Rolled 2 + 7 (1d10 + 7)
>>6193881 |
>>6192496Three-hundred. Twelve. Thousand dollars. Split four ways - that's seventy-eight. Thousand. Dollars. Each.
Seventy-eight. Thousand dollars. *Each.*
Once they're back home, Lisa can't stop cheering and shaking Yona, praising her and telling her how fucking awesome she was. She's stunned by his volume, but laughs and hugs him at the praise. Rats and Rick are old enough to to know what that kind of money means. How it can help the Block, how it can change shit, how they could fix rooms and clean the streets and get extra breathing room off their backs during the raids and-
"Should we give any to Napps?"
Yona's question freezes Lisa in his tracks. The adrenaline of victory and success turning to ice cold frustration, at the fucking *idea* they owed him anything. When Rick speaks up, he wheels.
"We almost *died* for this cash. Not him - us. We're lucky to be alive - fuck, Yona did the best she fuckin' could and kicked ass at getting through the tower, she was the best! She shouldn't have to feed him our fucking wealth - this is going to us. To the Block. To our fucking home. Not him - Us."
A glare from Rick, from Rats, face him down. He glares at them back. A scared look from Yona flanks him from the side, cutting down his defiance.
"...Ugh. Fine. Do what you fuckin' want. But this," he says waving his share, "is going to *us.* No matter what Naptime has to fuckin' say."
When Napps eventually wakes up in his spot on the Oil Rig, nursing the wounds of the title fight and eyeing the belt hung on his wall, he'd find a gift in his nook: A red disk, and a handgun. No note included.
'Must be a welcome gift. Wonder who gave it. Ramirez? He was dancing around to the tape earlier - must've been his way of paying me back. Nice.'
>Gained ...no money!? Right now, $112,500 is in someone else's hands...>$200,000 is spent on a Green Marker - Handcannon obtained, replacing the pistol!Handcannon (Range 15, Dmg 3, Ammo 3/9, +1 Crit %)
>Red Disk obtained!(------------------ Earlier... ------------------)
Fading in and out of consciousness on the boat ride to the Oilrig, duffels of margarita mix, money, gas and chainsaw tucked underneath him, Napps dreams of the lessons that granted him victory in the ring, inspired by those others in the gang who sought training from Masters in combat.
"Master Raging Bear? I come to train."
>Prep Work: Training under Master Raging Bear, roll 1d10+Hard (7) 