Beer Run

GM: Angela
Players: Alyse, Rip (Briefly), Rash (Briefly), Croc, Alice
Synopsis: A simple trip to the Stuffer Shack for some Pavst Black Ribbon for a local bar goes all pear shaped for the Runners when a gang takes advantage of the late night to hit the very same shop.
Date: May 12, 2071


Alice decided to make her nun persona seem even more scandalous as she steps into The Bar. For some reason, her usual haunt is not accessible, so this one will have to do for today. She adjusts her glasses, and then with the swish of her nun habit, she moves for the actual counter where the drinks might be served!

Croc has been lurking in the bar for some hours, drinking heavily. His big form is hunched over it, his top hat slanted over his eyes. He is being given a wide berth.

It's a bar. A bar and grill, in fact. The grill is used far less than the bar, however. There's not a large selection of patrons, despite the smoky haze. Most seem like wageslaves or late-shift workers or even some that are there pre-shift for some night thing. All said and done, it's an average watering hole. The bartender is a tall man of middle age who's rather bald. His head is shaved clean, almost shining, and he's got a handlebar moustache the Red Baron would be envious of. His ears are /slightly/ pointed and there's a pretty obvious datajack in his forehead. White shirt, red suspenders, pretty generic burly guy cleaning glasses.

Not everyone is giving Croc a wide berth. A slightly scruffy human clad in a white longcoat hangs close to him, sharing in the drinks and making little chatter about things that matter little to anyone but them.

Sister Alice must pass Croc on her way to the bar counter, and she pauses to look over toward the troll fellow. A smile brightens her face and she quickly exclaims to the man, "God bless you!" even though he did not sneeze. And, the fellow in the white coat gets a bit of a wave.

Croc occasionally laughs at something the little human says, and then his gaze turns to the sister. "Sister," he says. "God be with joo."

Rash has been sitting in the bar drinking vodka, or at least whatever synthahol passes for vodka, because you never know in these little hole-in-the-wall watering holes whether they serve real alcohol or that vat-produced synthetic stuff. And he's been knocking 'em back pretty regularly, but not enough to be more than just pleasantly drunk. His eyes follow the ladies, and especially Alice when she's walking around. Oh yes, he'd tap that.
Rip nods a little to the Nun as he sips at his own drink. "It's taken a while, but I should be getting that place finaly. Might be set up and running in a month if things go well."
He says to Croc.

The good barkeep stops his cleaning for a moment, pulling his phone out of his pocket and clicking it on. As he speaks in hushed tones to whoever is on the line, those at the bar will be able to detect, if they're paying attention to him, an increase in his level of agitation. Before he growls, "Well send another one! A WEEK?! Fine!" It looks like he's going to crush the phone as he hangs up, and very calmly slips it back into his pocket. He drags the palm of his hand down his face, then appraises the various patrons. "…a nun… an ork… and a trog walk into a bar…" he mumbles to himself. To say nothing of the doctor. Everyone else sitting about seems to be human. Then he whistles sharply, "Alright you lot, I've got good news, and I've got bad news."

Croc grunts. "Good," he says, to rip. "Have work needs doing…" Then the the barkeep speaks up, and he turns to stare at the human. "What is it, gringo?" he says. "Joo run out of tequila?" He slams a huge, calloused, warty hand on the counter. "Joo don't want to make me angry."

Sister Alice smiles even more to Croc. She smiles so much that her face might break into twain. Luckily, she is quite practiced at these things and is going to be okay. For Rash's benefit, one might notice that as Alice stays paused in one area, the environment seems to become more fresh. Like maybe instead of a smoky bar, you are experiencing some kind of 'I can't believe it's not butter' commercial with a female version of Fabio in the mountains. There are no horses, but the kind of scents that follow after it has rained can be detected subtley. Alice averts her eyes to the bartender. "Yeah, what he said, for he wields the wrath of God with but one hand."

Rash makes one of those faces… and just leans back in the chair, putting his feet up. "I zuppose I vill go vfirst," he says in the thin Russian accent, "Vhat is ze bad newsz?"

