Sime~Gen Roleplaying on IRC: Snake River Dam Scenario
Episode #7: As Stupid as Stupid Gets (6/12/00)
B'jesis approaches Sayward's tent (office) carrying a muddy clipboard.
B'jesis is smiling rather inappropriately, given the nature of his news.
B'jesis whistles sadistically.
B'jesis: Hello in there!
B'jesis knocks loudly in Gen fashion.
Sayward is interrupted while trying to get some charts finished.
Sayward: What?
B'jesis enters.
B'jesis: Well, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, we've finally filled your roster.
B'jesis waits expectantly for her to ask about the bad news.
Sayward: And?
B'jesis: The bad news is, they're not what you requested.
Sayward is hoping Cris will return soon.
B'jesis: Apparently they were buttonholed by some Tecton type for sanitation duty.
B'jesis: So we roped together some of the camp people for you. All sturdy renSimes, ready to work hard.
B'jesis thinks, ready to drink hard anyway.
B'jesis: Brought a few of them with me, if you'd care to meet them?
Sayward is trying to understand the fast pace Simelan.
Cris, returning from the records office, zlins the crowd gathering around Sayward's tent and augments in that direction.
Sayward: Wait.
B'jesis is a greasy, filthy and otherwise fully qualified construction site type dude of the Gen variety.
Cris dodges around the crowd of renSimes and slides to a halt before the tent entrance.
B'jesis is wearing a stained white tee shirt and a hard hat, and a pronounced masculine odor.
Cris slips under the flap of the opening.
Sayward is relieved to see her friend Cris.
Cris is a sturdy, 25-year-old renSime with frizzy orange hair and a rather wrinkled Diplomatic Corps uniform.
Sayward: We have a problem.
B'jesis looks Cris up and down.
B'jesis keeps his mouth shut, though his nager is of course entirely untrained.
B'jesis: ~smirk~
Cris looks B'jesis straight in the eyes. She's seen his type before.
Cris: What's going on?
Sayward: We are up to our eyeballs in renSimes and I really need a translator.
Cris: Well, that's what I'm here for.
Sayward turns to B'jesis and points out of the tent.
Sayward: Out. I'm right behind you.
B'jesis leaves.
Cris exits the tent and surveys the crowd.
Sayward follows Cris out.
B'jesis: Listen up, you lay abouts. This here is your new supervisor.
B'jesis: Any problems, you talk to her. [ignoring the jeers from the renSimes]
Cris positions herself in a protective manner between Sayward and the others.
B'jesis, glad to be rid of the chore, walks off.
Kriller zlins Sayward and Cris closely, determining the shapes beneath the clothing.
Sayward: All right, I want you divided into two groups.
Cris zlins the disrespect and derision.
Kriller: Hey, babes! [to Wilim]
Wilim: Yeah, not bad.
Kriller hastily picks his nose, then wipes his finger on his coveralls.
Sayward pulls Cris to the side for a quick confab.
Wilim drools a bit between his four remaining teeth.
Kriller's coveralls are also much the worse for wear, thanks to an unfortunate mishap at the latrine the previous night.
Sayward: What is going on with them?
Cris: [softly] They're not used to taking orders from Gens, or from women. 1
Cris: You will have to show them who's boss.
Kriller is, in fact, quite used to being handed orders by a woman. That's why he left his wife.
Sayward: Oh grief and death. All right.
PechreWood stands there lackadaisically, with flies buzzing about his head.
Cris: Be confident. They'll zlin it in your nager.
Sayward turns and scans the crowd.
PechreWood is wearing overalls and a straw hat, work boots, and several interesting stains.
Cris: How do you want them divided? I'll translate.
Wilim chews on his gums and then spits.
Sayward picks her target. She walks right up to Kriller and gets right in his face.
Dernye sits down, since he is fundamentally lazy.
Sayward: What your name?
Kriller smiles broadly, puffing malodorous breath in Sayward's face.
Sayward never flinches. Looks right into his bloodshot beady eyes.
Kriller: Kriller, my dear. And I'm delighted to meet you.
Kriller's tentacles itch to show Sayward just how delighted, but he figures it's maybe a bit too early for that.
Sayward snorts and looks him up and down.
Sayward: You come to work?
