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Down and Out
Topic Started: Sep 26 2012, 12:21 PM (2,128 Views)
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On a lazy afternoon, the sky dark with clouds and a thin mist of rain coming down over the city, a man found himself out of luck. He was a large man, laying amongst the mud and old garbage bags that lined the small alley between two establishments. His body had been tossed there hours earlier, assumed dead. He, and the entire alleyway, smelled of alcohol and blood.

Coming to, Biff Calhoon felt pain all over. His face ached, his nose broken, and his torso and limbs felt bruised beyond belief. He could barely move, and doing so brought more pain than any of his wartime experiences. His handgun was still present, though everything else, including his rifle, was nowhere the be seen. There was a bullet in the chamber of his gun, a few splashes of blood on his jacket, and half a dozen bullet casings on the ground around him.

The alley was quiet, the light *ting* of rain echoing off the tin rooftops nearby. He could barely remember where he was, which planet or city, and he could not tell whether it was alcohol or blood on his tongue.

And so the beginning of the end for Biff Calhoon began.
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How many times was this now? When am I going to stop this nonsense? Why does my face always feel like I went fifteen rounds with a wall? These thoughts and more too jumbled and mashed up to make sense coursed though Biff’s brain. Rough nights like these were becoming the norm again and he was worried that he was in for another bout of serious bad luck.

Searching his surroundings he was mortified to find that he had been robbed….again. He sighed a sigh that sent gut wrenching pain down the right side of his body and began to laugh. Laughter, the worst thing you can do with broke ribs, but then again he always found amusement at times where none was called for.

Every time,” Biff grunted out. Looking at the two doors on opposite sides of the alleyway that lead into his latest situation. “Man I must have been running the gauntlet last night or day….. Man.”

Biff held out hope that he had had the foresight to hide his gear rather then having to track down the man or men responsible for the mushed up broken way his body felt. He also hope that if he hid his gear he didn’t do it on the sauce. Last time he did that he found it in a river. His PDA hadn’t worked since.

Choosing at random Biff heads into the right hand door. Inside was an all to familiar scene, tables upended and smashed, broken glass everywhere, and broken pool cues one of which made him cringe. Was that a flash of recognition he wouldn’t know for sure but his nose was telling him that that pool cue became very well acquainted with his face. A couple workers were sweeping up various debris while the barman stared at him as if he was looking at a ghost.

Gunnn, yeah I get that look a lot,” Biff said to the barman as he limped up to the bar and sliding onto one of the few stools that survived whatever force he unleashed last night. “What in all holy Hell happened last night? Please tell me that I didn’t do all of this."
Edited by biffcalhoon, Oct 11 2012, 12:27 PM.
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This Is My Quest - A tale of regret.
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As Biff entered the bar, the man behind the bar swore under his breathe and started walking towards him. His face was red.

"Gorram it, yer comin' marchin' back in here after all that?!" When Biff started to approach him, though, the man slowed and then finally stopped, losing some of the bravado in his composure as the faced off.

Biff
 
What in all holy Hell happened last night? Please tell me that I didn’t do all of this.
"You don't remember? You crazy son of a..." The man shook his head as Biff took a seat, resigning from his tough-guy facade and returning to the bar, pouring them both a glass of whiskey. The younger boys from around the room, still cleaning up the broken glass and overturned tables, shot glances and glares to Biff, but nothing was said.

"Can't rightly say you did all of this, but can't rightly say you're innocent, either. Just lucky the Feds missed yer." He emptied his glass, the whiskey hitting him as it did most men in the morning.
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Shaking his head a little at the thought that he once again ended up like this Biff wondered how many more of these depression binges he had left in him. Thinking back the last four days were a bit of a mangled haze but it's always the last day that's the worst. Five days ago the depression kicked back in to high gear and Biff did what he always does when meditation doesn't help, he self medicates with booze. Biff had all but expected the barman to start the beating anew but he softened his gaze after viewing the mess of a man Biff was in the light of day.

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You don't remember? You crazy son of a....