Rip figures everyone else is speaking up, no need for him to add to the caphony of noise. Instead he downs the last of his drink and set the emtpy to the counter as he awaits the proclamation.

The impromptu Johnson grunts at Croc, like he could kill the Trog with his mind. Or he's had enough shit in the last two minutes. "Bad news? Delivery truck took a rocket, bunch of gangers ambushed it in the Warrens. We're out of Pavst Black Ribbon, and Cynical ain't here to make a beer run… and it's raining critters out there practically." he folds his arms. "…good news is? Any one of you lot feels like making a beer run to get me a keg or two of Pavst, I'll toss a couple grand your way.." he eyes Croc. "…and a bottle of tequila for you, lad."

Sister Alice pipes up, "I want a bottle of milk! It can be soy if it has to, but chocolate is prefered!" She grins big.

Croc's beady little eyes widen. "No Cervesas?" He asks, and slams the counter again before pointing with a single scarred finger. "And joo, gringo, would send El Cocodrillo on a Beer run?" He narrows his sickly green eyes in a GRIM STARE. "Tell joo what. Joo cover my fraggin tab for a fraggin month, AND pay me de yen, and I will get de shit here. And if joo call me a fucking 'lad' again, I will paint dis bar amarillo wid joor blood, si?"

«Auto-Judge[]» Croc (#8805) has the Knowledge Skill Grim Stares with the value '3 (4)'.

Job offer. Check. Beer run. Got it. Rash starts running down his checklist in the cyberarm's diagnostic mode. Hmm, .20% BAC, not good if he's going to be going anywhere. A mental command to the autoinjector in the left arm takes care of that, a shot of adrenaline to counteract the alcohol in his bloodstream. "I'll do it," he announces, "I vill be ze big hero, ya know? Rain is no bovver to me."

Rip eyes the goings on. "Yer kidding me, right? It don't take four people to get beer, unless we're stocking you for a siege."

"You don't know what the weekends are like. I'll even let ya take the truck," the barkeep grunts at Rip. He eyes Croc, then snorts, "Two thousand nuyen and a bottle of tequila, not like ya have ta go along, trog. Already have two ready and willing. That one doesn't want a bottle, and that one'll take milk. Take the offer or leave it, chummer."

Sister Alice… decides to let them all figure themselves out, glad that the bartender seems positive about her milk situation. "I don't drink deh booze!" What the hell is she doing in a bar? :P

Croc looks at the others, and shrugs. "A bottle of tequila? Two grand?" He shakes his head. "No deal, for me. Unless one of joo wants to owe me a favor."

Sister Alice asks of Croc, "What favor would you require?"
"Being a servant of the lord, there is only so much I can do." — THE NUN

Rash just leans back in his chair, letting the adrenaline get rid of the alcohol in his system. Which he knows is a fallacy; Rash may act dumb, but he ain't. The alcohol is still there, just that the adrenaline is counteracting the symptoms. He looks to Croc. Even Rash has heard of El Crocadillo on the streets, and what he's heard ain't good so far. Shaking his head, Rash decides that he doesn't want to end up owing the big cannibal troll any favors.

Croc smiles at Alice. "From joo? a few extra prayers." He looks back at the bartender. "I am in, si."

"You need not worry, I have prayed for you since the day I first met you." Then, the nun smiles. She looks to the bartender and says, "I think, we are good to go, ser! Got the keys? Please, pray for us."

"Ain't rocket science," the barkeep mutters, then nods, tossing a pair of keys to Alice, because she looks the most trustworthy. "There's a Stuffers a few blocks down, credstick's got enough for four kegs," which is to say, isn't much cash. The truck's probably worth almost as much, too, but it's got doors and a roof and an engine that runs.

If only the other two knew what happened the last time Alice drove a truck… The Sister in Black smiles. "Thank you, we'll return as soon as possible!" And, then, she beckons, "Let's go!"

