Detroit Heart of Darkness
Virtue: Courageous Vice: Hateful Profession: Artist (Musician)
INT: 2 Wits: 3 RES: 2
ST: 1 Dex: 3 Stamina:2
Pre: 3 Mani: 1 Comp: 4
Skills Crafts 1 Invest 1 Medi 1 Occult 1
Athletics 1 Firearms (hand guns) 2 Stealth 3 Survival 1
Animal Ken 1 Empathy (for abuse victims) 3 Expression (singing, music) 3 Persuasion 1 Streetwise 2 Subterfuge 1
Merits Unseen Sense: Sounds 2 Multilingual: French Creole/Cherokee 1 Professional Training: Musician: 1 Fast Reflexes 1 Indomitable 2
God, it’s cold. Where the hell am I? Detroit?! I really don’t give a sh’t right now. Hal’d been turning my ribs black and blue all over again for not cleanin’ up after myself. F’ck. I thought he’d kill me for sure this time. Mam’s never backin’ me up. She probably doesn’t even miss me. God, I hope Hal doesn’t start beatin’ on her the same way, now that I gone. I wish my dad was around. Fuckin’ piss ass drunk. Gone for more than half my life. I haven’t even seen him for seven years. He probably just wandered into some swamp somewhere like a yellow-bellied mud-creature.
I really can’t figure out how I got here. One minute I was in Mobile, then there was that cave. And a long ‘ss tunnel that went on for hours, but once I walked in I couldn’t find my way out. Like Alice in f’ in’ wonderland. Sure don’t look like no Alice, and f’ ck knows I don’t smell like her neither. Sniffs. Turns her head away, repulsed.
A beat up car zips by, with some prick yelling: “Hobo! Get the F’ CK out of the ROAD!” Friendly here, aren’t they? She pulls wraps her arms around her for warmth. Hell, it ain’t so different from the South, just cold as a b’tches snap.
The cold bites at her as she wanders the streets. She can’t recall when she last ate, but the hotdog stand on the corner smells delicious. She feels around for her wallet. You’ve got to be kidding me! I could have sworn I had my wallet on me when I left. Sh’ t. She checks her pockets, $18 and change. Tip money from her wait job the night before. She searches for something she can play on and finds a discarded white paint bucket. Though hungry, she knows $18 isn’t going to get her through the night. She wanders around the streets for a bit, trying to find a busy pedestrian street corner. Atwater Street. Sounds like a good place to start. She finds a tree to rest upon, sets up a beat and starts to sing.p. Waiting Around to Die by Townes van Zandt (in the style of The Be Good Tanyas)
Sometimes I don’t know where this dirty road is taking me Sometimes I can’t even see the reason why I guess I keep on gamblin’, lots of booze and lots of ramblin’ It’s easier than just a-waitin’ ‘round to die
One-time friends I had a ma, I even had a pa He beat her with a belt once cause she cried She told him to take care of me, she headed down to Tennessee It’s easier than just a-waitin’ ‘round to die
I came of age and found a girl in a Tuscaloosa bar She cleaned me out and hit it on the sly I tried to kill the pain, I bought some wine and hopped a train Seemed easier than just a-waitin’ ‘round to die
A friend said he knew where some easy money was We robbed a man and brother did we fly The posse caught up with me, drug me back to Muskogee It’s two long years, just a-waitin’ ‘round to die
Now I’m out of prison, I got me a friend at last He don’t steal or cheat or drink or lie His name’s codeine, he’s the nicest thing I’ve seen Together we’re gonna wait around and die