In response to: Sinister Plot.
Someone had dumped an entire truckload of rotten eggs off the side of the road, Martin was sure of it. "Something really reeks around here," he complained nasally. The self-styled demolitions expert sat on the back of a motorcycle, on the shoulder of a dirt highway, twenty miles east by northeast of the city, plugging his nose shut by squeezing his nostrils together with gloved fingers.
Being a bit of a mad scientist, he had come out this far fully planning on experimenting with his latest array of decorative fireworks. The whole bundle of them were tied up tight to the back of the seat. He had driven this far, into a cloud of absolute putrescence, and stopped his bike with the silly notion of examining the cause.
There wasn't actually a cloud, mind, but the rancid odor was so thick in the air that there might as well been. Kicking down the stand, he dismounted his bike and walked along the shoulder of the road searching for the source. He did not, yet, dare take his hand away from his nose. This of course made it extremely difficult for him to fiddle with the buttons of his wrist scwatch. An invention of his own design.
"Ugh," he complained. "Ew. Augh. What I wouldn't give for some coff— Wait. I have coffee. Who'm I fooling?" From one of his pockets he retrieved a bottle of coffee beans, flipped off the lid, and held the little container right up under his nose. He took one long deep whiffing inhale of the sweet aroma of fresh roast, and afterward was capable of breathing a little better.
"Aaaaah. Okay. So." Recapping the bottle, he kept it tucked against his palm while pressing the buttons on the device he wore around his wrist. "Let's see what we've got here."
The wrist scwatch was a little bigger than a regular wrist watch. The face was a wide square that covered the entire underside of his knobby wrist. The band was just as wide and made of leather, ensuring that it stayed firmly attached. Anyone looking at it from the top, just under his sleeve it probably looked like some new age punk wrist band of no particular importance. However, the little computer chip installed into the casing, and the digital display screen, was a marvelous invention of precise design. Primarily, that little gadget housed more than a hundred Scan spells, which back in the day had been his signature spell of use.
Scanning the trees and foliage first with his eyes, he pushed his goggles up over his head and searched for the source. Rain was drizzling down over the highway and frizzing up his tightly knotted hair, but that wasn't really all that important. He had never been able to keep it straight no matter how many different products he tried using. His hair was just that thick. Best he could manage was to pull it back tight against his head and hope to God it didn't frizz too badly. His prayers were hardly ever answered on that matter, but never mind that.
SOURCE OF OLFACTORY SENSORY INPUT DATA 30 YARDS WEST, reported the LCD screen of the scwatch. So, Martin walked that way. All the while he griped and groaned about the ever increasing stench he was heedlessly walking toward. The closer he got, the more weird things started happening to his little wrist worn miracle computer.
Someone had dumped an entire truckload of rotten eggs off the side of the road, Martin was sure of it. "Something really reeks around here," he complained nasally. The self-styled demolitions expert sat on the back of a motorcycle, on the shoulder of a dirt highway, twenty miles east by northeast of the city, plugging his nose shut by squeezing his nostrils together with gloved fingers.
Being a bit of a mad scientist, he had come out this far fully planning on experimenting with his latest array of decorative fireworks. The whole bundle of them were tied up tight to the back of the seat. He had driven this far, into a cloud of absolute putrescence, and stopped his bike with the silly notion of examining the cause.
There wasn't actually a cloud, mind, but the rancid odor was so thick in the air that there might as well been. Kicking down the stand, he dismounted his bike and walked along the shoulder of the road searching for the source. He did not, yet, dare take his hand away from his nose. This of course made it extremely difficult for him to fiddle with the buttons of his wrist scwatch. An invention of his own design.
"Ugh," he complained. "Ew. Augh. What I wouldn't give for some coff— Wait. I have coffee. Who'm I fooling?" From one of his pockets he retrieved a bottle of coffee beans, flipped off the lid, and held the little container right up under his nose. He took one long deep whiffing inhale of the sweet aroma of fresh roast, and afterward was capable of breathing a little better.
"Aaaaah. Okay. So." Recapping the bottle, he kept it tucked against his palm while pressing the buttons on the device he wore around his wrist. "Let's see what we've got here."
The wrist scwatch was a little bigger than a regular wrist watch. The face was a wide square that covered the entire underside of his knobby wrist. The band was just as wide and made of leather, ensuring that it stayed firmly attached. Anyone looking at it from the top, just under his sleeve it probably looked like some new age punk wrist band of no particular importance. However, the little computer chip installed into the casing, and the digital display screen, was a marvelous invention of precise design. Primarily, that little gadget housed more than a hundred Scan spells, which back in the day had been his signature spell of use.
Scanning the trees and foliage first with his eyes, he pushed his goggles up over his head and searched for the source. Rain was drizzling down over the highway and frizzing up his tightly knotted hair, but that wasn't really all that important. He had never been able to keep it straight no matter how many different products he tried using. His hair was just that thick. Best he could manage was to pull it back tight against his head and hope to God it didn't frizz too badly. His prayers were hardly ever answered on that matter, but never mind that.
SOURCE OF OLFACTORY SENSORY INPUT DATA 30 YARDS WEST, reported the LCD screen of the scwatch. So, Martin walked that way. All the while he griped and groaned about the ever increasing stench he was heedlessly walking toward. The closer he got, the more weird things started happening to his little wrist worn miracle computer.