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Can't rightly say you did all of this, but can't rightly say you're innocent, either. Just lucky the Feds missed yer


Biff stared at the glass of whiskey under his nose. The smell of it which usually brought such comfort was turning his stomach causing him great pain. He'd have to get rid of it and knew the perfect way to do that. The whiskey burned his raw throat and reignited the fire in his belly which soothed it for now. Like most things in his life the last couple years he would regret this later too.

"So do you know the people I tussled with last night? How I can find them to see if they robbed me? Lastly, I'd like to help the clean up effort unless my welcome which I rightly understand is wore out." Without waiting for an answer Biff got up and began to gather broken shards of wood and glass to include his nose's friend the broken pool cue. After about five minutes the pain was too much and he sat down again to some much deserved sniggering from the youths that were left to clean up his mess. "Gorram that hurts something fiece." He looked at the barman hoping for a lead he could follow to find his missing gear.
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The barman shook his head softly, taking a mouthful of the alcohol and downing it. His eyes locked to Biff's as he spoke, his voice lowering.

"Doubt ye'd want to go lookin' for that type. Thinkin' most of 'em got taken in by the Feds when they showed up, anyways." there was a long pause, though it was never misunderstood that he had said all he had to say. After a moment, he continued. "Do think I'd be able to point you in the right direction, though." There was an odd empathy in his eyes, as if he was saying 'it's ok, I understand.'

The gesture of helping clean up was not ignored, but the bartender simply gave a shake of his head again, downing the rest of his drink.

"No sir, I doubt you stayin' here would do anyone any good. Best yer movin' on before the Feds come back. I'm sure they will be, looking for loose ends."
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Do think I'd be able to point you in the right direction, though.


The barman's words were like a balm of Giliad and it made a fresh wave of guilt shudder through Biff. If true to his usual cycle he'll spend the next two days feeling that guilt and then it'll just melt away. "I'm much obliged my friend."

Biff winced in pain again. I'm going to have to get back to my room to gather what little I've left there. There I can wrap these ribs and duct tape myself back together. After the last couple days it might be a good time to move on. Biff finally looked himself over as his haze was starting to clear. Blood on my jacket? Gorram things going to stain! While he contemplated his jackets newest unwanted color scheme he heard,
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No sir, I doubt you stayin' here would do anyone any good. Best yer movin' on before the Feds come back. I'm sure they will be, looking for loose ends.


Biff couldn't believe this barman was helping him so much after all the trouble he caused. "You sir are outstanding. Most times the barman don't warn me off before the Feds show up. As payment for your help I promise you I'll never come back to bother you again. At least in that state."
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This Is My Quest - A tale of regret.
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The man nodded, gesturing to the short flight of stairs that went to the few rooms on the second floor of the building. He knew Biff wasn't going anywhere without his belongings. Without another word, the bartender also started scribbling away with a pencil on a napkin.

"Go on." He said, never raising his eyes. "I'll give yer an address. Gather yer things and I'll see ya on yer way, out back."
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The room was a luxery Biff didn't often afford himself preferring instead to camp out under the stars. The enivironment didn't matter so much as he was skilled in wilderness living in most situations. When these bouts of depression hit him though he liked to have a place with four walls and a roof to stash what he doesn't bar hop with.

In the small room that only consisted of a cot and shaving basin he had filled with water one of the days before. The water still looked relatively clean. Going to his old military ruck sack he pulled out a fresh, if patched in places, change of clothes and splashed some water on his face. He took a tattered cloth and began cleaning his wounds and thanked whoever was listening that they were mostly superficial. His nose and ribs still burned with such pain but those seemed the worst of it. Grabbing some bandages from his ruck he began to wrap tight the offending ribs and began to pack his meager supplies back into his ruck. He took a moment to sit quietly and see if he could bring himself to a peaceful state of mindfulness through meditation and could not. He'd have to find time after his head cleared up from the influence of the alcohol.

Walking back downstairs with his ruck on was so painful that he almost fell twice. "Again I am in your debt, probably more ways then one. Thanks for the address and I'm mighty sorry for the trouble I've caused here. Farewell."

