LoT: Fire on the Docks (George)

[Sivad]

South Boston - March 15, 1925

James comes home to the flat, later than usual, completely disheveled. He is covered in soot and reeks of smoke.

"George! George!" His voice is shrill, bordering on hysterical. "You're not going to believe what happened on the docks today."

[TatteredKing]

[George] George looks up from his typrewriter, somewhat annoyed by the interruption, but also curious? He pushes his chair, back, runs a hand through his hair and looks at his flatmate. "W-w-what, J-j-james?" Seeing the soot on James's clothes, he stands up and comes towards his friend. "Are y-y-you okay?" He stammers. "W-w-what h-h-ha..." He pauses for a minute, a frustrated look on his face. Trying again he slows down. "W-what happened? Why d-do you smell llllllllllllike you have sp-spent the a-a-afternoon in an in-in-incinerator?"

[Sivad]

James looks at you with exasperation and sighs.

"Settle down George, you always start that stuttering when you're upset."

He walks into the kitchen and starts washing his face vigorously.

"I know you're not gonna approve but I was down on the docks working with Stevie Wallace." It's hard to understand him as his voice is slightly garbled from the water as he rinses his face clean. He picks up a dish towel and dries off while reaching into the ice box for a home-brew.

"We were tailboard thieving this truck fulla Red Top Malt extract so Frank and Jimmy could cook up some brews over at their place on Gustin street." He takes a long pull on the bottle and you notice his hand is shaking.

"Anyways, Stevie pulls this squat little mohican from the cab and is giving him the ol' one-two and I jump in the back and start grabbin' cases. It ain't long till Stevie is hollerin at me to hand him some boxes. So I throws the tarp back thats coverin' the truck and I see Stevie looking kinda pale cuz that mohican that he was dancin' with is standing there all bloody and such, but he's smilin' at us."

He sets the bottle down but almost spills it because of the shakes.

"That fella starts hollerin' a buncha nonsense like I ain't never heard. Weird sounds and words that aren't ta come from a man. And when he starts all that noise, Stevie starts gasping and his skin starts ta blisterin' and he falls back agin the truck. And when he does he just kinda pops and flames start burnin' his clothes and then the tarp on the truck catches afire..."

He reaches for the beer, but knocks it over. Dark, foamy liquid runs out over the white table top.

"So I jump outta the truck and start to run and see if I can help Stevie, but that mohican is jabbberin' something the sounded like atash bahram and is using his hands..." James is now wild-eyed looking off into space, his breathing is rapid and shallow and you can see beads of sweat popping up on his forehead.

"He's using his hands to scrape up burnin' parts of Stevie into a plate or dish or somethin'" He breaks down and starts crying.

**************************************************

George would know that Stevie Walker and his brothers Frank and Jimmy were the leaders of the Gustin Gang. They are an Irish gang that runs this section of South Boston and loot and hijack trucks leaving the docks.

[TatteredKing]

[George] George comes over, sitting down at the table next to James. He picks up the rapidly emptying beer bottle. "OK, James. T-take it easy. Breathe. D-deep breaths." George's mind is racing. He had never seen James this upset before. He puts a hand on his friend's arm, not truly understanding what James is trying to say. "Is S-stevie OK? Maybe we s-should go ch-ch-check it out?" George feels his friend shaking under his hand. "Maybe I sh-should go check it out. Th-there may be a s-story I can sell to the T-times." Standing up, George grabs a towel and wipes up the spilled beer, grabbing two more from the ice box.

"T-tell me more about the l-language the g-guy was s-s-speaking?" Th-there are l-lots of l-l-languages that s-s-sound p-pretty strange." George sits down again, taking a pull of his beer. James' agitation had him agitated. He never stuttered around his friend. James was the one rock in his life. He started to speak again, but then took another sip of his beer. Waiting a minute while he tried to calm James down, his mind wandered.

Perhaps Stevie stumbled into a lantern or something, or maybe there was lamp oil in the back of the truck. Didn't I read something in an old issue of the Tribune about some woman in Chicago who spontaneously combusted?

Steeling his mind, George stands and walks over to his desk. Tucking his pad and pencil into his coat pocket he turns to James. "I'm g-going to go check it out. If nothing else, someone has to see if Stevie is OK. If you aren't -ccoming with me, you need to tell me where this h-happened."

[Sivad]

James looks up at you, eyes red and watery. He laughs, a harsh a bitter sound in the quiet flat.

"Don't you get it? Stevie's' DEAD. He's a molten flesh heap that mohican was scrapin' up with his HANDS."

He lowers his head back to the table, forehead resting on the Formica tabletop.

"I was down at the docks...trucks prolly still burnin'...you can find it..." His voice is muffled.

[TatteredKing]

[George] George puts his hand on the back of James' neck. Drunk again. he thinks. Looking outside he weighs the need for an overcoat, before turning toward the door. Calling back over his shoulder, "Try to r-relax, J-jimmy-b-b-boy. Have a couple b-beers and t-t-take a nnnap. I'll be b-back soon."

Closing the door behind him, George leans up against the door. He's drunk. He's drunk and he saw Stevie get lit up by a lantern that tipped over. He started down the hallway toward the front door of the boarding house. Yeah, I don't like those Gustin boys, but going up in flames is no way for anyone to go.

George stepped outside, turned towards the docks, and began to walk. His mind half concerned with James's mental state, He seemed really agitated., and excitement about the possibility of a story.

[Sivad]

Stepping outside, you immediately notice a plume of black smoke rising from the docks. It doesn't take you long to reach the area. You see:

A burning truck
Groups of dockworkers have started a bucket brigade to attempt to douse the fire.
A man standing close to the burning truck who appears to be poking at a smoking pool on the ground with a stick
People are running everywhere, like ants streaming from an anthill that's been kicked

[TatteredKing]

[George] George takes out his pad and pencil and starts taking notes of the scene, briefly. Truck on fire. Bucket brigade. Dockworkers unite to fight fire. Stopping one of the people running by him he asks, "W-w-what h-happened here? D-did yyyyyou see what h-h-happened?" George attempts to get some semblance of an idea of what happened from those around (Investigation), jotting down notes of the information he gets, while keeping a discreet eye on the man near the smoking pool.

After a while, he puts his pad away and approaches the man. "P-p-pardon me. D-d-did you h-h-h-appen to see wh-wh-what h-h-happened hhhere?"

[Sivad]

The scene appears very muck like James described it. In the distance you can hear the siren from a fire engine. When you approach the man near the truck you see something that is beyond comprehension.

There is a smoking, bubbling, pile of gore that appears to swirling of it's own accord. You see a finger, then a hand, that is reaching out and then rapidly engulfed. Next you see an eye, then a face who's mouth is a rictus of pain.

[ooc: make a Guts check and tell me what you rolled]

[TatteredKing]

[George] George gasps horrified a the puddle on the ground. "Holy Mary, Mother of God!", he cries out as he feels the bile rising in his throat. James spoke the truth! What is happening? What the hell is going on??? George's vision swims momentarily, but he forces himself to look away, turning back to the man standing nearby.

Guts Check on seeing the pool of melted human. (1d6.open(6)=13, 1d6.open(6)=4)