Post by Mike on Mar 12, 2007 16:51:05 GMT -5
Outside
This structure was once the parking garage for the Blue Moon. Now, it stands fenced off, boarded up, and condemned. Signs and graffiti cover walls acting as a deterrent for uninvited guests. They say things like "Condemned Building", "No Trespassing", and "Go Away." The letters are large, and their message clear. However, there are other symbols which are slightly smaller and much more obscure. To the average person they would be mean very little, but those with trained eyes (anyone with a level of Streetwise) would see that this place was a sanctuary for the city's forgotten residents. Those who could read the symbols, or knew where to look would easily find the place in the fence where the chain-link could be rolled back enough for someone to slip through. A quick knock on the wall, would cause the wood to slide to the side. This is the Bone Gnawers' fortress of plywood and chain-link.
Inside
The first sight to be seen was the doorman, a fellow named "Trusty" Jim. He was an aging African-American man. He wore a old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. Jim regarded everyone that came through the door with a careful eye and a "Whatcha want?" He'd never flat out turn anyone way, but he'd be the first to throw out anybody who started causing trouble.
Inside the garage was a small shanty town of crudely constructed dwellings made everything from sheet metal to cardboard. Some were just flimsy structures with three walls and a roof, others seemed to be bit more sturdy, and a few even had doors of their own. People congregated around the dwellings, many carrying out day-to-day activities such as cooking, mending clothes, reading, or simply sitting around talking. Many of the occupants were men, but there were also a few women and a couple of children among them.
Upon further investigation, it would be noticed that the driveways leading up to garage's third floor, or down to the basement level were blocked off. Barricades constructed of wood, cinder block, and other trash practically sealed this floor off from the rest of the garage. However, this was not the garage's only point of interest. Among the shanty houses there was a phone booth, which was inhabited by a stout looking man with thinning gray hair. Most times he was sleeping loudly with the a bottle curled lovingly in his arms. Away from the cluster of houses, there was a lone port-o-potty. Almost in a perpetual "occupied" state it stood free-standing on the concrete of the garage's floor.
This structure was once the parking garage for the Blue Moon. Now, it stands fenced off, boarded up, and condemned. Signs and graffiti cover walls acting as a deterrent for uninvited guests. They say things like "Condemned Building", "No Trespassing", and "Go Away." The letters are large, and their message clear. However, there are other symbols which are slightly smaller and much more obscure. To the average person they would be mean very little, but those with trained eyes (anyone with a level of Streetwise) would see that this place was a sanctuary for the city's forgotten residents. Those who could read the symbols, or knew where to look would easily find the place in the fence where the chain-link could be rolled back enough for someone to slip through. A quick knock on the wall, would cause the wood to slide to the side. This is the Bone Gnawers' fortress of plywood and chain-link.
Inside
The first sight to be seen was the doorman, a fellow named "Trusty" Jim. He was an aging African-American man. He wore a old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. Jim regarded everyone that came through the door with a careful eye and a "Whatcha want?" He'd never flat out turn anyone way, but he'd be the first to throw out anybody who started causing trouble.
Inside the garage was a small shanty town of crudely constructed dwellings made everything from sheet metal to cardboard. Some were just flimsy structures with three walls and a roof, others seemed to be bit more sturdy, and a few even had doors of their own. People congregated around the dwellings, many carrying out day-to-day activities such as cooking, mending clothes, reading, or simply sitting around talking. Many of the occupants were men, but there were also a few women and a couple of children among them.
Upon further investigation, it would be noticed that the driveways leading up to garage's third floor, or down to the basement level were blocked off. Barricades constructed of wood, cinder block, and other trash practically sealed this floor off from the rest of the garage. However, this was not the garage's only point of interest. Among the shanty houses there was a phone booth, which was inhabited by a stout looking man with thinning gray hair. Most times he was sleeping loudly with the a bottle curled lovingly in his arms. Away from the cluster of houses, there was a lone port-o-potty. Almost in a perpetual "occupied" state it stood free-standing on the concrete of the garage's floor.