Croc grunts and rises, belching as he does. "Was feeling de need for some violence, anyway," he says, adjusting some more. He glares at the bartender some more, and starts walking towards the door."

Rash rises from the table, and walks towards the door. The unsteadiness from the alcohol is gone, replaced with the stalking gait common to the cybernetically enhanced warriors known as Street Samurai. In Rash's case it's the adrenaline combined with his martial arts skills. "Let's get goingk zen, yah?"

«Plot» Angela says, "If there are no objections, you three exit, into the rain, into the second(or third, or fourth or fifth)hand pickup, and make the trip. There's no incident, it's late, it's dark. The streets are pretty empty."

Alice heads out to the truck, finding it by clicking the button on the remote and finding out which one blinks its headlights after being unlocked. She piles into the driver seat, glancing back at the other two fellows as she slots the keys into the ignition and tries to start the vehicle.

Alice apparently gets everyone driven to the to the stuffer shack where the leet booze can be found, then. There's a lot of rain, and one of the windshield wipers does not work, but luckily the left one does! She ends up… parking!

Croc clambours out of the truck and offers a hand to the Alice. "Can't believe I'm doing de white man's shit work," he mutters. "He tinks, just because I'm Latino, all I do is haul stuff. Fuck him! Pardon my language, sister."

It's raining buckets out. The parking lot has half a dozen cars and vans in it, a couple of bikes, an electro-scoot. There's not much here, and there isn't anyone hanging out in the rain outside. The white fluorescent light flooding out of the glass doors is pretty harsh.

Sister Alice steps out with Croc's help, smiling up at him, "Only God can judge you." She tells the trog. Then, she cleans in closer because the rain is just pelting. If it were not this torrential, she'd probably be 'Singing in the Rain', but not right now. And, some of the white paint she had on her face to make it match the exact color of the habit top is getting smudged. :(

Croc grunts and turns towards the stuffer shack, striding towards it, pushing the door open, making way for alice. "We have come for de beer!" He declares. "De sister has de money."

Alice strides in behind Croc, using him as a makeshift umbrella shield thing until they get inside before she steps out from behind him to appear and produce the money. She actually reaches down the front of her habit into her cleavage to pull out the credsticks they were given, and she parks the keys for the truck there, too. She pats down the collar over the top of the cleavage opening that is for the convenient storage of… such things, and then she waves the credsticks with a big grin on her face. "Yes, god bless you for your patience."

It's a Stuffer Shack. You've seen one, you've seen 'em all. One could almost imagine some prefab factory spewing out these pocket-sized Wal-Marts for airdrop in random urban sprawls. It's surprisingly busy for this time of night, though, especially considering the torrential rain. There's an elf girl behind the counter, whose beauty and vacant stare indicates that the looks are the only real asset she's got. There's a dwarf hauling some NutraSoy Energy Cakes out of the storeroom, wearing an apron. He just grunts at the troll and the nun, gesturing to the back end of the store where the coolers are. "S'back there, cold stuff, Aisle 18." and he hauls his snacks towards an aisle. There's some other people shopping, an obese woman shouting at her kid, and the usual array of late-night freaks one would expect at a 24-hour get-your-shit-here establishment.

«Plot» Angela says, "The layout is pretty straight forward. The counter is to the left of the door, there's a little simsense arcade further to the left. There's eighteen shelves, two abreast, nine back, to the end of the store where the rows of coolers are."

Croc will lumber towards the beer, not so carefully, kind of like a bull in a shop full of people he wishes were dead, and then he'll stare at them. "Dis is de white man's firewater," he says. "Dis was de burden of my padre's people." He picks up two kegs, one under each arm, and looks at Alice. "PAy for four. I will be back for de udders."

Alice just happpens to be one of those late-night freaks. She moves past the mother with the kid. She makes some kind of weird face behind the woman's back for the benefit of the young person, hoping to make them smile. It is the clown in her after all! She turns back to Croc and says, "Okay! And, I will pray for your padre."

