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The Lessek Run; Easy Quest
Topic Started: May 21 2015, 10:57 AM (337 Views)
Dain Sincara
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Writes like a Sumbitch
Lessek Run

Location: The Ruins of Cauldron
Difficulty: Easy (minimum/1.800 words)
Reward: +400 zeni, +4 DP, +35 all stats, +3 Rp Credits
Available: No information
Participants: Dain + Vash
Requirement: None
Link: http://forum.alexsdbzrpg.com/index.php?showtopic=46876

Description:

You've been hanging around for a while and recently ran into a down on his luck Asteroid Racer owner. His last pilot was killed in a bar fight on Suicide Station. If he doesn't find someone to race his Corvette in tomorrow's qualifying round for this seasons race, he will lose his entry fee and be unable to pay his ship costs! You must finish in the top 7 to move on to the next round. (You get use of a Corvette for this quest only-You are racing a circular route through the asteroid belt created by Cauldron's Demise).
Death is the only real escape from living.
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Dain Sincara
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Writes like a Sumbitch
The Lessek Run:

It had been a weird day for Dain. Not only was it the first time he had left Vegeta on his own will, knowing that he would not come back there for a while, it also had to do something with the fact that he found himself in some kind of corvette for some reason.

Backtracking the events he still did not truly understand what had happened.

Less than three hours ago his ship had finally arrived at a place called the Ruins of Cauldron. Normally this would not have been his first stop, but as he had been sparring in the hospital he had met an interesting fellow named Vash. The man had dared him to come look him up he survived a certain attack, so he did.

Perhaps it was better to say that while this place was not the first on his list, it had more to do with the fact that he had no list, than that he knew any better places to go.

Since battling a strong foe was alway interesting he had decided to make the cauldron the first place on his list. He was pretty sure he was never going to have a list though, pretty much just follow what seemed interesting on the way.

Anyway up till that point everything seemed normal. He had departed the ship and a cozy little shuttle ride had dropped him off right at a bar.

Considering the fact that the army would no longer care about what he did, a bar seemed actually to be the best place to start looking for Vash. They where usually hubs of information and people seemed to be much easier to talk to when they had a few drinks in them. Or at least so he had heard. To be honest his first impression of a bar was not much good. It was crowded, filled with a nasty smoke and the smell was not much more pleasant than the army gym.

At first he had just sat down with nothing more than his pipe and ordered a beer, waiting for the magic to come to him.

Apparently though that was also another lie as he sat there for three hours and his beer had become so warm and stale it could pass as lemonade, but nobody had talked with him yet.

Sitting in the cockpit of the corvette Dain remembered making a mental note to straighten out a few things with his sergeant if he ever saw him again.

Just as he was about to get truly annoyed and leave, a fellow sat down next to him and for some reason he ordered two drinks. One for himself and one for Dain, who did not understand why at all. From what he gathered it was simply because he had been sitting at the bar and the drink was so he would listen.

His first instinct had been to politely decline the drink and continue his search for Vash, but the man had such a pleading look Vegejor could not resist.

Thinking back that was probably the mistake he made. Being a novice drinker, whatever the stuff was the man bought him hit him like a wrecking ball and for some reason he grew quite fond of the guy in a very short time. Why he did it he was not completely sure, but apparently he did in fact agree to help the guy with something.

From there on his memory seemed to go down hill pretty fast though.

His memory got a bit blurry and with every drink he was offered it got a bit more blurry it seemed. From the end he barely remembered anything, but somehow he did remember how he agreed to the guy who was so friendly buying him drinks to help him. He even vaguely remembered himself boasting what a fantastic pilot he was.

The next thing Vegejor know was that his head was dipped in a bucket of ice water, waking him up rather roughly and than being pushed into the cockpit of a corvette.

Through the ships display he was informed of the status and as he felt the first wave of nausea come up, some kind of race started.

Despite the bleeding headache and nausea, Vegejor was able to steer the corvette with relative ease, as he had flown quite a few ships in his time in the army. From what he could remember all he should do was finish within the top seven and there was no real award for winning this crap, so he took it relatively easy.

Halfway through the race he was in a comfortable sixth position and tried to control the ship with his feet as he involuntarily emptied his stomach on the empty seat besides him.

“Wow!” He exclaimed as he looked up just in time to see the corvette cruising straight towards a huge meteoroid and just by throwing his full weight on the steering wheel, he managed to dive in time to avoid it.

That little stunt did ruin his time though and when he got back on track he found himself on the ninth position with less than a quarter of the race to go. He was still feeling more than just miserable, but he had never failed a mission before and he was not about to know.

Using the remaining of the adrenaline rush, he got a bit more into the race and by slightly cheating, cutting of some corners and good piloting he managed to find himself the eight position, just as the race was about to come to an end. The on board computer told him from now on it was only straight ahead and than a slight corner towards the finishing line.

Which was a problem as he still needed a bit of time to reach the seventh position, so he could continue.

The current number seven was only slightly in front of him though and the number eight far behind him, so Vegejor did the only thing he could do. Rather than a clean take-over maneuver, he waited for the small corner and positioned himself on the inside of the track. As the corner started he however did not go along and instead aimed directly for the number seven, bumping straight into one of it´s engines.

There was a lot of noise and sparks, but it had the wished effect as the enemy ship suddenly slowed down and moved like a sailor walking out of a bar at 6 in the morning. -or Dain three hours earlier-

His corvette was also damaged and lost a bit of speed, but it was not his own ship and he had just enough of an advantage to reach the finishing line before his pursuers.

