In which we vomit forth apocalyptica

I'm reminded of that one movie about dragons where the adults were acting out Star Wars for the kids.

I'm reminded of that one movie about dragons where the adults were acting out Star Wars for the kids.

I didn't see that movie but heard about that scene; it was the inspiration, that and people getting together to talk about TV shows and it ends up sounding like this: "Remember X scene...that was cool."  "Yeah...and Y scene <quotes scene>." "Totally."

But enough of that...more vomiting and barfing!

The Grab-n-Shivs: They tend to attack in 3's, two kids and an adult.  The kids grab your legs and the adult either shivs you or shoots you, depending on whats at hand.  Its simple and it works more often than it doesn't.  When the kids get big enough, they grow into the role of the shiv/shooter.

Reign of Fire.  Great AW story.

So this one was from my playtest group:

The Stacks are giant piles of techno-bits, Tv's and speakers and amps and computers and monitors all piled together in giant towering heaps up on the top of the ravine.  They stand like plastic-and-glass teeth, pulling lightning from the sky even when it's sunny and clear.  Every time there's a hit the stacks light up, screaming out blasts of nonsense sound and vision that can seem to have some purpose or meaning if you look hard enough.  Don't get caught up there in a storm.


Another idea I had during my commute this morning:

A colony of musicians who have come to be close to the last grand piano.  In this world, he who knows perfect pitch is king, and is always called Steinway.  Down in the pit, The clans of Man Man (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhMUffbS-g8) and Gogol Bordello (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elyQ4ShVw-Y) have been feuding for a generation now, no one quite knows why.  Their feud is in the form of endless back and forth music, two stages set across from each other.  Know one really knows the form, but eventually one or the other will win and then the party will be over, so people come to cut loose while they can.  Even up in the Tuning hall where Steinway presides and answers petitions for tuning you can hear the noise of their ongoing argument.

They only stop when the colony is threatened and everyone fights.  This latest round has been going for most of the year.

I write a daily poetry blog in which I barf forth apocalyptica.

dailyanxiety.wordpress.com

Holy sweetness Mcdaldno!

Any everyone should read Brendan's 101 word poems. They are an apocalypse world unto themselves:

http://www.xorph.com/anacrusis/

The Wandering Jew is equal parts botanist, linguist and gunsmith, leaving writings around the wastes like Johnny Appleseed left whatever the fuck it was he left.  Here's a pair of words I read about on a copy of a copy of a copy of one of his scrips.

Wish he'd define what a Jew is, no one here remembers.

G.O.G. - Gift of G-d is a noun, an acronym if you know what that is.  It refers to the landmines that take certain children.  These children are the ones who, come winter, would have forced their parents to make all-too-hard choices about rationing out food, kids who have no ability to get their own barter, not even begging.

G.O.D. - Gift of the Devil is a noun, another acronym and if you are canny with patterns, you have figured out what that means.  These children are the ones who are killed or simply maimed beyond recognition by landmines but who were gaining barter for the family, who were trained or who had forged a relationship that was keeping kin fed.

Both of these words refer to children hurt and killed by landmines.  There are words for other types of killings, just not these.

Its supposed to be vomit and barf, not full on dry heave.  I need to limit myself to a sentence or two, not this micro-fic bullshit.

<Special Flora and Fauna edition:>

Them dolphins has always been able to talk. They just ain't never saw nothin' scarier'n us afore.

The apes and monkeys seem to worship something in the reptile house. It likes its meals whole, and live, so they don't cook for it, even though that smoke we've seen over the wall means they know how.

When the queen really want to impress a crowd, she dons the Colony Dress, her ant farm. They move around so she can sit down, or show off her legs, and clean up any blood she gets on her from the Opera.

Nah, no one knows who figgered out them Megaleeches could be made to inject blood as good as they suck it up, but that dude saved my life. Look, sorry, Sport, but they gotta stay fed if they're gonna keep us on our feet, nothin' personal!

Well, the Scabbers ain't exactly immune to all that poison ivy overgrown the valley so much acclimated to it. Don't never eat or drink nothin' they give you, if you follow.

-JC

Megaleeches and Scabbers' Ivy ftw!

There's this gang who always wear crimson caps.  They call themselves the Hat Reds.  They used to have a different name, long ago, but since they cannot read, they don't know it anymore.  But they have these red hats, you know?

In some parts of the Apocalypse World, parents tell their children this story: that if they misbehave, then in the dead of winter a great beast named Cinder-claws will creep into the house and take them away, and leave coal for the parents as payment.


They say that snow used to be white.  They say it only came a few months of the year, too.


(This is from a different game I ran, but I think it fits.)
A mule plods slowly in a circle, every step pulling more water from deep beneath the sands. Occasionally the withered fifth leg twitches against the straps that hold it up against its belly, away from the other four. Some people walk clear across the city and push a well-wheel themselves to avoid drinking water drawn by it.

A slaver's settlement, and colosseum, where the currency is human ears.

More often than not, you'll see some poor scab sweeping floors who decides to give up sunglasses, lest he go without his next fix, if you know what I mean...

Johny Kudzu - a haggard looking, reformed alcoholic who wanders the wasteland with a cargo bicycle and a giant potted kudzu plant.  Every a couple of miles, he cuts off a tiny piece and throws it on the ground.  He talks about finding a place with clean water, maybe if you follow the ever-more-rampant trail of Kudzu you can find it.

The Children's Crusade - Like Reavers from Firefly, only they're all under the age of twelve, roaming through the desert, swarms of them attacking lone travelers or even caravans.  Is this a disease that only affects children?  Some sort of mutation?  Are they being controlled by someone?  Or are they simply what happens when children, abandoned and alone in the wilderness, clearly hear the call of the psychic maelstrom?

The world is poisoned. The real settlements are growing food under glass -- scavenged from the suburbs and assembled into greenhouses. And every year, one more crop-type disappears, having succumbed to infection that slipped through the cracks. And the fucking forest; it fights back, I swear! Chokevines. three-foot SqWARels. Flesh-eating locusts. Fuckers, all of 'em. And the wind. When the wind picks up everyone dives for cover, gets inside and wraps their faces. New threats come on the wind that might erase whole regions.

We've seen two basic lifestyles. The reasonable people who live in the ruins; settlements of concrete and wood, using what artifacts of the old world they can scrounge up. They're the ones fighting against the dying past. These people make sense. Sure, some would eat your skin, but you can read them. But there's also the tribes. Those fuckers out in the woods. They actually live with the chokevines and the bugs. They eat the sqWARels and their nuts the size of your head. And they look at you like they haven't had a Halloween Goose in twenty years -- those fuckers don't even know what a Halloween Goose is; no tradition with that sort. And worst of all, sometimes you can trade with them. It's not all kill, kill, kill; but it would be easier if it were, because you never know!