Cris moves closer and zlins Kriller, ready to leap at the first wrong move. Translators sometimes have to double as bodyguards.
Kriller actually came because it seemed to be the thing to do, at the time, but supposes that won't pass as an answer.
Kriller: Yeah, sure.
Kriller thinks that at least a Gen from across the Border won't be used to working Simes very hard.
Sayward turns to look at the rest of the crowd.
Wilim spits again.
PechreWood looks at her with the obdurate expression of a steer.
Wilim: Me, I gotta have some money, bad.
Sayward: If you come to work you stay and work. If not you go!
Dernye stifles a yawn and stands up again, unenthusiastically.
Wilim: You gonna give me some money?
Sayward: For work yes. For sloppy, lazy no.
Wilim: I work! I work real hard!
Kriller personally would just as soon be paid in other coin, at least in part.
Wilim has arms like toothpicks and his skin is sunken in his cheeks and greyish in color.
Sayward looks at the crowd and shakes her head.
PechreWood blinks into the air, peacefully.
Kriller decides that if he has to work, having a boss he can zlin up without her knowing it is better than most situations.
Sayward: Only real workers get money. You want work? You make line there.
Cris: [softly, to Sayward] Tell them what you want done and what you will pay.
Kriller checks out Sayward's top half, under her clothing.
Wilim stumbles over to stand in line.
Sayward: [softly, to Cris] I need to see what I've got first.
Cris raps Kriller's thick head with a dorsal tentacle.
Cris: None of that!
Kriller leers at Cris, then wanders over to the line.
Cris: We'll see how post you feel when you don't have the money to pay your taxes!
Sayward: [to Cris] Please tell them we will pay the going rate plus 2% for quick neat work.
Cris translates the offer.
Kriller perks up at the thought of a bonus as well as babes.
Cris: [whispers to Sayward] Standard day for a Sime is 16 hours and the 2% should cover the augmentation bonus.
Sayward: [to Cris] Great! I need them in two groups. One to clear an area of about 400 square yards and one to move the supplies into it and stack them so that we can get started with some more permanent shelter.
Cris: Okay.
Sayward: Thanks cuz.
Cris: Okay, you will divide into two groups!
Cris: Who wants to get a good work-out! Step to the right!
Kriller scratches his head, then moves left.
Kriller never has really gotten the hang of right versus left.
Cris: Who likes to work with care and precision! Step to the left!
Kriller wavers.
Kriller really hates being in a position of responsibility, where decisions have to be made.
Wilim moves to the right. He always works hard.
Kriller: Where am I supposed to go?
Kriller: ~~ plaintive ~~
Cris pushes him to the right group.
Cris: This way, ox-brain.
Kriller thinks that oxen are big and strong, and preens at the compliment.
Sayward watches the crowd slowly dividing itself with help from Cris. She is glad beyond words to have her for a translator.
Cris zlins the way the group is dividing itself and makes a few more adjustments, such as moving Wilim into the left area.
Sayward: Cris, please have the clearing crew follow me.
Cris: All right! Right group! You are going to clear a 400-foot square area of debris! 2
Cris: You will follow Tuib Sayward and obey all her orders!
Cris: Questions?
Sayward: Thanks Cris. Could you have the others start bringing up the that pile of beams first?
Kriller follows the babe, grinning.
Kriller likes a chance to show off his (Sime-scrawny) musculature.
Cris: Okay, left group! You see that pile of logs down there! We're going to bring them up the hill!
Sayward starts off to the area to be cleared. She has paced it off on more than one occasion in preparation for this very thing. She stands in the exact center.
Sayward turns to her somewhat eager crew and points.
Kriller really enjoyed the rear view.
Cris: Double up on each log. All right, move out!
Wilim stumbles in the direction of the stack of beams.
Sayward: All around me out. Clear everything.
Cris zlins Kriller leering again and hopes Sayward can handle herself.
Cris directs PechreWood to help Wilim with his log. He seems the biddable type
Kriller stoops and picks up a smashed ceramic jar, still smelling faintly of spoiled porstan.
Kriller's ability to detect the odor of porstan over his own is a rather significant achievement.
Sayward nods.
Kriller is, however, well practiced at detecting that particular odor.
Sayward: Good! You all do same!
