2007-07-29: Sally


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Summary: "I think I'll call her Sally…" Plotting and planning.

Dark Future Date: July 29th, 2009

Log Title Sally

Location Weischel Carcass House - Loft Offices

What was once a large office space has been gutted. The carpet has been torn up, filing cabinets and desks have been stacked against the walls to make room in the center, and the interior dividers have been demolished.
If one word were to describe this area that word would be 'utilitarian.' A glass-walled shower stall, a toilet, and a lavatory sink have been jury-rigged into one corner with water diverted from the building's main supply. A plain white curtain around the toilet is the sole concession to modesty. A second sink has been mounted directly into a desk next to a hot plate and a microwave. Another section has been laid with workout mats and set with punching bags of varying designs. Free weights are nearby, as are a number of tightly-rolled sleeping bags. The final corner is taken up by a huge steel locker that's stocked with equipment, small arms, and explosives of all sizes and descriptions. Wedged in nearby are a futon and an old-fashioned soda machine.


That's not really the sound it makes when Jack pounds on the heavy bag, but it's still pretty loud. Someone's working out some aggression. Despite the heavy workout and the lack of air conditioning in the closed room, he's wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and snug leather gloves, both black. He steadies the swaying bag on its chain, then leans his weight onto his good leg and slams it with another right hook. Gere and Freke are sprawled across the futon, having already been told to get the hell out of the way several times. The Swedish Vallhunds are lazily toying and tugging at a single beef bone that's long since been stripped of anything edible. Another day at the office.

Scurrying through the entrance without so much as a sound is Rufio. One can tell it's Rufio from the bandana that's been tied around his head and the small 'No Hook' tattoo that's been given to the little creature. He always seems to enter rooms first when the Master of Multiplication has chosen to enter a room. Which, well, is cause for no alarm. Not for Jack, anyway, considering that this same Master of Multiplication is one of his most trusted associates. Isn't he?

"You know. I could almost see the sound effects." Prime says, announcing his presence. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and eyes on Rufio as the little Naked Mole Rat scurries around looking for scraps of anything edible. "All you need to do now is tilt the room and Adam West'll roll over in his grave." Pause. "… He is dead, isn't he?"

"Wha… ? Shit, I hope so." Prime's appearance catches Jack a little off guard. Mostly because he's come to rely so heavily on his guard dogs, who are trained to recognize friends like Prime and not disembowel them. Not only do they not get up, Freke wags her tail hopefully and releases her end of the bone so she can roll over and expose her belly for scratching. As greedy as his namesake, Gere is happy to chomp away at the beef knuckle uncontested.

Jack heaves in a breath and sighs it out. "Gettin' soft," he chides himself. "On a good day I'd have heard you comin'." Yeah. On a good day a couple of years ago, before his eardrums started getting pounded by explosives on a near-daily basis. "Gotcher intel. I liked what I saw." He jerks his head in the direction of a thick, manila envelope that's propped on top of the TV.

Rufio does that thing where he gets to crawling under the futon to search out old critters or whatever else he can muster up. Nothing else really happens with the rodent that's interesting. Which is fine and dandy, since the focus should be on Prime in the first place. "I'm rike neenja." Prime remarks, almost threatening to crack a smile, but he's not exactly going to just let something like that happen without just cause. "Good. Because that's what I came to talk to you about." Prime lets himself further into the room. "There's two rigs. I want one. I don't care what happens to the other one."

"Not food!" Jack chides his dogs when Rufio scurries by. Sadly, there's nothing for the little guy to find as he scavenges. Like the proverbial Odin, Jack has taken to feeding Gere and Freke far more often than himself, and they always tidy up after themselves. "Eh? Yeah, I was thinkin' the same. Seems like too rich an opportunity to pass up, but there's no way we could make off with both trucks. There's an airfield nearby. They could have choppers there in ten minutes. Maybe less."

"Well, according to me…" Prime does that sometimes. Since, well, that's where he gets his information from. "One's full of guns and the other's full of people. I don't know which is which, but it should be easy enough to figure out." Prime rubs some metal between his fingertips and Rufio comes zooming out from under the futon and away from the crazy dogs of doom to start making his way up Prime's clothes. "We total the guns, free the slaves and get home in time to catch the Late Show with David Linderman." That's his plan, in a nutshell.

"Sounds fun," Jack replies, giving his usual response to any plan that puts the hurt on the government. "We can use IR goggles to figure out which is which. I dug up a new toy as soon as I got your message." He waves lazily at a bulky shape with many odd protrusions that's muffled by a thick, olive green tarp that's crammed in next to the weapons locker. "Along with our usual gear, it should be more than enough to handle the armor and ground troops."

"I like surprises." Prime remarks with just a smirk on his face. He looks away from the covered toy and reaches up to scritch Rufio with one finger. "I'll see what I know about the choppers. Maybe we can take out two birds with one boulder. With me along for the ride, they'll be so outnumbered…" Not that he's become a cocky son of a bitch during the years or something.

Jack grins wickedly. The expression is only accentuated and made more unwholesome by the room's irregularly dim and bright lighting. "I have some Stingers. We could stick a couple of you on the rooftops with RPGs. If we can take down a flight of LaGuardia's attack birds, that'd bloody their nose somethin' fierce. I can head things up on the ground and handle the armor with my new baby." He glances longingly at the tarp-wrapped shape. "I think I'll call her Sally."

"Sounds like a gay ol ' time, Bossman." Prime's got a smile on his face and probably song in his heart. A song that pretty much is going to spell out all kinds of disaster for whatever fools might dare to step into his vicinity. It's one of those kind of smiles. "You tell Sally that I can't wait to meet her…" With that, Prime is already backing towards the door as if leading towards his change in scenery.

"She'll be there with bells on," Jack lifts one hand to sloppily make the sign of the cross, jokingly bestowing his shepherd's blessing. "You did good, my son. You did real good. I'll draw up a game plan and send it your way." He nods briskly, then returns to slamming on the heavy bag. It's his 'therapy session.'

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