6/7/2004

06:19 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Industrial Sector, Southwest Side
Several blocks encompassing the southern ends of 13th, 14th and 15th Streets extend in an area poor and abandoned, with but a few businesses struggling to survive. Along the northern edge of the district is a junk yard filled with old washers, dryers, tires, and the myriad other elements of human-created unrecycled waste. Smoke pours from a few factories, and the more productive factories to the east combine with it to lay a thin film of dark ash across much of the streets. Other factories, and warehouses between them, lie abandoned or are home to the poor; at night, from some of those with windows, the orange glow of oil drums used for heating and light shine dully through the grime. Small shops serve the few factory workers who remain in the area beyond the end of the working day, or during the lunch hours grudgingly allowed. In the northeastern corner there is slightly more activity in bars offering drinking and even some gambling in dark corners. Along this stretch of street, the alleyways have stairways to second-floor rooms, with the occasional alley entrance occupied evening and night by painted women making blatant offers to the male passersby. Southwards, on the southern side of Grym Broders Avenue, the train station falls into disrepair similar to the rest of the area.
Contents:
Todd
Obvious exits:
MacGregor's Junkyard  Filthy Alley  Abandoned Factory  Medina Coffees  East  North  

[look Todd]
Todd is a bit taller than some kids might be his age, at just a hair under six feet. He appears to be a bit on the gangly side, with long legs and arms that move fluidly. The top of his head is covered with slightly shaggy black hair that covers the top of his ears. His hair is either naturally sheeny or just wet, perhaps with oil or something else.
His face is nothing special to look at, somewhere on the line between good and bad. His eyebrows are just as dark as his hair, but not nearly as long. The right one seems just a bit shorter than the left, but they are otherwise unremarkable. Under them are his eyes, the color of an overcast day. Such a neutral gray, they would be perfectly flat if there wasn't a glimmer in them. His nose seems slightly misshapen, but not obviously so. Lips, chin, jawbone, are all average. Nothing remarkable at all for that, besides a beguiling smile.
His clothes are simple and somewhat worn, obviously secondhand. Over everything he wears a dark gray suit jacket, tweed, with black elbow patches. It seems a bit wide on the shoulders, and maybe a bit too long in the arms. Speaking of which, the boy is wearing a set of black gloves, accentuating his long, slender fingers. Under the coat is a slightly faded black turtleneck, ribbed. A leather belt and black pants are on the lower section, to compliment. The pants boast a dazzling array of matching pockets, all of which appear to have been sewn on after manufacture. At the very bottom is a pair of scuffed, but shiny and polished boots.

Ever since the firebombing of MacGregor's Junkyard, many of the shadier businesses around the industrial side of St. Claire have been forced to clean up - at least on the outside. The good news is, because of the firebombing of MacGregor's, the surrounding junkyard businesses have had an increase in their sales, ever so slightly. As the sun approaches the western horizon, the normalcy of the encroaching dusk is accented by the sounds of moving machinery and normal city traffic on this side of the city.

Todd shuffles down the sidewalk, pushing along a battered shopping cart that looked to be from the Regan era. He'd spent all of yesterday scouting out the various dumps and salvage yards, finally making a list, based on choices and security. The best one had alright stuff and a place or two where the fence was hidden from the road. Good for entry, and yesterday, he hadn't /seen/ any dogs or patrols...but you never really know til you try.

So there are a couple of junkyards to be targeted. It was slim pickings for many. Some had dogs, some had cameras. Some have later hours, and others have early closing times. Patrol wise it's hard to say. Junkyards are normally not wide open to the public in general, since their clientele are more often than not, established through massive sales by the ton. Todd is paid no mind by anyone on the street.

Todd scoots the cart down one of the many filthy alleys, following its curve to where it meets the fence of his first target. He looks around quickly, and slips the cart behind a nearby dumpster, hiding it more or less. He then head across the narrow alley to the fence, taking a look inside to gauge the situation inside. It should be closed, he thinks.

The fence itself is chainlink, with lengths of barbed wire around looping over the top to prevent hoodlums from climbing in. Sheet metal piled against the side has a couple of holes to peek through though no severe gaps in between. This place is pretty clean for a junkyard from initial watch. It is closed, due to open at 9 AM the next mornign.

Todd smirks a little, and adjusts his reversible jacket. He checks to make sure he's got his hand tools ready and tugs on a set of gloves a bit more heavy duty than his regular cotton. Hat and facemask complete it. Thus prepared, he heads back to his cart, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. He shifts some of the can and junk on the bottom, and gets out the bolt cutters. These came from Billy, and are 'new' and 'unused' which is to say somewhat battered and a year old. Good price, though. A few quick snips should make short work of the fence, and form an L-shaped slit through which to slip. Less obvious from this side, and the sheet metal will help on the other.

The first trouble comes when the sheet metal just behind the cut fence refuses to give away. It barely bends to a heavy push to the center, but it looks to be connected to the chainlink fence via small wires looped through drilled holes up at the top and at along the bottom of the fence.

Todd is a Gnawer for a reason. He snips the wires along the bottom, so coming in is easy. Then, the tugs a few long threads from his jacket, looping them up on the left corner. Then, more snips. Now a hard, sudden yank will dislodge the sheet metal for a fast(er) escape. Todd checks the junkyard again, looking hard for any sign of movement. No cameras here, thank Gaia. After making sure the junkyard and alley are clear, he heads back to the cart to get the hacksaw. At last, he is ready.

No visible cameras, more like. There isn't a sign that warns of cameras on premises, but it also goes without indication of hidden cameras. The sheet metal yields easily once the bottom wires are clipped. By now the sun has sunk even lower, with the shadows lengthening. The wind picks up for a spell, but the majority of the junkyard still remains assumably empty of life.

