>From: aubey@gimli (Ken Aubey)
Subject: Street Fightin Man (repost)
Date: 18 Aug 91 12:18:30 GMT


--******************************************************************************--        Virtual Camera Direction:
--          (for the movie inside your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view.
--    The narrator's voice is low-pitched, low in volume - almost a whisper.
--      His accent is slight but distinctive -
--      not quite British, not quite Gaelic, not quite Eastern Eurpean.
-
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--******************************************************************************

<Deep roar of unmuffled internal combustion. Heat of exhaust gasses makes the
double column of bikers shimmer like some troublesome vision. Red/green and
grey/white, colors never mixing, never muddying, never crossing.>

<Weapons carefully tied down to chromed tubes. Like the peace-strap on a sword'sscabbard. Not unavailable, but politely set aside. Shokstix, chains, clubs all
brandished openly, but the guns are put aside for the moment. Until someone
forgets the rules.>

A chill down my spine. Someone walking on my grave. I know the feeling too well.
For six long centuries, that feeling has meant danger. A quick hand gesture and
Honey is safe. The rest of us can fend for ourselves. It might be fun. I'm a
bit thirsty anyway.

<A huge hand made of steel and plastic grasps the stretchy fabric of the silver-
haired woman's dress. A quick push against the wall. She squeals as the dress
tears and she trips on too-tall heels. The hand doesn't allow her to fall. She
finds herself in a corner, concrete on two sides behind, The Twins in front of
her.>

<Each Twin holds a pair of weapons that had once been Ingram Street-Sweepers,
before they had extensive modifications made to them to make them even faster,
more deadly. The Twins' orders were simple - SOP - protect the non-combatant -
Honey. The Twins are both very good and very efficient at following that kind
of order. Onboard targeting and fire control systems have chosen targets based
on a rather elaborate threat prioritization algorithm and locked onto them long before the motorcycles circle and stop.>

<Weapons appear in hands as the bikers approach. Strangely, The Daemon
re-holsters his big old .45 auto and smiles as he comes back from beneath his
vest with a pair of mercury-loaded polycarbonate nunchakus. "Shiiit, mon, boys
and girls jus' be playin'." He touches his upper arm, showing where the
approaching go-gangers have each tied a blue bandana. "Jus' good clean fun."
There is a small hint of his mother's island Nation accent when The Daemon is
distracted. The nunchakus begin to spin into skillful figure-eights with
blinding speed.>

<Night draws a length of black, weighted chain - manrikigusari - from some
hidden place. If the approaching bikers were less stoked on speed, danger,
cash and adrenaline, they would be impressed, and a bit frightened, by the
sight and thought of eight feet of whirling steel chain that makes absolutely
no sound.>

<One end of the black chain wraps around a biker. Quick twist of the grip sends
alcohol to feed his bike's turbine - drag that skinny bastard for a couple
blocks. Nantucket Slay-ride. The rider would be surprised to know that his
attacker and intended victim was the only one present who knew the actual
etymology and history of the slang term. Night's arm and back tense. Shock and
alarm fill coarse humanoid features as the Disassembler is pulled from the seat ofhis olive-drab Harley-Davidson NightStallion. One down. The chain resumes
its pattern, a silent steel serpent choosing its next victim.>

Where has White Crystal gotten to? Damn and blast. I should have had The Twins
watch her too. She'll be too much fun to lose now.


<A Yuletide-colored Hodaka's rider ducks beneath the chain, guns his engine,
charges the man in black who swings the weapon. The rider has just enough time
to think "What the fuck . . ?", looking at the boots and black denim-clad shins
above them, standing atop his handlebars. Then, boot connects with chin, and
there is no time to think about anything any more.>

Where IS she?

