Logs:NSFW - AYR: On The Air!

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NSFW - AYR: On The Air!

Characters: Nicola and Shelby - Rafael (ST)
Date: 2020-08-27
Summary: A local radio station's marketing booth gets the attention of some very unusual individuals.
Disclaimers: body horror, partial nudity, sleazy radio host


The words boom out over the intersection from speakers stacked up next to a van whose white sides have been colored with the logo for local station WRAW 109.8, Raw Radio, and on either side of a tent that’s been set up. A long table is stretched out in front of the tent covered in t-shirts and bumper stickers, both for sale and occasionally being given away in exchange for questions that range from ‘who originally played this song’ to trivia about the city itself, all being asked by “Raw” Roger Ralson, ‘comedic’ talk radio host, assisted by two interns who are really trying to look like they’re enjoying themselves for the sake of a paycheck despite the abysmal humidity.

Most of the tourists find it charming. Most of the locals find it annoying. As the sun begins to drift down towards the horizon, however, some of the locals who are hitting the bar early are starting to find it charming too. Of course, once night fully falls they’re going to roll out, which is probably for the best.

The chances of those speakers getting stolen, damaged, or someone’s bodily fluids ending up on them increase geometrically after nightfall.

Just another day in New Orleans. 7:07pm, and sunset's at 7:29.

Shelby slowly strolls up to the event, hands in his pockets. He looks like nerd central casting, wearing a short sleeved blue shirt and brown trousers, with a tie that was fashionable in the 70s. He lifts a hand to adjust his tie tack, then patting his hair into place, then adjusting his glasses on his nose. There's a lot of nervous energy there.

Speaking of locals hitting bars, Nicola has been tossed out of 3 so far, slow start to her night, but she's managed to somehow snag a bottle from the last one before fleeing the scene. There she is, a pair of denim cut offs that could be classified as denim underwear, a tank top in pink with a unicorn on front that reads: Ew People, and a pair of high top pink Converse with knee high white athletic socks. That bottle is half gone as she makes her way around the corner and spots the radio station set up. "Oooooh shit.", she saunters over toward the van, "Roger Ralson! I like it raw, baby!", she squeals. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the ample swell of her chest sways and jiggles, and most of her behind does as well as it escapes the barely there frayed hem of her shorts. Oh yeah, she wants a tshirt!

"Well, who doesn't, baby!" Roger flashes the grin of a used car salesman as he calls that into the microphone, bushy eyebrows going up and down just in case anyone missed the innuendo. There's a roll of one of the radio interns' eyes, a straw-haired girl that folds both arms over his chest and gives Ralson a particularly unimpressed look. The other intern just chuckles to himself as he adjusts the fold of one of the shirts. The mic's thrust in the direction of Nicola's chest (because he's so subtle) and he barks out, "And what's your name, beautiful?"


Meanwhile, as Shelby makes his way along towards them, the adjustment of his glasses might spot a bunch of people gathering up in an alley just past the van and canopy. Bulky coats and hoodies aren't normal attire even for homeless people this time of year.

Shelby is momentarily distracted by the actions of Nicola. He even adjusts his tie like some sitcom character. But then his glance returns to those overly dressed people in the alley. He idly pulls out his phone to take a few hopefully subtle pics. And then he makes the mistake of wandering over towards the alley, hands in his pockets again, shuffling his feet.

Never one to miss the opportunity to flaunt her assets, at least not when she's three-sheets-to-the-wind, Nicola leans in so that microphone rests atop her cleavage. A brilliant smile as she looks up at Ralson while she tips her head down and purrs into the mic, "Nic..oh..la and the raw bar is open later when you get off.", she winks and bats her thick lashes at him, gives the girls a shake to bounce the microphone from one to the other and then pulls the bottle back to her lips for a long drink. For the moment, Nicola seems oblivious to the gathering of the Coats, though her blue-green gaze does register Shelby briefly.

There's a bark of laughter that goes over the air, and Roger pulls the microphone back after Nicola's breasts bounce it upwards; a wink of one big blue eye, and he replies with that same broad grin, "Well, there's an offer no man can resist! I wish you could see this beauty, all of you out there, you don't know what you're missing! So tell me, baby, think you can answer a simple question for me?"

The blonde holds a piece of paper up above Roger's head - which he doesn't notice - with an arrow pointing down at him that just says HE'S A PIG in scribbled writing. She barely changes expression.

Maybe Shelby's wrong - maybe there's just a rack of coats shoved into the space between two buildings? No, there's definitely people in there, just moving enough to show they're alive. Layered coats, hoodies, hats, scarves, gloves, the works. There's about a half-dozen of them, the last of the group just walking up to the others and stopping once they've joined the group.