With that he headed for the doorway hoping to never darken these doors again.
Edited by biffcalhoon, Oct 11 2012, 12:54 PM.
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Outside the streets were bustling as the day began. Businesses were opening and small stalls were being assembled on the roadside, selling clothes and fruit and sundries. The main docks of the city weren't too far away, and it was there that Biff's only clue pointed him. The address was a small apartment building not far from the docks. Only a bit of local knowledge revealed that the small places were usually owned, or rented, by ship Captains and their crews while enjoying a longer than usual stay planetside. With little more then that information as guidance, Biff was in for a long morning.
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The walk to the docks did the trick to dust the cobwebs out of his head and it was with this clearer thinking that he began his search. Biff had always enjoyed the docks on most worlds in the Verse. It went against his loner nature and normally crowds made him nervous but the docks are different. The rush of humanity, the sounds, and smells that one experiences does more to humble one with it's futility then most places. Any number of the people walking around him may blink out of existence out in the black. Some might not even get off world before someone puts a bullet in them.

Biff looked up at the small apartment building and hoped that this would lead him to his gear. His weapons meant a lot to him having aquired them during the war. He would also need some cash soon if he was to get off this rock and that meant a job.

There's opportunities here I can feel it. Now I just need to find it.

Biff stepped into the appartment managers office to get the lowdown on his address with a smile on his face.
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The man behind the desk in the small office had his booted feet on the desk, eyes half closed as if it was time for his afternoon nap. When greeted, though, he was more than happily obliged to point Biff in the right direction.

"Aye, Mr Edgecombe. He and his boys been on planet for a few weeks now. Should probably be able to find them up stairs."
He jotted down the room number and smiled, gesturing to where the elevators were.

The building was old, run down, and the elevators hardly looked like they were operational, let alone safe. There was also a staircase that winded its way up through the dozen or so floors, and not a soul in sight after Biff left the small managers office.
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Edgecombe huh. Sounds about right. I've only been walking the razors edge these last couple of years. Biff thought as he looked at the run down elevator. With his body feeling the pain of his latest binge the last thing he wants is to climb the stairs, but the thought of being trapped either by mishap or by intent itched at Biff's paranoia. Instinct gives in and he heads towards the staircase. As he passed the elevator he hits the call button as he often did when passing random buttons.I've done that since I was a kid. It's funny how something’s never leave us through life. Biff laughed at this thought and opened the door to the stairs taking a deep painful breath he mentally prepared himself for the climb.

"Well one rounds not going to help if it comes down to clearing this stairwell." Biff closed his eyes and finished his thought in silence. Whatever happens, happens.

Wincing all the way up, feeling every step, Biff trudged on till he reached the floor that the man downstairs had indicated. Anxious he approached the door.
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By the time Biff reached the seventh floor, his final destination, the mans ribs ached and his breath was short. A minute or so went by as he recuperated, the filthy hallway stretching out in both directions empty and smelling foul. A dull echo of noise came from his right and a quick investigation brought him to the door number the man downstairs had indication.

713.

The door was old, rotten wood, water stains covering the bottom foot of it, the handle rusty. It was locked. From inside the room came the muffled sound of music - some kind of heavy metal, the melody of which didn't ring any bells for Biff. There was no other identifiable sound, from room 713 or any other.
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Trying to place the music that he heard just made Biff's head swirl so he shook the thought away. Biff tried the door handle just to make sure and could feel the play in the old mechenism. How does one get water stains like that on a door seven floors up?

Biff imagined a lake with the top of the building sticking out of it. Shaking his head he laughed. The strain from the stairs really got to me. Get back in the game man! You're about to enter a possible world of hurt.

Biff raised his arm and beat on the door three times on the third hit a portion of the door crumbled in and Biff could see a little of the room it opened to. Through the hole Biff could only make out the adjacent wall and cieling without getting on his tiptoes which in his state was out of the question. It looked dark as if the windows had been covered and he could make out a flicker of light that could be a small fire or a couple candles. He heard nothing but the music.

"HEY! Anyone in here? Sorry about your door. Hello?

Edited by biffcalhoon, Oct 11 2012, 09:22 AM.
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There came no response, the music now louder as it funneled through the gap in the door. There was no movement beyond. The glow of a single bulb lamp illuminated one side of the large room beyond, a handful of candles sitting on the opposite side on a table. It seemed to Biff like a single room hotel room - a few couches in the middle, a table to one side, and a small kitchen built in on the other.

