Post by Lawnmower Joe on Jun 4, 2015 3:45:56 GMT -5
OOC: same format as the first Gimps, guys!
Character name: Tourist.
Vehicle: Lada Niva covered in dirt and rust, huge cattle bumper on the front made of welded bits of steel, faded logo on one of the front doors showing a smiling crocodile and captioned with "Enjoy your stay at Rainbow Falls!"
Nothing moved beneath the sun's leaden rays. All was varying shades of red, with rock and sand baking in the light. The rusted remains of abandoned cars dotted the lone dust trail that snaked through the infinite desolation. Suddenly, a dark speck appeared on the horizon and grew slowly bigger. The rumble of an old engine broke the silence, and an ancient 4x4 took form, a cloud of dust thrown up in its wake. The Lada, its driver invisible behind a dirt-caked windshield, swerved around the rusting hulk of a minivan before coming to a stop before a strange scene by the side of the trail: an idol made of rusted metal and the bones of some unfortunate punter. The driver stepped out, placing a Croc-clad foot on the burning sand before emerging completely. A faded beach hat was placed on his balding sun-scorched skull, his eyes were framed by lenseless Ray-Bans, and his meager body wore the tattered remains of a Hawaiian shirt and some shorts.
"Mmmhmm" he said, approaching the idol, "very interesting. That's one for the photo album!"
With a smile he raised a broken camera and took a photo. The button gave an empty click, but the Tourist didn't notice.
"Lovely!" He said, "Such fascinating local customs!"
With a flourish he took a travel book from his pocket, and leafed through the pages, most of which were torn or unreadable.
"Next stop: Radioactive Death Gulch, reknowned for its glowing crocs and degenerate feral cannibal children" he read, despite the page being half-torn out and the letters smudged and faded with a mixture of blood and oil. He stopped and looked up, having noticed dark silhouettes nearby.
"Ho-lah" he said cheerfully, "Abalas Hespaneeoll?"
The leather-clad hoodlums did not respond. They stood near their motorbikes, their hairy hands gripping various deadly contraptions. "You wot, mate" said the leader, a massive monstrosity of a man with a bucket on his head. "We want yer fuckin' car matey, and all yer gasoline."
"Aahhh no, sorry cum-pah-dress", said the Tourist with an apologetic smile, "I need my car and my gas. Y'see, I'm a tourist contributing to your local impoverished economy. Now, do you think you could sell me your bucket? It would make a lovely souvenir."
"Fuckin' kill the cheeky cunt, mates!" Growled the bucket-wearing yobbo. The Tourist turned and ran as the scream of motorbike engines rose behind him.
"Lovely meeting ya!" He shouted, slamming the car door behind him and turning the key in the ignition. The Lada roared back to life, and in a second the Tourist's liberal use of the accelerator had it lurching forward. The raiders followed alongside, waving chains and other weapons. One of them got close enough to lunge with a spear made from a traffic sign, smashing the passenger door's window and spraying glass over the seat and the driver.
"Oi, you cheeky bastard!" Yelled the Tourist, "Glass is expensive!"
The raider paid no heed to the Tourist's protests, and lunged again, the point of the spear scratching the ceiling with a metallic squeal. The Tourist veered his car into his attacker, and the bike and its raider slammed into the side of the Lada. Both of them went crashing to the ground, and passed beneath the ancient 4x4's wheels with a dull "wump".
"Serves you right!" Snarled the Tourist.
The chase wasn't over yet.
Character name: Tourist.
Vehicle: Lada Niva covered in dirt and rust, huge cattle bumper on the front made of welded bits of steel, faded logo on one of the front doors showing a smiling crocodile and captioned with "Enjoy your stay at Rainbow Falls!"
Nothing moved beneath the sun's leaden rays. All was varying shades of red, with rock and sand baking in the light. The rusted remains of abandoned cars dotted the lone dust trail that snaked through the infinite desolation. Suddenly, a dark speck appeared on the horizon and grew slowly bigger. The rumble of an old engine broke the silence, and an ancient 4x4 took form, a cloud of dust thrown up in its wake. The Lada, its driver invisible behind a dirt-caked windshield, swerved around the rusting hulk of a minivan before coming to a stop before a strange scene by the side of the trail: an idol made of rusted metal and the bones of some unfortunate punter. The driver stepped out, placing a Croc-clad foot on the burning sand before emerging completely. A faded beach hat was placed on his balding sun-scorched skull, his eyes were framed by lenseless Ray-Bans, and his meager body wore the tattered remains of a Hawaiian shirt and some shorts.
"Mmmhmm" he said, approaching the idol, "very interesting. That's one for the photo album!"
With a smile he raised a broken camera and took a photo. The button gave an empty click, but the Tourist didn't notice.
"Lovely!" He said, "Such fascinating local customs!"
With a flourish he took a travel book from his pocket, and leafed through the pages, most of which were torn or unreadable.
"Next stop: Radioactive Death Gulch, reknowned for its glowing crocs and degenerate feral cannibal children" he read, despite the page being half-torn out and the letters smudged and faded with a mixture of blood and oil. He stopped and looked up, having noticed dark silhouettes nearby.
"Ho-lah" he said cheerfully, "Abalas Hespaneeoll?"
The leather-clad hoodlums did not respond. They stood near their motorbikes, their hairy hands gripping various deadly contraptions. "You wot, mate" said the leader, a massive monstrosity of a man with a bucket on his head. "We want yer fuckin' car matey, and all yer gasoline."
"Aahhh no, sorry cum-pah-dress", said the Tourist with an apologetic smile, "I need my car and my gas. Y'see, I'm a tourist contributing to your local impoverished economy. Now, do you think you could sell me your bucket? It would make a lovely souvenir."
"Fuckin' kill the cheeky cunt, mates!" Growled the bucket-wearing yobbo. The Tourist turned and ran as the scream of motorbike engines rose behind him.
"Lovely meeting ya!" He shouted, slamming the car door behind him and turning the key in the ignition. The Lada roared back to life, and in a second the Tourist's liberal use of the accelerator had it lurching forward. The raiders followed alongside, waving chains and other weapons. One of them got close enough to lunge with a spear made from a traffic sign, smashing the passenger door's window and spraying glass over the seat and the driver.
"Oi, you cheeky bastard!" Yelled the Tourist, "Glass is expensive!"
The raider paid no heed to the Tourist's protests, and lunged again, the point of the spear scratching the ceiling with a metallic squeal. The Tourist veered his car into his attacker, and the bike and its raider slammed into the side of the Lada. Both of them went crashing to the ground, and passed beneath the ancient 4x4's wheels with a dull "wump".
"Serves you right!" Snarled the Tourist.
The chase wasn't over yet.