.oO( Shelby rolls 4 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Wits + Composure
 Result: Success (3) -- (10 10 7 2 4 8)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

They're definitely people; there're fingers coming out of those gloves, parts of faces, eyes showing. But there's also... an antenna? An old-style radio aerial sticking up from under the scarf of one of them. Another one, out of a backpack. Headphone wires dangling everywhere. It's a gathering of heavily-bundled audiophile bums in the middle of a humid summer alleyway?

"Hello there, gents." Maybe Shelby's a tourist because his speaking voice has the tinge of an accent from Jolly Old England in it. He waves politely at the Coats. "Isn't it a little warm for all the Burberry? I know *I'm* sweating out here with just this on. I do hope you're not all elementary kids standing on each other's shoulders or anything like that. This is a rather adult event." He puts on a smile.

The bottle is abruptly brought down from Nic's lips and she puts a hand over her mouth to stop from spitting it out with laughter as that damning sign is held abover Ralson's head. Licking her lips she falls right back into her dumb blonde sex doll routine as she wiggles and grins at Ralson. A halo of those wild blonde curls framing her face as she peers up at him through those lashes as if embarassed by his on air praise. "I dunno, depends, if it's what am I doing later, then yeah.", she winks again, but glances once more toward Shelby before turning the charm back on the DJ. "Lay it on me, cher.", that thick Cajun accent doesn't hinder the obvious sultry purr of her dulcet voice.

In eerie synchronicity, all six of the Coats turn their heads in Shelby's direction, regarding him for a silent moment. Then one of them steps forward, his voice a bit hoarse when he speaks, one hand lifting to gesture towards Shelby. "And now the news - don't touch that dial - are you receiving?"

Over at the radio booth, the sign is swiftly pulled back - just in time, as Roger glances back - and hidden behind the blonde's back. The host turns his broad grin back to Nicola, eyebrows going up again, "I'll keep that in mind - alright, here we go. The Battle of New Orleans was the very last battle of a particular war - it actually occurred after the war was declared over, but news was slow in those days. Which war was it?"

Shelby's eyes widen at the reaction of the Coats. He's tempted to run, but he looks uncertain about what could be a faux pas in etiquette. No one has thrown any punches...so far. He holds up both his hands, palms out, biting his lip. Then he responds. "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"

Nicola cants her head, tapping her chin with a slender finger as if thinking upon the question, in reality she's glancing toward Shelby again before she turns toward Ralson. "Now, you said the Battle of New Orleans, which is technically what it was called, but it actually took placed several miles southeast of New Orleans near Chalmette. It happened 18 days after the Treaty of Ghent was signed to end the War of 1812.", she gives him another of those beaming smiles and then tips the bottle to take another swig of whatever Firewater she has managed to steal from her previous escapades. "What do I win, Raw Ralson?", she coos.

There's only one eye of the 'lead' Coat that's visible, the scarf wrapped otherwise completely around their face, and it's staring at Shelby without blinking until he responds. Slowly, the figure's head cocks to one side, as if listening to something. "...one oh nine point eight," he exhales, stepping forward - and moving to walk past Shelby, as if he'd passed some sort of test. The others begin to follow, shuffling with awkward steps out of the alley after their apparent leader.

Oddly, they don't carry that 'bum smell' at all.

"That's my girl!" Roger slams his hand down on a button, and there's a siren that goes off, lights briefly flashing on the corners of the little tent. He grins widely, picking up one of the radio-logo's shirts and holding it up, "So what's your size, baby?"

Behind his head, the blonde girl holds up another sign, this one that says 'I'M ALSO OFF AFTER THIS'.

Shelby blinks a few times, obviously surprised that his question actually had a response. He mouths the number, then realizes that it *is* the frequency. The first few Coats walk past him while he is in shock, then he turns to walk with them out of the alley. "Um, w-w-where are you going? Are you trying to win tshirts?" He stammers nervously.

The siren and flashing lights set Nicola off and she bounces and claps wildly with a squeal, "Damn right!" When he picks up a shirt and asks for her size she lays her hands on the table and leans in, "Small, just so it fits nice and...tight.", she snaps her teeth at him with a crooked grin. Those turquoise eyes of hers glance up at the sign and she gives a wink to the blonde. She hasn't forgotten about Shelby and glances his way once more when she notices the weirdos shuffling out of the alleyway. While she isn't moving from that spot until she gets her damn shirt, she's definitely curious about the Goon Squad.