Alice decides to grab one of the kegs and heads to the counter with it, so poor Croc will not have to carry all of the white man's fire water. "How much?"

Rash moves to the alcohol section. Stuffer Shacks ain't known for their great selection of vodkas, but that isn't what Rash is looking for. He's looking for something real … anything real, for that matter. After all, he's getting paid 2 large for this little run, he can afford something good for a night, for once. "Here we go," he reaches into a cooler and grabs a couple of bottles of expensive liquors. Chivas Regal they may not be, but the label proclaims them to be real alcohol, and that's good enough for Rash.

"'scuse me, sister," a human dressed up like some sort of samurai warrior wannabe pushes past Alice, he'd been browsing the air fresheners in the front aisle when the trio walked in. He skips over the counter, and the elf stares blankly for a moment, before turning. "Excuse me, you're not allowed back here…" her voice is quiet, demure, and a number of things happen at once. The clerk screams as the 'warrior' pulls a katana on her, and the front doors crash open, a trio of individuals plowing through it, screaming. One of them, namely a human who looks like he'd weigh 46 kilograms if he had 40 kilograms of cement strapped to him, stops screaming, unloads his shotgun on the bank of security monitors behind the counter. He bellows, for what his skinny ass is worth: "I am the King of the Sprawl and it's time to collect taxes! Gimme everything you got, you drek-eatin' slime!"

Croc pauses a little as the new men come in, then laughs and sets down the beer. He turns, and, throwing off his top hat, starts advancing. "Hey, assholes," he says, gesturing with a big paw- that now has a retractable hand blade poking out of it- "El Cocodrillo is king of de sprawl. Why don't joo come play wid me?"

«Auto-Judge[]» Croc (#8805) has the Attribute Quickness with the value '5 (9)'.

«Plot» Angela says, "Rash, you lose your 21. but you can act on 11."

«Plot» Angela says, "Yeah, it's your turn."

«Plot» Angela says, "Your go then, Alice. Simple for Observe. Got another to burn."

«Plot» Angela says, "Croc, there's a counter island at F, which a punk chick is sitting on it, drinking something. She looks saucy."

«Plot» Alice says, "ooh, if I'm at the counter, then I'll take a breather and get ready to chuck the beer at the punk."

«Plot» Angela says, "Alice passes?"

«Plot» Alice says, "yes"

«Plot» Angela says, "…I'm assuming you have throwing weapons, then? And have no trouble hurling a steel keg?"

Alice tunes into the night and all the rest of the sounds around them and maybe even ones that are outside. She then just kind of watches with that look like Jesus maybe had once. "They know not what they do."

«Plot» Alice hopes not, I have 6 str and throwing weapons yes.

«Plot» Angela says, "Hmm. Damage.. Damage.."

«Plot» Angela says, "Keg… if it hits… Say, Strength M in stun."

«Plot» Angela says, "Rash's turn."

«Plot» Rash says, "Yah. I'm popping my cyberguns and taking cover for my turn."

With the crash of the doors and the announcement by the so-called 'King of the Sprawl', Rash's mind kicks his body into gear. He slams himself up against the shelving — the only source of cover — and lifts his cyberarms as if he were about to surrender. And then the guns come out. With the whir and whine of cybernetic machinery, each cyberarm pops open on the top of the forearm, and two gunbarrels come out. Simultaneously, hatches on the underside of the arm each slide out a clip into the gunbarrels, and the cyberhand of each arm locks into place as if Rash were holding two actual pistols. And while he's doing that, Rash uses the mental command to activate the autoinjector in his left cyberarm. The world starts to slow down even further as the Jazz floods his system.

Six meters away, Catcher cackles madly at the Troll, rushing forward and skidding on his knees to plant himself firmly against the counter. "You?! The King?! Prepare for regicide then!" he braces his shotgun and fires off a slug, though what's more surprising than how well he aims is rather that he knows the word 'regicide.' Needless to say, though, he gapes as what would've been a solid hit that could send most metahumans to the trauma center turns into a limp-wristed rock thrown at the side of a Citymaster. Doink.

