bakerstreet | Canon Immersion Meme

((If you're going to be immersed in a post-apocalyptic Wasteland, you could do worse than Bartertown...))

Edited 2016-08-04 15:01 (UTC)

Long ago, Lemrina was once somebody...or rather, at least somebody with money. She had come from a well-to-do family, and even as a bastard child, she had lived in relative comfort. But her life had always been within a gilded cage, especially when her legitimate half-sister was the one who lived in the metaphorical sun while she had been swept under the rug, lest her very existence cast aspersions on her father for his indiscretion. Bitterness, jealousy, and simmering anger had been constant companions, and she had resented her lot in life on a daily basis.

The end of the world changed all that.

Her family was, for the most part, gone. She couldn't completely let go of her bitterness at her father, but he was dead, so there was no point dwelling on it. Her mother had died not long after she was born. But her half-sister...she was out there somewhere in the wastelands. As much as she had resented the "princess" before the collapse, she had to find her. Asseylum was only living family.

The Hunter wandered in from the wastes, lugging what salvage she had been able to find into Bartertown. It was a cruel place, but cruel out of necessity. With civilization reduced to little more than ash, human beings had to fight to survive. The frontier trading post was about as civilized as possible, given the state of the world. But Lemrina reflected on none of that, herself toughened through necessity and the iron will to survive. A perpetual scowl was on her face as she unceremoniously dumped her cache on the counter, her arms crossed with affected impatience for the appraiser, lest she seem weak or desperate.

She was done with being weak.

Bartertown is brutal in its way, but there's a civilized veneer to it and a set of simple but firm laws. Bust a deal: face the wheel. Thunderdome: two men enter, one man leaves. You can sell yourself; you can't sell anybody else. Caveat emptor. The organization, such as it is, tends to draw a crowd that remembers and regrets the fall of the old world. Sometimes that means people drop by who fancy themselves Wasteland heroes, sometimes they're outlaws living off the corpse of the dead world, sometimes just road warriors looking for an edge, looking to survive. That means there's a tough crowd behind those gates, but at least it's not a crowd of feral desperates or battle-hardened warlords, like you'll find in the desert.

Typically, the line at the counter is long in the morning and the evening, but for whatever reason the Hunter doesn't have long to wait right now. The bald man appraising goods at the desk looks her over critically before he eyes her cache. A lone young woman coming in from the wastes is a bit of an oddity. He won't question it, but he'll note it. Meanwhile, it's not as if there aren't other women there. Several of the guards hanging about are women in somewhat-impractical, yet impressive, black leather armor, with tumbling Mohawk headpieces made of feathers or boar bristles.

"Right," the man at the desk says. "It's a twenty percent cut for the house, to gain entrance. You're willing to pay?"

It's common knowledge that Bartertown survives on this kind of trade taxation, but twenty percent is a lot. He's starting high on purpose, seeing how much she'll fight them, but she'd be a fool not to haggle.

((I figured a post-Max Bartertown that's managed to recover from him trashing the place would work as setting/timing, if that's good for you. Entity will show up before long, promise!))

If she were completely honest with herself, the pink-haired young woman had to admit that there were far worse places than Bartertown. The Wastes were unforgiving; with her petite build, it had taken more than a few stabs to certain vulnerable areas to get the point across that she was not an easy target...or at least much more trouble than she was worth. She'd had to learn how to fight with every last dirty trick in the book to keep from becoming yet another defiled corpse out in the sands, how to effectively hide from the savage feral gangs roaming the dunes, and use both skill and wits to live another day.

By contrast, Bartertown was as safe a haven as anything could be. Not that she could let her guard down, but there were laws, some semblance of a civilized society there. That is, if she made herself useful. The useless were just as dead here as they were in the outback beyond.

There wasn't anything she could do about her slight build, but she kept her youthful face hidden below the hood of her cloak and covered with the scarf covering the lower half. Only the bright blue eyes were visible as they continued to glare at the appraiser. But he wasn't laughing or leering at the waifish Hunter; thank whatever for small mercies. Lemrina appreciated that small amount of professional courtesy, at least.