Kriller supplements the jar with a scrap of half-rotted blanket, then carries them over to Sayward.
Kriller: Hey, where you want this stuff?
Atlas stares at a half-rotted stump crawling with termites.
Sayward points to the west edge of the area.
Sayward: Go out pass 200 and drop it.
Atlas grasps the stump with all his handling tentacles and wrestles it out of the ground under augmentation.
Kriller starts walking west.
Atlas lifts the stump above his head like a trophy and carries it to Sayward.
Atlas: You like?
Kriller has, however, no talent for numbers greater than the cost of a mug of bad porstan.
Sayward: Very good.
Atlas: You want?
Kriller is eager to bring the babe his next offering.
Sayward: Over there.
Atlas prepares to toss the stump to Sayward.
Kriller therefore goes a mere 50 feet before dropping his load and looking around for something else.
Sayward: No! Over there!
Atlas frowns.
Atlas: You not want?
Sayward: Bring it.
Sayward walks to the edge of the area to be cleared.
Sayward: Put it there.
Atlas is not very used to working with Gens, but he can zlin where she is focusing her attention.
Kriller backtracks feet and discovers a rotten apple and a scrap of paper.
Atlas puts the stump down where she has indicated.
Atlas: Here?
Sayward: Cris!
Kriller picks them up and wanders towards the babe again, somewhat jealous at the attention that Atlas is getting.
Sayward: Cris!!
Kriller holds up his trophies as he approaches.
Cris hears the call and comes charging up the hill.
Kriller: See? I've got more.
Cris: What is it?
Kriller unfortunately squeezes the rotten apple a bit too hard, and it squirts malodorous juice onto his coveralls.
Sayward: Sorry to scare you. There should be a couple of old tarps down there can you send them up here.
Kriller frowns, and hurls the rest of the pulp away.
Cris is followed by a ragtag battalion of renSimes struggling with timbers.
Cris: Oh! Okay!
Sayward: And I think I need translation.
Sayward: I can't make them understand where I want this junk.
Cris directs the renSimes in the lead where to stack the posts. She sends Wilim back for the tarps.
Kriller's problems with the apple have dampened his enthusiasm for this load, so he drops it and goes to scrounge something else.
Cris wonders how to be in three places at the same time. She is a translator, not a manager.
Kriller wonders what Sayward wants to do with all the junk.
Cris returns to Sayward's side.
Cris: What do you want them to do?
Atlas looks around for something else he can tear to shreds.
Sayward: Pile the debris onto a tarp and drag it out to the edge and dump it. I want them to fill the tarp but not have stuff falling out as they drag it.
Atlas spots a pile of tumbled rocks.
Wilim comes dashing up with the tarps.
Kriller finds a some bits of "building material" scraps which weren't worth carting away when the residents here were moved out.
Cris: Okay, good, Wilim. Unfold those!
Kriller picks up a few scraps, then pauses to watch the action.
Wilim spreads the tarps out on the ground.
Kriller wonders if the babe wants to build shelters with the tarps.
Cris: Now when you pick up trash, lay it on the tarp!
Kriller frowns.
Cris: Put it to the middle, so we can drag it off when the tarp is full!
Kriller: But if we do that, the tarp will be dirty.
Kriller: ~~ doubtful ~~
Kriller wouldn't mind, himself, but he gathers from her appearance that Sayward is a bit more picky about hygiene.
Cris: [smiling sweetly] You can clean it later.
Cris: For now, Tuib says pile the trash in them.
Kriller shrugs, and starts a hail of debris pattering down onto the tarp.
Sayward: Yes! Do that more!
Sayward: All do that!
Cris: Drag that other tarp over to the left so you can clear that quadrant! You four, move!
Sayward: [to Cris] Thanks again! You are good at this.
Wilim carries the remaining tarp 100 feet to the left and spreads it out.
Kriller grins broadly at the praise, and steps up his pace.
Cris: Thank you!
Kriller has not, alas, quite understood the bit about stopping while the load can still be moved.
Cris is distracted by trying to supervise renSimes running all over the place.
Atlas wrestles a boulder out of the rocky soil.
Sayward is more determined than ever to improve her Simelan. It isn't fair to Cris to be run so ragged.
Atlas drops the boulder in the middle of the pile, smiling broadly. He is getting the hang of this!