"That's what I thought, baby!" A 'small' sized shirt is snatched up in bubble-gum pink, and Roger holds it out to her in both hands with a grin, eyebrows a'waggling as he offers, "If you want to put it on right here, I can have Gary take a picture for the website. Gary! Grab the camera?"

"It's a phone, Roger," is Gary's dry response, waggling his phone, "It's got more megapixels than-- nevermind, I've got it." The blonde hides the sign again, hands folding at the small of her back as she rocks on her heels ever-so-innocently.

"Lights out, turn that shit up," mutters one of the figures, who instead of moving towards the booth are heading for the van. Gary glances over, noticing them, "Uh, Roger...? Roger, hey-- "

Clang! One of them jerks the back door of the van open and climbs in.

Shelby is so incredibly confused. "Hey! H-hey! You don't want to do that! St-stop it!" He runs over to try to get the Coat to exit the van that was so rudely entered. He looks over at the DJ. "What's in the van?"

If anyone thought Nicola was shy...well, what the hell were they thinking?! Snatching the shirt from him she shakes it out and takes a look before she reaches down and untucks the tank top from her shorts and pulls it up and over her head. For a second all that wild blonde hair gets caught up in the top leaving a whole LOT of Nicola's milk chocolate skin on display since she doesn't wear a bra. Finally she tosses the tank top at the blonde sign writer, "Keep that safe, cher.", she winks and pulls the tshirt on. To Roger she beams, "Thanks, I'd hate to ruin my favorite tank top and I think I might get dirty in a sec." After all, she's been watching that Oompa Loompa march of the Coast and she snaps her fingers in front of Ralson, "You heard the nerd, what's in the van?", but she doesn't wait for a response as she too walks over to the now open door, "Hey, space case, I don't think yer suppose to be fuckin around in here. Come on, we'll get ya a t-shirt."

"Not now, Gary," Roger hisses out to his intern as the younger man grabs at his arm, because he's rather busy appreciating that flash of dark flesh as Nicola's shirt goes up and over her head, grinning even wider and bringing the mic up as he howls, "Awooooo! Oh listeners, you do not know what you're missing here, let me tell you. There're no women like New Orleans women, I tell-- what, Gary?"

The blonde's caught the tank top, but she's not as timid as the other intern it seems, and she's stalking over, "Hey! Get out of that van, buddy, that's private property!"

"Wh-- that's the radio van, I mean, it's got all our broadcasting-- oh shit HEY GET OUT OF THERE!" The mic's thrust against Gary's chest, and he starts heading after the blonde, even as the Coats are all piling into the back of the van.

"Oh bloody hell," mutters Shelby, trying to put physical hands on the nearest Coat to pull them away. "Please stop. I don't care if you can't live without your radio." He's yanking on the trenchcoat if he can get a hold of it. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

Nicola's short temper is about to show itself as she doesn't seem to be getting the reactions she wants. "Hey!", she shouts, "Out of the van, Zork! We ain't gonna go pirate radio tonight!", her normally sultry tone has been replaced by a piercing shrill cry when she shouts. "I was trying to have some fun here and yer fuckin it up.", when she notices Shelby over there trying to put hands on these weirdos. "Whoa whoa, Sheldon! You dunno where that things been. He's gonna fuck up yer Ralph Lauren.", she hurries over to Shelby's side.

The last one in line's has their coat seized by Shelby's hand, and twists back to face him--

Just as the blonde gets to the doors of the van, smacking one in the back, "Hey! Buddy! Get out of the van, no touchy, you got me? Don't make us call the-- " Then there's a yelp as she's grabbed by one of the figures and hauled into the van, voice muffled by its walls, "LET ME THE FUCK GO YOU DIRTY PIECES OF-- "

-- and the scarf loosens a bit due to Shelby's pull on the coat, revealing the man's face. His jaw has been forced fully open, lips pulled back due to how wide it is, and his teeth are pressed against the bloodstained wire mesh of a microphone that appears to have been impossibly pushed up from the inside of his mouth.

.oO( Nicola rolls 5 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Resolve + Composure
 Result: Success (2) -- (6 10 7 6 5 8)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo. <OOC> Nicola says, "Yeah, no chunks blown" .oO( Shelby rolls 5 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Resolve + Composure
 Result: Success (2) -- (5 8 2 2 10 4)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

Shelby gasps when the man's face is revealed. Then he staggers back a little, gulping to keep the gorge from rising in his throat. "Good God, man! Who did that to you?" But then he hears the yelp from the blonde, and there are more important problems than his wibbly wobbly stomach. "Move out of the way!" He puts his hand on the man's face, and *pushes*.

