07-13-2011, 06:45 AM
How to Make Friends & Blow $@#% Up
- A Josie Twinkleblast Story -
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This thread will be reserved to tell of the chronological events in the life of Jehosephine "Josie" Twinkleblast, a gnomish demolitionist and sapper. The events portrayed span the time between a year after Gnomeregan's untimely fall and the point at which she completes her training. Some material may not be suited for younger readers, including coarse language and adult situations, so I'm putting a NSFW on this. As always, feedback and comments are welcome and appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy this little adventure into Josie's past.
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- Chapter 1 -
Dream A Little Dream
Dream A Little Dream
"Yo."
"Huh?"
"I said, you listenin'? I guess that answers the question, though."
"S-sorry...just tired."
"Yeah, well...get un-tired. You probably didn't even hear the shit I was sayin' 'bout hot wiring, did'ja?"
"No...sorry."
A boiler room was a shitty place to get a lecture no matter how you sliced it. Even so, there she sat, "listening" to the Gnome in front of her as he leaned against a crate and smoked one form of chemical or another. He ruffled his grimy, dwarven dreadlocks and nibbled at the end of the cig in the corner of his mouth.
"I was saying that you can re-wire bombs as easy as detonating 'em. The easiest way is usually snippin' the red wire. You know what the red wire does by now, don't'cha, Jo?"
She was tired, and the fumes were getting to her, making it hard to concentrate. Hell, for all she knew, he could've just been spouting drug-induced bullcrap. Still the blonde-haired gnome listened, and nodded.
"In a basic time bomb it hooks the, uh...the detonator to the battery. Sometimes it isn't even red at all. Just takes a delicate touch, 'cuz the detonator is an explosive in itself..." A yawn. "...Right?"
"Exactly."
Josie grinned to herself. She wasn't stupid in this line of work at all, really. In fact, it was rather fascinating. Dangerous. Gets the adrenaline pumping when you know that you're handling something that could very well end your life at any minute. Such are the cheap thrills of adolescence, when one is at the height of believing they are invincible. Besides that, it had been her uncle's idea, really. The man had taught Josie throughout her little lifetime how to work with explosives, how to set off big boomers and dazzling fireworks and how to do it with style.
The young man stood straight and gave a stretch, "I think that's enough for today. Wanna hit the bar? I'll buy you a...whatever the f**k it was. Rusty Tire."
Second-hand fumes. Alcohol. Sounded fun enough, but being in cramped, sweltering conditions for so long had left her head aching.
"N'aw, I don't need a Tire tonight. Might just head upstairs and get some sleep..."
"Well aren't you a little do-gooder. Get you to go out once, you puke all over my boots and that's the end of that?"
"Just my head. It's hurting something awful."
"Fine, fine." He stomped his rolled cigarette out beneath a steel-toed boot and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You should pay more attention, though. You only got a couple days before you head out to the Bay, an' I'd hate to see some greenie rollin' pieces of you back home in a wheelbarrow. Those bastards are crazy, but they don't mess around."
"I know," Josie said, rubbing at the back of her neck. She really didn't, though. She'd never personally met a goblin, and in some ways she'd been hoping it would stay that way. It was inevitable to come into contact with at least a handful in her line of studies, though. And what luck, her dreadlocked, cig-smoking friend had some connections in Booty Bay with some choice sappers and demolitionists. At least, so he said.
Goodnights exchanged, the young woman made her way to the closet-sized nook she liked to call her sleeping quarters. It wasn't nearly big or cozy enough to be a room, but it had a bed and a window, and several miscellaneous doodads next to the light on her bedside table. Jo' sat on the side of her bed and kicked off her boots, letting out a tired sigh. The sunset over Stormwind's dwarven district was quickly fleeting.
She would've liked to have been a part of the night life, but there would be plenty of time for it after she got her demolition license. It was something she'd grown fond of - the eccentricity of the people, the smell of alcohol in a dimly-lit tavern, the cool slang and the piercings and the mechanohogs. Maybe someday she'd be as cool as all of them, a stick of dynamite in her back pocket and a defiant grin to red-tinted lips. At least for now, she could dream. The tired gnomette flopped backwards on the bed, yawning.
Tomorrow, she'd pack.