Croc half-turns as the slug comes his way, making sure to catch the slug on his forearm, maximizing armor protection and bone lacing- and as he turns away from it, he growls at Catcher, lowering his head, stalking towards him. "Aye… I'm el rey," he says, "And I've got one thing to say to joo," he adds, crouching, tensing… and then he springs.

But not at catcher. His leap is sideways, over the counter and onto slicer, striking as suddenly as his namesake… and with as much force. Croc collides with slice, and they both dissappear from sight below the counter. There's a spray of blood and a sickening series of slashing sounds. Slice gives out a gurlging death yell, and then Croc is rising, covered in blood and viscera. He looks at Catcher and finishes his sentance.

"run."

Spike's eyes go wider than Catcher's, which might not have seemed physically possible. His shaky hand brings his pistol up, and he takes a few steps backwards, firing almost recklessly. The two bullets plow through a display of some plastic-coated treats, pink and green spongy, syrupy stuff splashing on Croc and Wanda (the horrified clerk) while the rounds themselves have about as much an effect on the troll as the snacky cakes.

It's a shootout in a convenience store at two in the morning. Rash, Alice, and Croc had come in to the store for a beer run from a local bar. A gang of four have since busted in and made demands. Shots have been fired, Croc the Troll has three slugs in him, and not a scratch for it. He's covered in green and pink snacky cake debris, and the viscera and blood of some hapless sword-wielding wannabe samurai. There's a handful of other people in the store at this hour, surprisingly. The clerk-elf, Wanda, who is also covered in blood and is screaming, an obese woman who is screaming, her child, a stock-boy hiding behind a pile of cans, the manager dwarf who is hiding behind another stack of cans, and a few others of non-import. Two others look like they might be related to the gang.

Alice is standing near the counter as all this goes on holding a keg of beer! :P

Of all the luck in the world, Alyse had simply ran out of soda during late night studies and decided to take a break to fetch a couple to stash for later. But nothing's ever that easy is it? She'd been just approaching the doors when the flashes and sounds of gunfire had rang out, making her drop low and draw her gun and move towards the doorway, hugging the wall. It doesn't take much to figure out who's the badguy and who's not at least, after all beer or not when are nun's bad?

A flurry of her long black jacket, a flash of blonde hair and a raised gun…-BLAM!- Alyse is here. Even the doctors carry firearms to the convenience store, for good reason it seems. Either way the thugs are about to get a hell of a suprise.

Looks like Spike is going to need a new spleen after that one.

"You fraggin' bastard!" a female voice practically screams from … near the coolers? The dressed-to-kill punk chick who was sitting on the counter rips an SMG from her bag, leaning around the corner from the cook-your-goddamn-snacks and get-your-fucking-drinks nook and spitting a trio of well-aimed rounds at the troll behind the counter. Again, with the good shot, but the stone-like resilience of El Crocadillo makes it seem as mosquitos to a different sort of giant.

Bullets aren't harming the troll. Clearly something else must be done. Wiley the Coyote Shaman (yes, I know) howls, his freakish beehive hairdo of dirt, mud, feathers, small rocks and etc practically /quivering/. The Awakened ganger makes an elaborate show of preparing, casting, and flinging a bolt of destructive energy at Croc. Croc, like the immovable object that he's been, suffers no ill effect despite the show of force.

«Plot» Angela says, "ALice!"

«Plot» Angela says, "You're up! Geek the mage!"

Croc frowns, throwing a hand up in front of his face as he feels an invisible force stab at him… but with a force of will, he shoves it aside and brings his focus back to the now with a roar.

Sister Alice watches all of this with what looks like a docile demeanor as the bullets and blasts and cutting zing here and there. One might assume that she is just staying NOT INVOLVED, but that is not the case. Oh no! She is actually scoping for 'The Moment', and it appears. She is very familiar with awakened people, living a life full of shamanism even though she is not one, and she lets the keg slip through her arm hug grip to clutch it by the nifty built-in handle bars. Then, she tsks, "Stop that devil worship!" Before the poor fellow can think twice, Alice spins with a flourish of black skirts, and then she performs a rather awesome hammer throw, letting go of the keg at just the right time for it to slam into the awakened ganger, ringing his bell… and bells!

