Badass Dragons of the Wasteland - Round Six

No tip for the dealer? Bad form, old chap.

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I’ll never get this American tipping thing.

Here you go.

@penguinchris - I’d like to transfer 5LPs each to @SteampunkBanana and @funruly. Banker’s draft okay, chaps?

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This sort of behavior may be why you were banned from Monaco as well!

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No, that was more to do with the bucket of soapy frogs and the scuba suit with the bottom cut out.

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Those poor frogs!

You English and your funny sayings.

Round here we say “Driver’s Draft” when we want to talk aboout that free feeling one gets when wearing chaps.

Ain’t that right, Desmond @SteampunkBanana?

And you don’t need to tip me. The show is free.

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I stopped wearing chaps years ago, they chafe my thighs.

Hammer pants are how I roll.

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Alrighty. Instead of a tip, take one of these.

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Bill rummaged around behind his trucks seat… “Let me see…” Bill said to himself. “What do we have in here for Vampires?”

Molotov Cocktail:

Check!

Road Flares:
<img width=“251” height=“201” src=

>

Check!

Secret Weapons:

<img width=“251” height=“201” src=>

<img width=“251” height=“201” src=

>

Check and Check!

“Okay Baby-girl, are you ready hunt down Evil Ed?”

“Arf!”

“Well then, let me see your war face!”

“…”

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A uilikilt!

Are we going to the Playa?

We’d fit right in

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Sounds like we’ve got about half on one, half on three and one lonely soul on two. That about right?

I think we have 2 on 2.

I signed up for three. Sorry I didn’t post mote.

Bill scratched his slightly balding and extremely dandruffy scalp, and asked the miniature mutant mutt:

“Is that the best you can do Baby-girl? I said let me see your WAR face!”

RAWR!


Brother Bill called upon Reverend Clank @davide405 , for help firing up his Lincoln Continental pizza oven (kids always get an adults help when using the oven).

Under the Reverends watchful eye and with his expert tutelage, Brother Bill whipped up some most excellent personal pizza pies. Using his secret weapon ingredients he made:

Garlic Spam Pizza: Eat this before the mission to provide yourselves with a personal protection bubble of flatulence and bad breath!

Chocolate Ex-Lax Pizza: Eat this if you run out of fuel from over use of your flame thrower…


Bill packed the secret weapons into some old school novelty lunch boxes:

and stealthily placed one on each of the drivers seats of the volunteer Vampire hunters on Mission 3.

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~ shivers ~

Reminds me of my stay in Shengzen. Bloody hell.

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(( ooc:
I agree with Junior’s @funruly analysis, so mission 1 is my choice for round 6. Sorry for the late posting and general scarceness.
))

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Hi Everyone,

I apologize for the extreme delay here. It’s unconscionable, and you’ve been very kind and patient. I got a new job on a TV pilot before my current job is finished, and even though the new paychecks don’t start until April, the meetings and phone calls and memos have already proliferated. But I feel my responsibility to you all most keenly, so just bear with me as we start chugging our way down the home stretch to Edwards.

I promise you, the Ark will get there before April Fool’s Day. Thank you for still caring whether it does.

Now: to business. I know I said this particular bit would be in a PM, but I’m gonna put it out here just so you all can see we’re still a going concern.

Oi. You with the purple paintjob and the dead wankers hanging off your boot lid. I have a proposition for you. Yeah, you @daneel. You’ve been around long enough to know the value of high-speed driving. Fact is, all the firepower in the world won’t keep you alive if you can’t get out of your own way. Now, that Italian eggplant of yours is a hell of a looker, and I can see you’ve upgraded its firepower to a fare-thee-well, but it’s a bit of a slug when you put your foot in it.

Don’t get offended. I like your ride. I like it so much, I want it for myself. And I could just take it if I wanted to. But I don’t play that way. I propose a race. You and me, driver against driver. And I don’t propose you drive in that plum-sack of yours, 'cause I’ve been watching you these last few days, and though I admire your skills, that Iso just runs out of breath in the backstretch. It’s nice for beachfront cruises, but to be honest, you’re lucky you haven’t been caught up by the Pale Horse. Yet.

But take a look around here. You’re on the old Warner Bros studio lot. I used to work here, every now and then. Some other people you know did as well. One of them was a particularly high-profile presence here before he struck out on his own. He had money, and women, and every material thing he could ever want, but it was never enough for him. He’s dead now, and most of his assets are long since scattered to the winds, but a couple of his personal vehicles still survive. See that building over there?

His old office. He used to park right in front of it, red curb or no red curb. And that was not a subtle ride, either. He drove it for decades. I hear he died in it, eventually.

But he had a spare. A red one, kind of a prototype. And it’s parked behind that building. It’s fast enough for you. Among other things. If you’re up to it.

But maybe you feel like something a bit more… muscular. Something with a different sort of attitude… and a very different skillset.

Right over here is another building you may or may not recognize.

Amazing how nice it still looks. Guy that used to work out of that building was powerful, made a lot of enemies. And he liked to keep trophies, too. One particularly intriguing trophy is kept inside the garage to the left. It’s neither tasteful nor subtle nor particularly attractive. In fact, “garish” doesn’t begin to go far enough to describe it. It’s not even quite as fast as that other car I described. But there’s one thing it can do that the other cannot. One thing… that could save your life, under the right circumstances.

So… what’s it gonna be, De’Ath? Will you race me down Ventura Blvd to Van Nuys Blvd and back? Will you do it in the car inside this building:

Or the one inside this building:

Oh, what are the stakes? Glad you asked, mate. You win, you can drive away in your new car, or your old one, or even mine. Winner’s choice.

And if I win, you walk home. No, scratch that. I’m not that kind of arsehole.

I’ll let you drive away in this one:

I’m ready when you are, chum.

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Haha! What a … ah, perhaps I’d better keep the old trap shut …