legs flopping from sie to side as he attempts to cinch down his hold on Vens neck.  Ven grunts and reaches over his head to grab the man, but only returns with a crumpled fedora.  The bottles of beer on the table are josseled and one tips over.

 Opening the door he steps in to  see a  small fellow  being  tossed  about on the BAck of a larger fellow.. some folks  are shout    for a 'winner" other folks  are shouting  that their drinks are Getting  spilled, or almost spilled .

  At first, he is goign to turn around  as he gives a  nod to the tender,  Until He  see a flash of the Face on the  Big man's back...

  He  moves slowly towards the   tussle, giving  gentle  But  Firm Pushes  any  hands  away that  want to stop him.

   Si, Shouts In a Language  that  as a Spanish  lilt to it, ....¡Vay!.. ¡Qué haces aquí!.....

  He  Moves to  try  to Get the Fellow off the Big Man's   BAck

Charlie gives Si a long 3 count and then enters the lodge.  Hearing Si's shout he takes a position just inside the door to keep an eye on Si's back.

Mickey wasn't pleased with his current situation. Broke, with no prospects to not being broke anytime soon. This lodge they stopped at was promising though. As he exits the plane, he walks a few dozen feet away and lights a cigarette.  He's taking this time to scan the area for possible problems and possible opportunities.

OOC: Mickey is looking around this the area, outside of the lodge for a car or plane to steal. He can operate both. Also, if there are any profitable opportunities in the immediate area, he'll take a close look.

08:52, Today: Michael 'Mickey' Callahan rolled 22 using 1d10+12.  Mobility and profit opportunities. 1d10+5 skill rank+7 Smarts.
09:00, Today: Michael 'Mickey' Callahan rolled 16 using 1d10+12.  If we are following the HB's dice roll rules, Mickey gets a reroll.

The roll is now 38.

This message was last edited by the player at 16:02, Wed 08 Aug 2018.

OOC
I'm going to hold off posting for a bit until we give everyone a chance to post.

Iain sat in the plane with Amelia as he waited for the others to assess the situation and report back to him.  He had not done a very good job at keeping her out of harm's way thus far tonight, and he hoped to do better now.

Their landing place was a mixed blessing.  He was happy to land away from the more populous area pending some plane painting, but Amelia and her equipment still needed to be brought to her lodgings.  Meanwhile, they sat in a plane still bearing the markings known to those that had tried to kill them earlier...

He watched as Si and Charles entered, and as Mickey lingered outside.  The latter was with some confusion, since the more obvious source of potential cargo customers seemed to be where Si and Charles had just entered...

"Do you have a preference for how you arrive at your lodgings?  I can taxi the plane across the lake to bring you there under conver of darkness, hopefully without being too obvious.  Alternatively, we can see if transport is available here for hire to convey you there..."

It looks as everything is ok here.  Nothing suspicious, not gangsters, just a quiet mountain speak easy.

As Mickey continues taking his time smoking, he pulls the rosary out of his pocket and slowly walks in what may seem to be a general direction, away from the plane. After a short while, he stops at a vehicle, looks at it for a few seconds, then turns and leans against it. The cigarette,  half finished, is hanging at his side, slow whisps of smoke thin out as they rise into the air. His lips are now close to the holy necklace and his eyes are closed.

"If you could taxi me across the lake, that would be wonderful. I have a reservation at the Lake Placid Lodge - do you know where that is? I've never been."

At first Mark thought maybe the man in the fedora was a friend of the Swede, and this was one of those prank wrestling attacks that a certain type of idiot likes to inflict on their "buddies". But then more people came in, and one of them started shouting, and the farmboy began to get nervous. He stood quickly, looking around and trying to get a read on the room.

And this place was a working lumber mill, so he stepped back to a storage rack and took a grip on a thick 18" billet of hickory. Then he moved closer the now empty space where Ven and his throttling assailant spun round and round. He was ready to strike if he could get an opening.

  Si  didn't look over his shoudler.. from  mexico to California   to  the Northwest and  lots of places in between...Having the halfbreed  enter  frist to  gain the reactions of some, while Charlie  the  'white man' came in   and could  smooth things over, or  end anything bad..


 He  shouted a Bit more sternly,VAY! .... hora de dejar de fumar .... counting on the  language. more then the words to take effect.

As the large Swede and smaller man tussle, Mark is able to find a cudgel and an opening to attack the man strangling Ven.

OOC
Roll to attack Mark

Iain is able to taxi Amelia over to the Lake Placid Lodge.

  Si  looks at the fellow  with the  stock of wood... he switched to English.....NO!!!!!!.... and holds his  arms out in a 'stopping' manner..

Mickey finishes his moment of contemplation and puts his rosary in his pocket. Stepping away from the Ford pickup, he nods at Amelia and Lain before walking to the sawmill/bar. As he gets closer and the sound inside gets louder, Mickey puts one hand back in his pocket, locating his self-defense tool.

Entering the bar the scene before him is chaotic, and dangerous. A giant of a man seems to be having issues with a smaller man attached to his back, and another man trying to swat the thing off the giant's back. This is almost comical, but what makes Mickey bust out laughing is Si attempting to intervene wearing all of his gear, rifle included. This night might turn out okay after all. Mickey smiles.

Charlie nods at Mickey as he enters the lodge, then turns his attention back to Scout, the two fellows tussling, and the man that just picked up a piece of wood.

Confusion showed on Charlie's face, not sure who was trying to do what.

Mickey nods back at Charlie, still smiling and yells to be heard."50 cents says the guy with the stick misses whoever he's tryin' to hit, and hits his friend?"

Mickey doesn't wait to hear Charlie's answer before he turns most of his attention back to the room. He maintains his smile while he searches the room for faces he recognizes, friend or foe.


Ooc:Today: Michael 'Mickey' Callahan rolled 13 using 1d10+12.  Scanning the room for possible enemies or allies. That was a fail
 I can't find where you stated what to do with failed rolls?.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:29, Fri 10 Aug 2018.

Iain nodded.  "I suspect we'll be able to find it."

From working together as well as from their discussions, he knew that Si and Charles would know where the plane was going and why, and suspected that Mickey would as well.  He gave the latter a friendly nod as he untied the plane, and as the latter finished his cigarette.

Reentering the plane, he started taxiing toward Amelia's lodgings.

"I didn't have the chance to thank you for your peacemaking efforts earlier.  That was well done."

"My own finances are quite tight, but Mickey and Doc have lost more than we have.  I want to help them as I am able.  Such an upheaval in their lives could be a new beginning for them, even a chance to go straight... but they would need a way to make an honest living..."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:42, Fri 10 Aug 2018.

The man with the cudgel wacks the fedora wearing man in the middle of the back with a wide swing.  The man crumples and falls on his side, rolling over face up, his fedora mushed on his head.

The commotion has created quite a stir, with 5 of the Swedish National Team hurrying over to join their countryman in the fist d cuffs.

Ven turns, nods to Mark, and looks down, suddenly recognizing the man writhing and holding his back.  Wide eyed and dumbfounded he says only, Vay ? Wrinkling his broad face.


The Speak Easy calms down and the little accoustic guitar band resumes their folks songs.  Athletes a moment ago ready to throw down go back to their drinks.


Ven helps the man he called Vay up with his ham fist. Dis is Vay Morley, min bror.  We explored Grönland together.

Tack Markera for you help with dis sneeky un.