Croc doesn't like getting shot at… so before he eats any more bullets, or spells, he will descend out of sight of anyone but poor, dying slice… and continue his bloody work, taking some fingers as trophies. When he's done, he will wait till the proverbial smoke has cleared, and will help Alice carry out the beer… before dissappearing back into the warrens, hiding from the cops for all his bloody murder.

One can't imagine how fast a troll could move, Croc, the bloody dervish, defies typical troll conventions of big and slow, rolling over the counter in a near-blur of shining blades. Little more than a squeak of surprise and pain comes from the self-proclaimed 'King of the Sprawl,' Catch, as he's impaled quite thoroughly and viciously on one of Croc's deadly cyber appendages, pinned to the counter for his last breath and then left to slump over and begin the slow process of bleeding out. Who's going to help him? Didn't think so.

Sister Alice moves forward in a low stance with her feet spread wide as she approaches the fellow, "Coyote, please, do not hate me." she says as if she were speaking to the totem. Then, she lifts her knee up and chambers a kick before releasing it high up into his chest and backing him up against a 4-way display case. Ouch! He crumples with various stuffer shack products raining down upon him.

«Plot» Angela says, "Alyse, your move."

During all of this, the other patrons of the shack are either screaming or hiding. Wanda has since gone cataconic, having had blood spray on her from two sources now as she just stares blankly at the violence going on around her. The child of the large woman is harassing Rash, asking him inane questions about shadowrunners and ghouls and spirits and other such things.

The first round slamming into Spike's retreating form had spun him round. Bleeding heavily and feeling like he'd been hit by a truck the poor thug had only enough time to stare wide-eyed at his ambusher who'd simply fired through the front door before the blonde elf had leveled her gun, clicked the setting over and squeezed. Three bullets tightly grouped into the centre of the chest, one severing the aorta and the others blasting into the heart itself. He's dead before he bounces.

«Plot» Angela says, "Spike is down. Croc is up next."

Croc manages to secure a few more fingers in the removal of his blades from the torso of Catch, snatching them up and taking them, discreetly, before he starts stalking towards Zany, the girl with the submachine gun. Finger-snatching takes up a little more of his focus and attention, though.

Alyse manages to side-step that burst as she changes sides of the doorway, the shots whizzing by and -just- missing her and her long jacket.

Zany pokes out from behind the wall again, SMG spitting out a small hail of bullets. Between the wall that Alyse is behind and SWAT-turns away from, and the wall of troll and shelf between herself and Alice, the bullets succeed in hitting absolutely nothing but inanimate objects.

Alice is lucky that Zany is a bad shot. She ducks but it would not have mattered whether or not she moved away from the shooting. Luckily, no harm comes.

There's a very, very odd sound from one of the other men in the shack. Static, a big hulking muscular man with a shotgun has been fairly docile the entire fight. Even with the utter destruction of his friends. In fact, he's been chatting it up with a coffee maker about how mean and nasty humans are. But it's the keg. The keg hurled at Wiley that gets him angered. Not the fact that Alice knocked Wiley out, no… "YOU HURT KEG!" bellows the man, trying to scramble up on one of the shelves to get a clean shot. He makes it, barely, wobbling and fires a slug at the nun, clearly thoroughly angered at this … wasteful abuse of such a fine object.

Alice lets out an 'Ack!' as the big fellow comes at her with the gun and then she dodges aside from the slug erupting from its muzzle. Digesting just what it is that he has said, the nun shows no mercy. She rushes for the Keg, and then she snatches it up in her gloved hands before trying to perform the hammer throw yet again. This time, it sails right for him, pretty good aim, but the force behind it… just is not enough. It slams into the man and then falls to the floor at his feet to obtain yet another dent in its fine exterior. "ALCOHOL is for LOSERS!"

