[Traphouse, Westside, Jacksonville, CAS. April 13th, 7:42am 2076]
Byte can't taste or smell anything anymore except for that damned swamp air. It's in his lungs, his hair, his clothes; it's covering him in a thin film it feels like. There's just so much damn vegetation back here and so many mosquitoes, his expedition around the back of the house has resulted in more than few bites, scratches, and various types of stickers. He comes around the rear of the crappy, paint flaking house and can almost imagine how it must have looked fifty years ago. At one point in time, this place was beautiful. It was somebody's dream come true. Today, there's a skinny gaunt featured human woman in a skimpy black dress getting ready to blow a human man in a synth leather jacket out behind it. She's on her knees, and he's just about to whip it out and get to business when Byte comes through the foliage around the corner, and into the backyard to join them.
"Aay! Git th'fuuk outta hahr, faggit! Th'seer aint no threeway, GIT!" Slurs the man in a heavy local dialect while angrily waving his hand at you, shooing you away.
---------------------------------------------------
FP is quickly noticing that, not only is he the only ork here, but he's the only non-human he can see. The hard-luck denizens of the ghetto look and some even stare at the large ork in the leather jacket and army fatigues, walking with his middle-class corper looking friend. Viso is rather pleased with the situation though. FP, looking like a bodyguard, only makes his ruse more effective. As the pair approach the house, it begins to look more and more bleak with every step. There's crap everywhere; broken bottles, plastic wrappers, empty poppers, even the occasional good old fashioned needles in the street, the yard, even up on the porch, you both notice as you approach the front door. There's two hungry looking humans, a male and a female with dirty clothes and gaunt features, one carrying a sleeping baby, shuffling about near the house, as well as a third up on the porch, talking to the two large armed men standing on either side of the open front door. They both wear bluejeans, white wifebeaters, and cowboy boots, but one of them has a green bandana tied around his head. They both have large pistols stuffed into the front waistbands of their pants.
FP and Byte, Gimme one roll each, either etiquette, Street drugs, sprawl life, or gangs. The further left the skill you roll, the fewer hits you'll need, As well as the rolls for whatever the hell else yall feel like. I spose Byte, go head and gimme whatever rolls you'd like to do as well.
Also, if anyone's packing any heat they're trying to hide, gimme one palming roll for each piece. People are scopin ya now, wiz?