.oO( Shelby rolls 8 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Intelligence + Occult + 4 - 2
 Result: Success (3) -- (2 5 10 1 8 5 4 3 9)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

"OH FUCK. Son yer face..", Nicola pauses as she turns away and covers her mouth, but manages to keep down her liquor and her dinner. Shaking her head she turns back to the action as Shelby puts his hand on the "man's" face, "Oh gawd, don't touch it! Don't touch it!", she squeals and shakes out her whole body with a violent shudder of disgust. "YOu touched it!", she gags again and then simply starts to climb in the van in case these freaks try and take off with it.

That hand shoves against the mutilated face of the man, whose hands lifts... and then he staggers, slumps against the opened door of the van and just slowly slides down onto the ground, going limp like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.

The others have all crowded into the van after dragging the blonde in, who's currently struggling and swearing creatively enough to impress most sailors. She grunts as she's slammed against the wall of the van and held there, while the others appear to be systematically tearing open the radio console-- prying off the casings of the equipment and (oddly carefully) pulling out wires with all the energy of a band of electrician raccoons going to work.

They seem to be ignoring Nicola as she climbs into the van, and none of them seem to be interested in getting into the front driver's seat.

Roger, meanwhile, is standing uncertainly off to one side. "Gary-- Gary, call the cops, call the cops now, Gary!"

Gary is way ahead of him.

Shelby shudders, whether it is from the sight of the strange being dropping to the ground, or from the feelings he gets when the stolen energy flows through him, he's not telling. He steps around the body and moves to enter the van after Nicola. "M-my name is Shelby, so you were close, and I do hope you know kung fu!"

.oO( Nicola rolls 1 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Strength + Brawl.Grappling - 5
 Result: Failure -- (6)

.o...............................................................oO( failure (public) )Oo.

She'll blame it on the booze later, of course, not in front of Rafael, since she swore to him she was better drunk, but when Nicola tries to take a handful of that guy holding her future date, she trips over some of the cables and things in the van. A hand grabs his coat, but goes no further as she, with a very uncool squeal, falls face first onto the floor of the van and whacks her chin. "OoooooOOWwww.", she whines and struggles to get back to her feet.

A cable's pulled out of the inside of the radio, carefully unplugged by one of the Coats, and he looks at the end of the plug for a moment - and then he brings it sharply, swiftly upwards in a motion that drives it directly into his eyeball. Salty fluids spill out over his fingers mingling with blood, the tissue of the eye twisted about as the man apparently painlessly shoves it all the way into the back his ocular cavity.

"What the fuck are you doing, get off me," the blonde's shrieking, kicking uselessly against the legs of the one that has her pinned against the wall. The good news is, the Coats don't seem to even care about Nicola as she trips. The bad news is, one of the others comes over to grab the blonde from one side, and they pull her towards the radio equipment.

Outside: "I-- I'm not getting any signal, Roger, my phone's gone crazy-- HELP! HELP, POLICE!" .oO( Nicola rolls 5 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Resolve + Composure
 Result: Success (2) -- (2 8 4 8 4)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

.oO( Shelby rolls 0 Dice - Chance )Oo...................................................o.

 Roll: Strength - 1 (untrained brawl) + 3 - 5
 Result: Success (1) -- (10 9)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

.oO( Shelby rolls 8 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Intelligence + Occult + 4 - 2
 Result: Exceptional Success! (11) -- (10 9 9 8 10 10 3 8 5 10 6 10 10 10 4)

.o..................................................oO( exceptional success! (public) )Oo.

.oO( Nicola rolls 4 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Strength + Brawl.Grappling + 3 - 5
 Result: Success (2) -- (8 2 8 7)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo. <OOC> Shelby says, "Yes!" .oO( Nicola rolls 9 Dice )Oo............................................................o.

 Roll: Intelligence + Occult.Vampirism + Psychic Vampirism - 2
 Result: Success (4) -- (3 2 10 1 10 2 4 8 5 8 4)

.o...............................................................oO( success (public) )Oo.

Nicola is back on her feet just in time to see psycho radiohead shove that plug into his.."Oh Christ on a Cracker! What the fuck, oh my...", she retches and snaps her mouth shut. "Dude, this is fucked, oh gawd damn." For once Nicola seems genuinely unnerved and is fighting with all her willpower not to lose everything she has eaten in the last week. Covering her mouth, her shoulders shrug as she gags again, "I swallowed it.", she mutters. Grabbing the weirdo with an oozing eye and a plug sticking out of it definitely skeeves her out, but she drains him with that touch and then immediately tries not to puke again.

"N-no, what are you doing, let me GO, let me go let me-- " The blonde's starting to panic as she's dragged towards the radio equipment, now a mess of wires and sharp-edged circuitboards and attachments, her eyes going wide until the red can be seen around the whites, pulling in vain against the tight grip on her arms.