Alice tries to use the distraction of the keg getting tossed at the man as a cover for moving forward after the throw to add a kick in with the insult of the dented keg, which has not yet spurted out its contents. Yet. It might blow at any ding at any moment, though! The moves that Alice performs are like a dance as she comes twirling in toward her target and then does what looks like a low cartwheel before sending both feet beautifully toward the side of Static's face. Contact is made, but it is not enough to put him completely down. And, for all the effort and the use of both feet and throwing all her momentum into it… she will be open to attack more than if she had done a controlled kick.

Alice says "Long Live Carrie Nation!"

A quick step from her cover and Alyse's gun is raised, obviously all that time playing those shooting vid-games have paid off. She's quick, really quick and she simply seems to weave perfectly behind the nearest isle, a blur of black and blonde….and two muzzle flashes. It might be the fact that she's not trying from long distances but Alyse's bullets slam hard into Zany's likely very suprised and now very sore self like the elf had magically learned how to shoot straight.

Croc diverts his attention to the sudden appearance of the shotgun-wielding Static. The hulking, blade-armed troll moves through the aisle, to where Alice is being all karate kid up on the shelf next to the cybered-up yet dim-witted thug. One swift, hard swing and he lops the man's leg off, sending him toppling down only to be impaled on the trog's other blade. He just drops the body, and looks to Alice. If the nun is taken out, who else will pray for him?

Seems Alyse's luck can't cover her lack of training forever. One of Zany's burst shots gets through and slams into her chest. her armor manages to stop her from losing a lung and her life right then and there, but the elf staggers back feeling several ribs break.

Zany's blood is pouring out of her, covering her skimpy halter top and tight cut-offs. She nearly collapses against the counter, but gets to solid bursts off before dropping to her knees. "Elf BITCH…!" the ganster spits, running more on adrenaline and bravado than anything else now.

Alice lets out a 'phew' at Croc saving her bacon, but then she glances over toward Alyse, who got shot by Zany!!! Watching one of the lovely women (who had helped to try so hard to bring her out of a catatonic moment while their life was being threatened) get shot… it makes Alice really PISSED, more pissed off than Static was about the keg getting injured. So, Alice hisses, "SINNER!" before running full blast toward Zany and then shouting, "BIGOT!" at the end where she pulls up a crescent kick to the side of the woman's face and knocks her down and against a hard object with the help of gravity.

«Plot» Angela says, "Combat over. Posing."

When the last of the gangers goes down with a swift boot to the head, the screaming continues. Well, some of it. The mother of the annoying kid is turning blue, and then the screaming stops as she passes out. The elf behind the counter has since fainted at the sight of more nearby violence, and people are slowly peeking out from behind shelves. The dwarf hobbles out, blinking, wringing his hands. "…I dunno who ya are, chummers, but… these scum have been hittin' stores in the area fer weeks… figgers they'd come in here when I was far from my shotgun… look, corporate ain't gonna like the mess here, and tell ya the truth, I got a lot of blood to mop up… but I'll give all ya whatever in the store ya want and a good head start 'fore I call up Lone Star… yeah?"

There was a time, and it was not long ago, that Alice would have taken ahold of the unconscious Zany by the hair and beat her into actual death mode, despite her being unable to fight now… but things have changed for Alice in the past few months. She lets her brains guide her rather than the urges and impulses to just… FREAK THE FUCK OUT. So, some twitching happens and then some stuttering of, "Mother Fackle." before she moves away from her downed target and goes hurriedly toward Alyse, scoping for medkits on the way! Does Alyse have one with her hmm? As she passes the dwarfy dude on the way, she nods and says, "Thanks!" but then looks back to Alyse, coming up to her with open arms. And, while telling people what to do, "Croc, and homeboy whatever the hell your name is…" (indicating Rash) "get those kegs, preferably not dented!"

