Viewing Single Post From: Day 39

Viewing Single Post From: Day 39
DarthHaggis	Feb 24 2009, 03:25 PM
The Artist Formerly Known as Arzt Posts: 877 Group: Admin Member #152 Joined: September 28, 2008	Day 39-1 What the hell is that? I awake to a pounding on the door. I’m lying on some sort of couch. It has holes in the textiles, and pieces of foam are sticking through it. I remember quickly that I am in Reuben’s apartment and I roll over and pull out the pulse weapon. I am much more comfortable with it than I am the pistol. Reuben comes waddling out of his room in a bathrobe. Unfortunately the robe isn’t tied, and I can see his wife beater tank top that's frayed bottom doesn’t quite reach his yellowing tighty whities, and thus his belly protrudes downward, hanging over his underwear like a bowl full of sweaty old man flavored jello. He begins stomping towards the door and bellows, ‘IN A MINUTE!” He pauses and looks at me, and stares at the pulse weapon, “Oy, put that phallic monstrosity away, it looks like some sort of schumck. What are you, some kind of weirdo or something?” he chastises. He cocks his head towards the coat closet, and I climb into it as Reuben opens the door. “Nu?” he says, as if that’s some sort of Yiddish hello or something. I hear a very official voice answer him, “Hello, sir, I’m officer Johnson of the San Diego Police Department, may I come in?” “What? If you're looking for donuts, that's down the road. I only serve bagels here.” There was a short pause and the officer does not respond. “Fine, come in,” Reuben mutters. The sounds of a booted individual walking into the creaky apartment accompanies Reuben’s fat bare feet padding around. “I’m sorry it’s not cleaner, I don’t have a sweet baleboste to pick up after me.” “It’s no trouble. Sir, I’m looking for a pair of individuals, both young men. One is white, the other is black. Have you seen anyone matching this description?” “It’s not much of a description,” Reuben says. “What am I, some kind of Catholic Priest? Go out and ask the gangs. I’m sure you can find plenty of white and black teenagers out there. What are you trying to have some kind of salt and pepper parade?” The officer successfully ignores Reuben’s banter and says, “Here’s a picture of the both of them. They may or may not be traveling together.” “Everyone may or may not be traveling together!” Reuben declares, and I can just feel the officer’s frustration rising. “How long have you lived here?” the officer asks, and I hear his footsteps walking around the little living room. Reuben mutters something I can’t quite hear, and then Officer Johnson asks, “Is anyone else staying with you?” He sounds like he is in Reuben’s bedroom. The concept of digging through all of Reuben’s personal effects make me want to shudder and giggle all at the same time. “No, it’s just me. What did you say these kids did?” Reuben yells back. The footsteps walk back down the hallway, and the officer says, “I didn’t.” The steps then begin approaching the closet door, and my muscles tense in anticipation. “Wait!” Rebuen declares as the officer nears my hiding place, “I may have seen one of them! This one, the black kid, his name is Walt, right?” The officer was right on the other side of the door. I can feel him breathing. I want to try and cover myself better, but I’m equally afraid of both touching the clothing, and of making too much noise. There is a rusty old umbrella by my leg, I manage to wrap my hand around it, and I reach my other hand into my pocket for the pulse weapon. The doorknob rattles and I tense up. “Yeah, his name is Walt,” the officer says as the door opens and he peers right into my face. The man is startled as he reaches for his sidearm. I try and get the umbrella out, but it catches on an old overcoat and opens up, pushing me to the side. “Eyyyaaaa!” Reuben declares as he cracks a wooden chair over the officer’s head. The officer crumples forward on top of me, and I am overwhelmed with both the aroma of bad cologne and the impression of sweaty armpits. Suddenly, Reuben’s arm reaches into the closet and pulls me up. “Get him undressed. I’m going to need his clothes,” he says darkly, and I am slightly startled at the change over the bungling, jovial man. Edited by DarthHaggis, Feb 24 2009, 07:31 PM.


Day 39 · RPG Archive