Sayward: No big rocks please.
Kriller is trying to see how quickly he can completely bury his tarp in trash.
Atlas is crestfallen. He likes big rocks, especially the squishing noise they make coming down.
Kriller is hoping that the babe will be impressed if he manages to bury his tarp before Atlas does.
Sayward: Is okay. Just no more.
Sayward smiles at Atlas.
Kriller still can't figure out why Sayward would want to bury a perfectly good tarp, but whatever turns her on is a step towards himself getting lucky.
Cris runs down the hill again to see how the stacking of the posts is coming.
Sayward turns to Kriller.
Atlas likes the way Sayward smiles.
Sayward: Enough now. Take to pile.
Kriller frowns.
Kriller: Pile?
Sayward points to where the trash should go.
Atlas looks around to find something worthy of his powers of destruction that is not a rock.
Kriller: You want the tarp at the pile?
Sayward: Yes! Drag to pile.
Kriller is starting to think that the babe is as crazy as she is stacked, but that's nothing new.
Cris frantically directs the log carriers how to keep the stack from collapsing on them.
Kriller is determined to impress Sayward anyway.
Kriller picks up the tarp by two corners, and neatly dumps his accumulated trash on the ground.
Kriller then starts dragging the tarp to the trash pile.
Sayward: Good!
Sayward: Try to keep trash on tarp. Okay?
Atlas looks dumbfounded at the trail Kriller is leaving behind him.
Kriller turns to Sayward.
Kriller: Put trash on tarp?
Sayward: Now bring back empty tarp and put on more trash.
Atlas listens to the interchange with interest.
Kriller looks at the neat pile of trash (in the middle of the clearing) which he carefully dumped off the tarp before his trip to the trash pile.
Kriller brightens as enlightenment strikes.
Atlas: Want trash on tarp or want trash in pile?
Kriller takes the tarp to a fresh area and starts piling more trash onto it.
Sayward thinks having five younger siblings was training for this crew of not too bright Simes.
Kriller works efficiently, soon accumulating a nice stack of garbage.
Sayward: Want trash on tarp. Then take tarp to over there and dump trash.
Atlas: Why want tarp?
Sayward: To help move trash.
Kriller carefully tips the garbage off of his tarp, and moves it to a new location.
Atlas: Show you how to move faster!
Atlas picks up a broken bottle.
Sayward: Okay.
Atlas grips the bottle, does the wind-up, the pitch... and the bottle hurtles across the clearing into the trash pile!
Kriller is really wondering about the tarp business. Surely it would be easier to just make tarp-sized piles of trash in the clearing?
Atlas: Much faster!
Kriller is not about to question, however, having enough experience with bosses (and babes) to know that they never do things the sensible way.
Sayward: Yes!! Much faster!! But be careful. Not hurt people.
Atlas grabs an armload of porstan bottles and rotten apples and begins to pitch away.
Kriller moves to his third location.
Atlas is quite satisfied with the splat he gets each time he hits the target.
Atlas wonders why Kriller is making piles of trash that are not on the tarp, but that simply provides him with more ammunition.
Sayward leaves Atlas happily throwing the trash where it should go. She heads for Kriller to try and help the poor fellow.
Sayward: You. What is your name?
Kriller zlins Sayward approaching, and puffs his (unimpressive) chest out.
Kriller: Kriller.
Kriller: I pile much trash, see?
Sayward: Kriller. Yes I see trash. Do you see where he throw trash?
Kriller follows Sayward's attention to Atlas.
Sayward points to Atlas.
Kriller: He doesn't put trash on tarp!
Kriller: Want me tell him to do right?
Kriller is very willing to help.
Sayward: He is throw trash where I want it. Can you throw trash there?
Kriller leaves his pile of trash and starts for Atlas.
Kriller: Put trash on tarp!
Sayward: No! He is do right!
Kriller turns back to look at Sayward.
Kriller: ~~ bewildered ~~
Kriller: You want him to throw trash?
Sayward: It work for him.
Atlas is so engrossed in his pitching that he doesn't realize Kriller has stepped into the line of fire till he hits him with a pine cone.
Atlas: Sorry!
Kriller: I show you sorry!
Kriller really doesn't like getting whopped while he's talking to a babe.