Then the two are moving in. The one that had just shoved a plug into his eyesocket turns towards Nicola-- and then collapses, again like a marionette, knees just surrendering as he crumbles into a heap, the wire still leading from the radio's guts to his face.

There's a sudden shriek of feedback from the speakers outside. He couldn't have really been connected to the radio, could he?

One of the other coats is grabbed from behind by Shelby, and whatever he does... the radio freak stiffens, then seems to collapse inward, the coats slumping as if there isn't as much body inside them, suddenly brittle bones breaking under their own weight as he drops like a discarded cicada husk. The girl's free, and lunges desperately for the van's exit, scrambling out and immediately tripping to fall onto the pavement outside it.

The remaining three turn to look at the pair. There's an antennae that comes up from one of their scarfs, piercing under the jaw and coming up through the side of his head. Another one's eye is unseen, because there's what looks like a digital display shoved into his face to cover it, blood dried down the cheek.

"Signal attunation," one of them whispers.

"Signal... lost."

Reality seems to fritz for a second, and all of a sudden the remaining three are gone.

Shelby breathes heavily as he completely obliterates the Coat he grabbed with just a touch."That never gets old," he wheezes out, standing up straight and tall, ready to go after the next Coat with all the energy of a young man. He gets out of the way of the blonde as she flees, and stares down the remaining Coats. And then they disappear.

"Hello?" He looks over to the other woman. "It looks like they failed. Thank you."

Nicola pulls her hand back as the Radiohead dies and wipes it on her shorts, "Eew...ew...ew.", she shivers and goosebumps march along her arms and legs. When reality "fritzes" she freezes, hands out as if to steady herself, a few rapid blinks, she closes her eyes tight and then opens them again. Shaking her head she looks up, and then offers that same hand to Shelby, "Hey, hi, Nicola, Nic, Nico, whatever. I think after this you can call me whatever you want and I'll answer. Yeah, cool, um whatever they were trying to do. You know what they were?"

"Becky? Are you ok-- " There's the sound of a sharp slap outside, followed by a screech, "YOU COULD'VE HELPED! I ALMOST GOT-- GOT KILLED BY A BUNCH OF BUMS YOU WOMANIZING PIECE OF SHIT! I QUIT!"

There's a little bit of drama going on outside the van.

Inside the van, there're still a few unconscious-or-dead people in heavy coats and scarfs with an interesting taste in body jewelry, a bloody cable still leading from the face of one into the machine. The place is a mess, too. Who's gonna pay for all these repairs?

Shelby shakes Nicola's hand. "Nicola. It's a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances. And I have no idea what or who or why or how. I guess I know where, which is here. And...we should probably go before the police get here."

Peeking around Shelby to the drama outside the van, Nicola kicks one of the bodies on the floor, "Well, guess she won't be in the mood for love tonight.", she grumbles. "Hey, uh, maybe we should get out of here before the cops actually do show up or they decide this is somehow our fault? Yeah, that.", but she's already climbing out of the van to once again flee the scene of a crime tonight. "Come on, Sheldon, chop chop. Wanna grab a beer?", since he didn't give her a name, it seems the nickname might stick.

"Look, Becky, I was calling the-- hey! Hey you, what were you and your friends doing in there?" Roger swiftly picks up on someone to blame for all of this, thrusting a finger in the direction of the two coming out of the van, hurrying over towards her. He stops at the back of the van and gawks at the damage, actually stumbling back in shock, "MY EQUIPMENT!"

"Um, it's Shelby, not Sheldon, and...sure." Shelby seems quite amenable to following Nicola out of the van and away from the drama. "Oh, that tshirt looks absolutely stunning on you, by the way."

When Ralson decides to pick Nicola and Shelby to blame, Nic turns around toward him, still walking backward away from the scene, "Hey, yeah, we stopped them! Yer welcome!" To Becky she puts her hand up to her ear like it was a phone and then looks to Shelby, "Cool, Shelby, um, hope yer in better shape than you look, we should probably run." With that warning she spins around and starts jogging off down the street hoping he will follow before the sound of sirens can catch up to the action.

They're down the street, but still in range when Roger starts screaming his head off about the damage to the broadcasting and all of its - very expensive - equipment. Not to mention the unconscious bums laying around in his van!

Laying on the floor of of the vehicle, the head of one of the figures twitches slightly, the cable that leads up from its face and into the guts of the radio equipment swaying with the movement. "Broadcasting," he whispers past lips that blood trickles down across from his perforated eye.