"You're welcome…" Alyse answers, although between shortness of breath from her wounds and the gunfight she seems to have forgotten about her soda run for a moment. "A little water would be nice, if you could be so kind as to grab me a bottle or two?" she says lightly. Looking over towards Zany to make sure the woman is down she'll subtly kick the gun she'd had well out of reach before leaning against the counter she'd hobbled over to and closing her eyes. Time to see if that healing spell can help -her- for once.

Alice attempts to sweep Alyse up into her arms, intending to take off with her to the medical aisle to do the work there. Yeah, you should not move em, but she needs a clear aisle away from the commotion to concentrate! And, this is also the fastest way!

"Get off your arse, Johnny! Get the girl some water!" the dwarf barks, and a gangly human who had somehow wedged himself between some cases of beer in one of the coolers pokes his head out, grabs a bottle of water, and rushes it over to the women in the first aid supplies aisle.

"Jeez-OW!" Alyse gasps as she's swept up like that. Broken ribs hurt! Still she's taken to the right isle at least. Seeing the medical supplies she knows Alice has got the right idea at least and the elf lets her work, chipping in with clear, albeit pained directions to get her initial bleeding sorted. Now she'll try that spell.
«Plot» Angela says, "S reduced to M"

Alice is very open to suggestion, knowing that the woman is in fact in the know! And, with a lot of effort but repressing the tourrettes through some very well played acting… the nun manages to get things as square as she can with physical means. Then, she offers her hands to the lady. "Are you going to try to … fix yourself now?" She is not sure if she should say heal, for not all awakened folks do it the heal spell way. But, maybe she does!

During all of this, the troll and the street samurai carry out kegs to the truck. In fact, they clean the place out. They get more kegs than necessary, perhaps the barkeep will pay them more than the promised 2k for hazard and bonus kegs.

Alyse is as fixed as she's going to get. The boys have secured a few kegs. The dwarf has gone to get his shotgun, and sits on the countertop with it pointed at the two still-alive but unconscious gangers. "…Lone Star'll have fun with these two…" he grumbles. "Take what ya want and roll on outta here. Cameras got toasted soon as that fucker came in anyway…" he nods at the bloody form of Catcher.

«Auto-Judge[]» Alice (#10746) rolls Talismongering for "Scoping ser Coyote for awesome.":
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Feeling the coolness spread through her body as she focuses that healing magic Alyse gives a relieved sigh. There's a few little uncomfortable 'pops' as her ribs unfracture themselves and the severity of the wound becomes little more then some annoying bruising of the 5th and 6th. She'll be able to fix the rest at home, at least now she can walk out of here happily.

Alice watches in awe at Alyse but then nods and helps her up to her feet before leaving her to her own devices. Now, it's looty time! Alice grabs a medical kit and a bag of supplies before heading over to Wiley and digging at his unconscious body… finding what looks like expendables and snagging those if the powers that be allow this. And, then she bails!

… To the truck, to drive it, cause… well, the keys are hiding in her bra!

Alyse herself will grab a pair of medical kits, she'll get herself some supplies out of her efforts even if she's not getting her drinks she actually came for. Tucking them under her arm and against her hip like one would a wash basket she simply moves to walk out….but not before bending down next to Zany's corpse and picking up that SMG. It's hardly going to be missed if the only person who got shot was Alyse herself, and who knows? With all those extra attachments it might be worth something.

The bartender takes the keys, and rolls the kegs into the back room as he listens to the group regail him with the story of the gunfight at the Stuffer Shack. He just shakes his head, though Alyse's wounds are a very clear sign of it, not to mention Croc's handful of finger trophies. Grim. He lives up to his reputation. "Cynical usually handles these things, but, ain't seem him around since the Death Rave a few weeks back. Alright, I'll give you lot hazard pay and more fer the kegs. Five grand apiece… and your bottles…" he gives Croc that promised bottle of tequila, and a chilled half-gallon of chocolate soy milk for Alice. "…ought to keep me supplied 'til that next truck comes in… wouldn't be interested in guarding a beer shipment sometime for me, would ya all?"

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