--***************************************************************************
-- Ken Aubey  (aubey@europa.asd.contel.com) <= NOTE CHANGE
--***************************************************************************




>From: aubey@gimli (Ken Aubey)
Subject: Street Fightin' Man
Date: 16 Aug 91 17:29:15 GMT

--*****************************************************************************--        Virtual Camera Direction:
--          (for the movie inside your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view.
--    The narrator's voice is low-pitched, low in volume - almost a whisper.
--      His accent is slight but distinctive -
--      not quite British, not quite Gaelic, not quite Eastern Eurpean.
-
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--******************************************************************************

<Deep roar of unmuffled internal combustion. Heat of exhaust gasses makes the
double column of bikers shimmer like some troublesome vision. Red/green and
grey/white, colors never mixing, never muddying, never crossing.>

<Weapons carefully tied down to chromed tubes. Like the peace-strap on a sword'sscabbard. Not unavailable, but politely set aside. Shokstix, chains, clubs all
brandished openly, but the guns are put aside for the moment. Until someone
forgets the rules.>

A chill down my spine. Someone walking on my grave. I know the feeling too well.
For six long centuries, that feeling has meant danger. A quick hand gesture and
Honey is safe. The rest of us can fend for ourselves. It might be fun. I'm a
bit thirsty anyway.

<A huge hand made of steel and plastic grasps the stretchy fabric of the silver-
haired woman's dress. A quick push against the wall. She squeals as the dress
tears and she trips on too-tall heels. The hand doesn't allow her to fall. She
finds herself in a corner, concrete on two sides behind, The Twins in front of
her.>

<Each Twin holds a pair of weapons that had once been Ingram Street-Sweepers,
before they had extensive modifications made to them to make them even faster,
more deadly. The Twins' orders were simple - SOP - protect the non-combatant -
Honey. The Twins are both very good and very efficient at following that kind
of order. Onboard targeting and fire control systems have chosen targets based
on a rather elaborate threat prioritization algorithm and locked onto them long before the motorcycles circle and stop.>

<Weapons appear in hands as the bikers approach. Strangely, The Daemon
re-holsters his big old .45 auto and smiles as he comes back from beneath his
vest with a pair of mercury-loaded polycarbonate nunchakus. "Shiiit, mon, boys
and girls jus' be playin'." He touches his upper arm, showing where the
approaching go-gangers have each tied a blue bandana. "Jus' good clean fun."
There is a small hint of his mother's island Nation accent when The Daemon is
distracted. The nunchakus begin to spin into skillful figure-eights with
blinding speed.>

<Night draws a length of black, weighted chain - manrikigusari - from some
hidden place. If the approaching bikers were less stoked on speed, danger,
cash and adrenaline, they would be impressed, and a bit frightened, by the
sight and thought of eight feet of whirling steel chain that makes absolutely
no sound.>

<One end of the black chain wraps around a biker. Quick twist of the grip sends
alcohol to feed his bike's turbine - drag that skinny bastard for a couple
blocks. Nantucket Slay-ride. The rider would be surprised to know that his
attacker and intended victim was the only one present who knew the actual
etymology and history of the slang term. Night's arm and back tense. Shock and
alarm fill coarse humanoid features as the Disassembler is pulled from the seat ofhis olive-drab Harley-Davidson NightStallion. One down. The chain resumes
its pattern, a silent steel serpent choosing its next victim.>

Where has White Crystal gotten to? Damn and blast. I should have had The Twins
watch her too. She'll be too much fun to lose now.


<A Yuletide-colored Hodaka's rider ducks beneath the chain, guns his engine,
charges the man in black who swings the weapon. The rider has just enough time
to think "What the fuck . . ?", looking at the boots and black denim-clad shins
above them, standing atop his handlebars. Then, boot connects with chin, and
there is no time to think about anything any more.>

Where IS she?

