Shadowrun General > Fan fiction

Shadowrun Vignettes


Prime Mover:
A sketch or short impressionistic scene to show off a character, idea or the setting.

This concept spawned some good stories on dumpshock forum and I thought I'd try it  here.
I think it works well for Shadowrun or any rpg for that matter to show off a character or interpretation of the setting.   A window into a world view.  I think it's worked well as chapter headers for rulebooks and is a great way to work on your writing.  As a reader it's easier to digest and hey it only takes a minute or two to read and you occasionally find a gem or a spark for your home game.

So here goes please add your own.

Prime Mover:
Morning After
Ugh...2pm when I roll over.  Still gloomy outside.  At least Seattle's weather is cooperating with my aching body today.  I sit up with grunt and let out a long sigh.  My gear is scattered all over the place rifle half sticking out of my kit bag.  Still got my boots and fatigue pants on.  Rub the crap out of my eyes and winch realizing the hand I'm using is still in a burn glove.  Doc said I'd have to wear it two or three days.  Grabbed my comm and specs  off the shelf and doubled checked for messages before sending orders to get the soy caf maker brewing.  Another look at the shelf and my eyes settled on a half empty bottle of vodka.  Another sigh and I take a good long drag  off the bottle.  I tell myself it's for the aches and pains.  A quick shower, at least there was some water pressure today.  A  long bruise ran from my right knee all the way up to my lower back, deep purple and sore as hell.  I dried off and slapped on a patch to dull my pains.  That leads me to the mirror, cuts on my face were minor but deep, doc had fished out all the slivers but I wouldn't be shaving for awhile.  Scruffy facial hair not such a big deal for Dwarf anyways.  My soy processing unit had finished up my “eggs & bagels”(tm).  Ate some breakfast and tossed back a cup of soycaf, then poured another.  Next things next guns and gear everything got put up on table cleaned and counted. Adjusted rail mounts on the rifle and plugged in all my electronics for charging.  I send some messages out to my contacts to replace ammo and explosives.  Place an order for some new fatigues and send flowers to my ex.  She hates it that I remember our anniversary now that were divorced.  I decide to get out of the towel and toss on some sweats, leaving the hold out pistol still strapped  around my ankle.  Sometimes I forget it's there.  Drop on the couch and toss on my trodes, pay some bills and then turn on the Trid so I can catch the end of the game today.  That’s when the door chimes and gives me a good shake, this is my safe house no one knows I'm here.  Well that and the fact none of my surveillance gear setup on the landing outside wasn't showing anyone at the door.  My wires kicked in calculating the distance to the table were my gear sat .  I rolled onto the floor and drew my hold out piece.  So much for a quiet night at home.

FoxBoy yawned wide and then stood up, shaking himself and feeling the fur from his foxy snout all the way back to his five tails fluffing out for the moment to shake off the morning dew and some of the garbage that the wind had swept from the nearby park onto his corner of the alley. Still clad in his dog body armor, he looked around a moment and worked his jaws, getting the kinks out of his muscles and then looked to himself. A bit disgusted with what landed on him, he sat down and hummed to himself, his eyes closed and ears perked, his attention on the free mana around him and weaving it into one of several spells that he cast in succession.

Once he was done he looked to himself once more and nodded in sastifaction. No longer looking like the runaway Aztec hunting hound, he now appeared to be a stray with a thick woolen coat on top of his normal fur that was freshly groomed and cleaned. The coat thick enough to hide the layers of padding that comes from customized armor and layers of insulation against heat, lightning and cold. He had lost count of how many times he's done his own tailoring.. but that didn't matter.

The commlink woven into his mask that now looked like a foppish canine's hat with goggles came alive and checked his mail once it detected he was awake, the startup routine announcing that he had fifteen messages waiting for him. Some marked urgent... well, something was a bit more urgent then even those.

Setting out into the park, he sniffed the air and started looking for those ducks he spotted last night. Time for breakfast...


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