Remember waiting for the simple text pages of the chats to load back in the day? Boy, that sucked. Let's hope it doesn't come to pass again since I can't exactly pay ISPs to be in a 'fast lane.' Visit dearfcc.org to make your voice heard and try to save Net Neutrality!
Once the pride of the state, the fairgrounds have since fallen into disrepair. Located between Necropolis and neighboring Independence, the grounds themselves have become a haven for the squalid underbelly of urban life. Transients, drifters and others with no other place to go can be found here amidst the faded signs and boarded up windows. Broken beer bottles and used hypodermic needles litter the area while old newspapers blow across the main yard and plaster themselves to nearby fences. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting their pale halogen glow across the dreary scene.
There are 0 people here The most recent statement was made about 452 hours ago.
: A shadow moves inside the barn, and then detaches itself to reveal a pot-bellied and pock-faced loser with tangled hair and bad body odor.
: The short guy huffs impatiently. "You got her?"
: "Yeah." Grumbles the loser. "Easy. Told her I saw her cat."
: "Got the evidence?"
: "Yep." The loser passes over a bag; inside, stained fabric. "Now, how does this work again?"
: Another impatient huff. "It's not complicated, asswipe. We tell 'em they can have the kid back for a ransom, and we let 'em have this stuff to do their tests on to prove it. When they drop off the ransom, and they will, we use cantrips to hide the pick up. You get a cut, I get the rest."
: "Don't gotta give the kid back, do I?"
: "Ppppffft. Give her back, don't give her back, what do I care?"
: "Good. Getting that was easy..." He gestures to the bag. "... but she's a little the worse for wear." His expression is grotesque; a combination of lustful, hungry, and something that isn't easily named.
: "Yeah, whatever. Torture pays, but what YOU do... there's no profit in that."
: "How come you want money, anyway?"
: "None of your damn business, but I don't, so much. Just a way of keeping score. Can you IMAGINE the nightmares this'll create? The FEAR?"
: The loser's expression loses nothing, but rather, grows more intent. "Yeah." Softly. "Yeah. And grown ups are harder to scare, sometimes."
: "After this, they'll be PLENTY scared. If we do it right, they won't even want to talk to the kids about it, to keep from scarin' THEM... but the kid's will pick up info about it anyway. It'll make 'em crazy; misunderstanding, foggy fears, and half-truths? And on top of ALL that... NO ONE will guess how the ransom walks away. Pretty sure no one will ever find her, either, but that's up to you. Get creative."
: "HA. I can do that. Alright. You get me my cut?"
: "Trust me."
: "Pffffft." The loser snorts. "You get me my cut or I'll cut you, got it? I'll cut you, and I'll ENJOY it."
: "Screwing you over ain't worth it. You'll get your money."
: "Right." The loser spits on the ground, nods. "Ok. I'm out. Gotta playdate." He licks his lips.
: "Yeah. Gross." Bothered not at all, the shorter man turns and picks his way back across the main yard while the loser disappears into the shadows. Broken beer bottles and used hypodermic needles litter the area while old newspapers blow across the main yard and plaster themselves to nearby fences. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting their pale halogen glow across the dreary scene.