A mere moment after he had been flagged as the number seven, three other ships crossed the line, all tangled into a fierce fight for the eight position.

“Well boss, I guess I did it.” Vegejor said, still looking bright green in the face, as he walked past the owner of the asteroid racer. He completely ignored his complaints about the damage of the corvette, hastily searching for a toilet to rest his head for a while.

WC: 1.222
Death is the only real escape from living.
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Vash
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Gross...
The warm embrace of a comfortable bed and a good nights sleep never sounded better. Well, the comfortable bed part might have been considered a bit of a stretch. Ever since he found Rem and left his position within Siberius' hierarchy, Vash had taken shelter aboard the Valiant, allowing his newly reunited Namekian counterpart his own bit of space. Their relationship was still fresh and at a crucial stage of development. The Majin curse mark was newly instilled upon his long time friend, and neither of them were sure of any possible side effects. But, for the time being, they were forming a partnership, and that was all that really mattered. The details would work themselves out in time.

Having just blown up a Saiyan warship threatening to destroy what little remained of Cauldron, specifically with Rem still on it, some relaxation time was of high importance. Vash personally could not have cared less about the fate of the ruins and it's inhabitants, it was crucial for him to play his part as the hero in order to form a necessary level of trust with Rem. He didn't have a choice.

Relaxation and a bit of entertainment at this point was a definite must. Suicide Station was in great supply of entertainment or it's scum of the cosmos inhabitants. Bars, casinos, strip clubs... If you had a vice, you could definitely feed it here.

The first couple of nights went by in a blur, Vash had been kicked out of about every bar within walking distance of the space port. But still, he managed to indulge himself a little bit until it was time to carry on with something of real importance.

He had been walking down one particular street, chugging on a bottle of lucifer knows what when he happened upon some kind of chop shop vehicle repair place. The sound of an engine being revved up Drew his attention inwards.

There were three mechanics and a foreman, a diversity of species, working on a corvette class speeder hoisted into the air. They were arguing about something, speaking in a tongue Vash didn't recognize. Vash stumbled in a bit, and began to speak in a low, slurry voice. "Nice machine you guys got there," he managed to belch out, before taking another haul off the bottle.

Evidently, they did not enjoy his friendly and merry demeanor as well as he had intended, the foreman shot Vash a nasty look. "Get out of my shop, drunky!" He shouted in basic as he took a couple steps towards the intoxicated demon.

"Hey now, no need for that!" Vash held his hands up defensively. "I was just saying you guys got a good looking car here!" Then he noticed the number 14 painted on the sign. "What's with the number?"

The foreman grew a matter of factual look on his face. "This here's a racin' car," he said with pride before spitting a large wad of chewing tobacco juice at Vash's boots. "The Lessek Run is tomorrow. Puttin' the final touches to 'er before the big race."

"Big race, huh," Vash commented. "Sounds like fun! How do I enter?"

All four of the redneck aliens began to laugh hysterically. "You don't! This is for professionals only!" The foreman remarked, his toothless smile bouncing up and down as he laughed.

Some professionals, Vash thought to himself sarcastically. If this group of idiots can put a car together and win a race, it can't be that hard. Despite the fact that the mechanics were still laughing, and that Vash could have them all hanging by their small intestines, or whatever kind of disgusting organs their alien bodies were made of, Vash flashed a bright smile and went on his way back to the space port, knowing full well that tomorrow he would make his move.

The next day, he rose early and made his way down to the starting line of the track, information he had gathered from posters hanging all around the space port. He sat amongst the stands, drinking a few beers, enjoying himself, and kept his eyes on one spot in particular. A white tent with the number 14 painted on it.

Wc 701/701/1923
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WIKI // THEME SONG
2015 ROLE PLAY OF THE YEAR WINNER!!
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Vash
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Gross...
Finally, a few beers and a couple of the worst hot dogs Vash had ever tasted later, the assholes with the number 14 car showed up. A man wearing a full driving suit, gloves, a Helmet, the whole get up jumped out of the trailer with the rest of the crew. Perfect, Vash thought as he finished his sixth beer. Or was it his seventh. He wasn't really sure. Now, all he had to do was wait for him to get up and use the bathroom.

Vash stalked the man through the building that was accessible to racing staff when he got his chance. He was about as sneaky and quiet as he possibly could in his half drunken state, but when he got the chance, he bashed the driver in the back of the skull, rendering him unconscious. Vash put on the entire outfit, stuffed the mans unconscious body into a nearby supply closet, and made his way back out to the starting line.

"Jesus, did you have to take a shit in there or what?" The foreman asked, obviously irritated with the delay.

Vash simply gave the middle finger in response, jumped into the drivers seat, and made his way to the starting grid. Drink driving wasn't exactly one of his better ideas, but the whole experience was just too cool and exciting for him to pass up.

He glanced over the controls. They were a little intimidating, but hey, couldn't be that much more different than flying a fighter craft. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as the countdown began. Vash was ready.

Now, the race itself was mostly a blur, he could admit that. It was amazing that he didn't get himself or anyone else killed. But, if he was going to be completely honest, he didn't care, he was just having too much fun.

As the checkered flag waved, he figured out he actually had managed to place sixth, and qualified to move on. In all the excitement, he had forgotten that he actually wasn't supposed to be there, and when he removed his helmet, the pit crew wasn't all that thrilled to see who he really was. But, after a little explaining and some telepathic prodding, he convinced them to make him the driver in the next race. It wasn't ideal, but it beat the hell out of risking his life for Rems sake.

Wc 400/1101/2323
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