Sayward: Kriller stop! Stop!
Sayward: Not mean to hit you.
Atlas zlins Kriller's rage and gets ready for a nice wrestling match.
Kriller reluctantly pauses, fortunately before he gets within tentacle-reach of Atlas.
Kriller: He hit me anyway!
Atlas studies Kriller and figures he won't be much harder to throw than the boulder.
Kriller zlins Atlas, not at all reluctant to show off his prowess in wrestling in front of Sayward.
Sayward: Kriller come back and put trash on tarp. I show you what to do with it.
Atlas: I said sorry!
Sayward turns to Atlas.
Sayward: What your name?
Kriller considers his options (something that always takes him a while), then returns to the tarp and starts reloading it.
Atlas: I'm Atlas!
Kriller thinks that if Sayward wanted the trash on the tarp, she should have told him that before he dumped it.
Sayward: Atlas. You do good work please continue.
Atlas: Family Diskus!
Sayward thinks the words get easier.
Atlas: You ask in Walla; everyone know Diskus.
Sayward: Please throw more trash. But be careful.
Atlas: Yes, Tuib!
Atlas smiles a wide, toothy grin.
Sayward smiles at Atlas and turns to go back to Kriller.
Atlas is rather sorry he didn't get to throw Kriller in the trash. Throwing people is always so much fun; he used to do it to his little brothers.
Kriller points to trash-covered tarp.
Kriller: There. Trash back on tarp.
Sayward watches Kriller about to dump the tarp again and hurries over to him.
Sayward: I show you something.
Sayward grabs one corner of the tarp and starts pulling it toward the dump area making sure that the trash stays on it.
Kriller would really like Sayward to show him something a bit more... personal.
Sayward: Help me drag.
Kriller grabs a corner of the tarp and heaves, augmenting to show Sayward how strong he is.
Sayward: Keep trash on tarp and drag.
Kriller has always found Gen women easier to impress in that way than Sime women, for some odd reason.
Sayward: Not dump -- drag.
Kriller manages a suitable display, while not dumping more than a third of the accumulated trash.
Sayward: Okay. Now here at dumping place. Now dump.
Kriller bundles the trash in the tarp for easy management, picks up the whole collection easily, and tosses it onto the trash heap, tarp and all.
Kriller turns to Sayward.
Kriller: I get new tarp now?
Sayward: No, get tarp out of dump place. Take back and put on more trash to dump.
Kriller scratches his head, disturbing several lice.
Kriller is, however, determined to impress the boss-babe.
Kriller thinks it over, and decides that she wants to test the limits of his strength.
Kriller: Sure.
Sayward: Good come I help again.
Cris marches up the hill, frizzy orange hair standing out in all directions, sweat dripping from her face.
Kriller bends over and retrieves the bundled tarp (and the trash within it) and takes it towards an uncleared part of the clearing.
Sayward: No leave trash just take tarp.
Kriller: Oh.
Kriller unfolds the tarp and dumps the trash out of it, where he stands.
Sayward: Yes!!
Atlas has run out of the good projectiles and now is throwing more unwieldy items such as branches with leaves on them.
Atlas's success rate in hitting the target is dropping.
Sayward: Now we go back.
Kriller grins down at Sayward, now-filthy tarp bundled under his arm.
Cris dodges a flying disintegrating and soggy blanket.
Cris dashes up to Sayward.
Cris: We got the posts moved. What next?
Sayward: I think we have a large enough area cleared to bring up the planking and the hardware -- nails hammers-- saws.
Cris: Okay, you got it.
Sayward: You are a life saver Cris.
Cris goes bounding back down the hill, dodging a hurtling cantaloupe.
Atlas does another good wind-up and tries to throw a barstool that is missing two legs.
Kriller follows Sayward eagerly, quite willing to do weird things like dragging a tarp that can easily be carried, as long as the babe is nearby.
Sayward resigns herself to being more of a hands on manager than she is used to and walks back to oversee Kriller.
Notes:
1) Despite what it shows in the books, according to listserv canon there wouldn't be any sexism of this nature. [return]
2) 400 square yards, 400 foot square, whatever. With this bunch, it probably doesn't matter anyway. [return]
3) See notes readers left about this log in the Game Log Peanut Gallery.