Todd slips through the fence with almost frightening fluidity. He keeps low, taking advantage of the shadows and the lengthening darkness. He scans his eyes across the junkyard, trying to relocate his first target he found yesterday, and spied from the other side just now. A whole bunch of pipes just stacked around, almost haphazardly.
The pipes are partly rusty, but all in good shape. And heavy. Steel tends to be that way. Moving them silently through a small hole in the fence will be very difficult to do, but so far it seems like there isn't any security beyond the barbed wired fence.

The first couple of pipes come out without too much trouble. When the next couple of pipes are being moved however, are a lot heavier and one has an elbow fitting stuck onto the end that drags a long line through the dirt.

Todd takes no chances. He creeps along the fence slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on the look-out for movement, ears open for sound. His sneakers make little sound, the cub focusing all his stealth. He makes his way to the pipes eventually, intending to take all night if need be.

The pipe that was dragging along is one of the shorter ones, and an odd shape of it. Before Todd can push the whole pipe through, something furry brushes along his hand and up along his arm.

Todd freezes as the furry thing crawls over his glove and up his long sleeve. He focuses, trying to discern what it is. Is it heavy and large enough to be a rat? That could make sense, and he'd be safe, being a child of Momma Rat. He doesn't take any action, just yet, afraid of dropping the pipes.

It is in fact a rat, disturbed from its nest within the pipe. It doesn't stop in its scurry, but crawls over Todd's shoulder and down his side to leap off and make for the nearest darkest pile. All it looks to be is a fuzzy shadow as it passes. Pipe dragging continues, but trying to be silent about it is impossible as metal clunks against metal when the pipes are moved through the fence.

Todd does his best to be silent, and with the pipes moved, he begins to cut them as fast as he can. Using the dumpster as cover, he first grooves down the center of the pipe, muffling it with some ratty shirts he got somewhere-like off a bum, for example. The bolt-cutters are a struggle, and the edges of the pipe are sure to pinch, but clean cuts can be made later.

The bolt cutters, being old, don't work too well against the piping. The hacksaw is better, but it still makes small grooves only. Scrap metal or not, the pipes are good quality. Especially now, after having dragged a fair amount of pipe, and with stamina starting to wane. Just Todd's luck, that people passing by look into the alley at the most peculiar noise being made.

Todd is crouching in the darkness, in his ratty clothes, next to/slightly behind a dumpster. It would seems to be an odd sound, if it were coming from anything that didn't seem like a run-of-the mill street bum who may just be chowing down after dumpster diving. With the excess pipes 'hidden' under some debris and the dumpster, Todd tries to pace himself, and get pipe sections short enough to fit in the odd cart.
What sort of noise would that be, this first passerby doesn't look to care about the noise. For the next five or so minutes, there's no one to worry about. Then, the door off to one side of the building that Todd is tucked beside starts with an odd scrap and the sound of a door being unlocked. "So I sez to 'im, 'ey it ain't none o' my business if y--..." A pair of burly men mutually blink, seeing the number of piping strewn next to the building.

Todd freezes, waiting for tense second, before speaking up just loud enough for them to hear in a gutteral, yet sing-songy voice. "None of your business what I do to snakes..." With luck, they are too tired and too wrapped up in their own little worlds to give it more than a puzzled thought before passing it off as just another crazy bum. Apathy is cheap in this sleaze-hole.

Uh, snakes? The men reflexively first glance about around their feet. The man who was talking, a good build of a guy in a regular work shirt and sturdy jeans with boots, walks over towards the voice. He is flanked by his listening companion as they investigate. When they come upon Todd around the dumpster, the guy looks down. "Huh? It's just a kid," he states obviously, though with surprise at seeing Todd evident. He doesn't seem to have noticed the oddity of a kid with a hacksaw and bolt cutters, but his companion is a bit more dubious. "What're you doin' here kid? This ain't a place for you." It's a flat statement from the second, who wears a black working shirt. He's considerably less muscled than the first, but still looks to be stronger.

Todd is crouching, his right hand against the concrete. The left tosses a rolled up wad of what looks like 2 twenties and smaller bills, which taps up against the closest guy's shoes. "You know, I think maybe you two fellows have somewhere else to be, maybe?"

The first man looks down at the wad of money being offered. Then he looks at Todd. In fact, both men look at Todd in the most quizzical manner. One would almost laugh at their expressions, considering it's not one they assume often. "An' what's that?" the first man says, again eyeing the hefty roll, at first with a doubtful look. The second guy finally steps closer, his voice a different lilt from his coworker's. "You ain't shootin' up here kid, are you?" There's an evident scowl from the second. "'Cuz if you are you better drag your drugged up ass outta here quick like."

Todd scoops up his cash, and moves to leave the alley, somewhat reluctantly.

As Todd gets up and starts heading off, the men just turn to each other and shrug. Drugs, kids, kids on drugs... the world's just getting darker each day. "What punk left all this shit here though?" is the grumbled question of the second, as the man bends down to pick up one of the pipes from one end and easily leans it up against the wall. "Dunno. Prolly goin' to scrap," replies the other. They both pretty much move to the pipes around, clunking and clanking them until they're out of the way and more organized next to the dumpster.

Todd waits, and bides his time until at last they are gone and he can continue to gather materials.

Patience is a virtue, and the reward is that the men have neatly leaned all the pipes against the wall. One of them locks the side door to the building they'd just exited. They leave soon after, resuming the interrupted conversation without a hitch, and with something else to talk about. The sun sets, plunging the alley into a darkened shadow that's hard to see in.

Todd returns soon enough, and returns to his labors, intending to fill the shopping cart.