Two doors were visible, one likely leading to a bathroom and the other a bedroom. There were large glass sliding doors opposite where he stood, leading out to a balcony no doubt, but they were covered with thick blankets that had been draped over the curtain rods. The smell of booze and smoke came through the small hole Biff had made.
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Well now I'm really sorry about your door. Through immense pain Biff hauled back and gave the aged door a swift kick. The old knob gave way and wood simply turned to dust.

Biff took an immediate stock of the small room saw the many empty bottles thrown about as if at random. some were broke as if thrown in rage and Biff saw patches of alcohol dotting the walls.

"Mr. Edgecombe? Edgecomb! My name is Biff Calhoon and I hear tell you had something to do with my missing gear! Looking at the bottles again Biff thought, From the looks of this you may not remember last night either.

Finding nothing but filth in the kitchen and not wanting to linger too long there Biff walked across the room towards the door he suspected was the bedroom. As he went he kicked something that was on the floor. Biff looked down to see his combat knife and picked it up. RAGE! No no Biff breathe. Stay calm. You don't know what waits in the next room or how this got here. For all you know ol' boy you were here sometime in the last four days.

"Edgecombe I need information and you're my only clue so you sure as hell better not be dead."
Edited by biffcalhoon, Oct 11 2012, 01:08 PM.
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Between two couches in the middle of the room was a table covered in empty bottles, cigarette butts, syringes and what looked like a light dusting of icing sugar. Biff had moved across the room, almost passed the 'recreational' setup, when a groan came from one of the couches. There was a man laying there, half hidden beneath a thin blanket, long greasy hair covering most of his face. Despite his reaction, and the noise Biff was making, the man seemed to remain fast asleep. Or unconscious. It was hard to tell.

It was only then, once Biff had realised he wasn't alone, that he started to note the other sleeping/passed out bodies around the room. another man was laying almost under one of the couches, while two more were on the floor near the hanging blankets. Four in total.

The bedroom door was open a slight crack, revealing a filthy bedroom, clothes covering the floor. Atop the double bed was a fifth man, nearly naked and fast asleep, a half empty bottle in one hand. His face seemed familiar, though Biff couldn't recall exactly where they'd met. He could assume, though.
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Du kuh nuhn! How the hell did I miss all of you! Biff pushed the door to the bedroom open and approached the sleeping man. Anger rising up in his gut Biff tried to remain calm as he neared the half naked man who from the smell of him had soiled himself.

Biff whispered to the man as he carefully lay himself on top of his chest, "Edgecombe or whatever your name is, you need to wakey wakey." When no response was forthcoming Biff took the bottle from the mans hand and smelled the liquor inside. It turned Biffs stomach and he placed it on the floor next the bed. Biff unsheathed his knife and taking the flat of the blade he slapped the mans forehead. Biff placed his hand over the mans mouth in case of a scream and placed the blade under his throat. "It's time I got some answers from you. If not you'll be sleeping a bit longer then you ever intended. Now tell me why do you look familiar to me?"
Edited by biffcalhoon, Oct 11 2012, 10:24 AM.
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The man woke up with a start, unable to move as the body weight of Biff pushed down on him. He moaned something incoherently, desperately trying to wriggle free in his only semi-lucid state.

"Wha... you again? How'd you... did Jerry... what the hell is this?" His eyes were wide as he acknowledged the blade and just how helpless his situation was.

"Listen, mister..." The mans tone changed from shock to fearful negotiation as he tried to keep a straight face, "... last night wasn't anythin' of my doin'. Just makin' some coin. Nothin', y'know... personal." His eyes were still darting around, looking for escape. Surprisingly, he hadn't yet tried to call for aid.
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"Look here buddy I have a proposal of my own for you." Biff enjoyed the extreme fear in the confused mans eyes. "If you so much as raise your voice to call those ragdolls out there I will cut your throat from ear to ear. That being said you point me in the direction of whoever sent you my way and you tell me which of you has my rifle and I will disappear into the haze and when you wake I'll have just been a bad dream." To Biff the man seemed to ponder this a moment or two. "Now lets have it."
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