"You're kidding," she answered gruffly. "Five percent is all that's worth getting into this shithole." Sure, they needed to make a living, but so did she. After lowballing on purpose, now was just the familiar dance of haggling for a reasonable fee.

((Works for me!))

Bartertown municipal employees--the courteous term for men like this desk clerk, who have thrown their lot in with the city for good or ill--do not leer at girls. Every now and again a brothel keeper or pimp will have something to say, but they don't work for the City; they just work in the City. Aunty Entity's influence permeates the place. If nothing else positive can be said about her, she runs a very tight ship and she makes sure other women are a powerful part of it. Hence comes her staff of personal Imperial Guards, about ninety percent of whom are female (and it would be easy to assume from their scant clothing that they're merely eye candy, but they're also visual distractions for sex-starved wastelanders and traders, and they all carry knives and guns and won't hesitate to use them.) So, in addition to the attempt at fair trade and civiliation, the place has that going for it, too. Sometimes that draws Wasteland women in, in and of itself. Sometimes it's even enough to coax them to stay.

It may be a trick of the light, but when the strange woman pushes back against the gatekeeper's demand for 20%, some of the milling Imperial guards seem to smile faintly, approving. Yep, this one will do fine once she gets inside.

"Five percent?" The gatekeeper laughs dryly, but he's just as glad she's bargaining. If she gave in too easily that would be a sign of desperation. Desperate traders don't do so well in Bartertown. "You're either joking or a fool. Fifteen."

A moment later, and some of the guards are turning to look as a sleek, skeletal jeep pulls up on the other side of the gate. There's a man in black driving, possibly another type of guard, but the passenger is a bit more colorful-looking. She's in what appears to be a chain mail dress, which one would think would be a highly uncomfortable outfit, but she seems at ease. Her skin is middling-dark, smooth and flawless, and her hair is a wild mane of silvery blonde. Her posture as she gets out says she's in charge, and if Lemrina has heard any descriptions of Aunty Entity, she may be able to match them to this woman easily enough. She's distinctive.

((I tag slow, sorry, but I backtag forever, and I am all about world building.))

Edited 2016-08-09 13:32 (UTC)

The place was as civil as it could be, really. The world before the collapse hadn't exactly been a paradise, and it wasn't as if someone like her could have walked the streets in complete safety. True, she had been pampered and spoiled, generally free from the hard life of the streets, but she hadn't complained when she was forced to toughen up and learn to fend for herself or die. No sense in whining about what couldn't be changed. All she could do was live and hope her sister was out there and managed to stay alive.

But in spite of her insult and careful concealment of what she actually thought, Bartertown was undeniably impressive. It took not only toughness and a take-no-shit attitude, but smarts to create and run the scraps of civilization they had left. Having rules for the sake of being able to trade properly was one thing, but that hardly meant anything if they couldn't be enforced. Beyond the gates, the only rule was strength or cunning...she'd survived mostly by the latter.

Even still, she didn't dare let her guard down. Bartertown might have been a lot safer than the Wastelands were, but even being safer by comparison, there was always the danger of getting too complacent. Maybe if she found Seylum, they could settle down without having to venture out into the outback, but for now, it was better if she kept moving.

"Ten," she barked back, the percentage she had been angling for. Hopefully this would conclude the obligatory haggling. But her steady gaze was interrupted by the arrival of the jeep, and Lemrina couldn't help but follow it with her blue eyes. There weren't that many people who hadn't heard of Aunty Entity in those parts. She might have once been just another person on the streets once, but any indication of that was long gone, and in that past woman's place was an undeniable leader.

Rina changed her mind; it wasn't only toughness and smarts which had built Bartertown. She really should have known better: charisma was as important as it always was.

((No worries, I tag a bit slow even when notifs aren't being wonky. And looks good so far!))

Aunty Entity//Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome

Eh, I'm halfway there with my post-apocalyptic FPS AU anyway, let's do this

man, I didn't even get a notif for this yet.

It's cool!

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