--***************************************************************************
-- Ken Aubey  (aubey@europa.asd.contel.com) <= NOTE CHANGE
--***************************************************************************




>From: aubey@gimli (Ken Aubey)
Subject: Street Fightin' Man
Date: 16 Aug 91 11:44:39 GMT

--*****************************************************************************--          Virtual Camera Direction:
--             (for the movie in your head):
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--     unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view, voice-over
--     soundtrack
--*****************************************************************************

<Deep roar of unmuffled internal combustion. Heat of exhaust gasses makes the
double column of bikers shimmer like some troublesome vision. Red/green and
grey/white, colors never mixing, never muddying, never crossing.>

<Firearms carefully tied down to chromed tubes. Like the peace-strap on a
sword's scabbard. Not unavailable, but politely set aside. Shokstix, chains,
clubs all brandished openly, but the guns are put aside for the moment. Until
someone forgets the rules.>

A chill down my spine. Someone walking on my grave. I know the feeling too
well. For six long centuries, that feeling has meant danger. A quick hand
gesture and Honey is safe. The rest of us can fend for ourselves. It might be
fun. I'm a bit thirsty anyway.

<A huge hand made of steel and plastic grasps the stretchy fabric of the
silver-haired woman's dress. A quick push against the wall. She squeals as the
dress tears and she trips on too-tall heels. The hand doesn't allow her to
fall. She finds herself in a corner, concrete on two sides behind, The Twins
in front of her.>

<Each Twin holds a pair of weapons that had once been Ingram Street-Sweepers,
before they had extensive modifications made to them to make them even faster,
more deadly. The Twins' orders were simple - SOP - protect the non-combatant -
Honey. The Twins are both very good and very efficient at following that kind
of order. Onboard targeting and fire control systems have chosen targets based
on a rather elaborate threat prioritization algorithm and locked onto them long before the motorcycles circle and stop.>

<Weapons appear in hands as the bikers approach. Strangely, The Daemon
re-holsters his big old .45 auto and smiles as he comes back from beneath his
vest with a pair of mercury-loaded polycarbonate nunchakus. "Shiiit, mon, boys
and girls jus' be playin'." He touches his upper arm, showing where the
approaching go-gangers have each tied a blue bandana. "Jus' good clean fun."
There is a small hint of his mother's island Nation accent when The Daemon is
distracted. The nunchakus begin to spin into skillful figure-eights with
blinding speed.>

<Night draws a length of black, weighted chain - manrikigusari - from some
hidden place. If the approaching bikers were less stoked on speed, danger,
cash and adrenaline, they would be impressed, and a bit frightened, by the
sight and thought of eight feet of whirling steel chain that makes absolutely
no sound.>

<One end of the black chain wraps around a biker. Quick twist of the grip sends
alcohol to feed his bike's turbine - drag that skinny bastard for a couple
blocks. Nantucket Slay-ride. The rider would be surprised to know that his
attacker and intended victim was the only one present who knew the actual
etymology and history of the slang term. Night's arm and back tense. Shock and
alarm fill coarse humanoid features as the Disassembler is pulled from the seatof his olive-drab Harley-Davidson NightStallion. One down. The chain resumes
its pattern, a silent steel serpent choosing its next victim.>

Where has White Crystal gotten to? Damn and blast. I should have had The Twins
watch her too. She'll be too much fun to lose now.

<A Christmas-colored Hodaka burns rubber, dodges below the chain's weighted
end, charges the man in black who swings it. The rider has time to think,
"What the fuck . . " after seeing a pair of boots and denim-clad shins standing
atop his handlebars. A boot strikes his chin and there is no longer time to
think anything at all.>

Where IS she?

--*****************************************************************************-- Ken Aubey  (aubey@europa.asd.contel.com)
--*****************************************************************************


>From: aubey@gimli.asd.contel.com (Ken Aubey)
Subject: Street Fightin' Man (Repost)
Date: 19 Aug 91 11:48:37 GMT

If you have seen this before, aploogies. It STILL hasn't made it as far as my
newsfeed.
--*****************************************************************************--        Virtual Camera Direction:
--          (for the movie inside your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view.
--    The narrator's voice is low-pitched, low in volume - almost a whisper.
--      His accent is slight but distinctive -
--      not quite British, not quite Gaelic, not quite Eastern Eurpean.
--
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--****************************************************************************

<Deep roar of unmuffled internal combustion. Heat of exhaust gasses makes the
double column of bikers shimmer like some troublesome vision. Red/green and
grey/white, colors never mixing, never muddying, never crossing.>

<Weapons carefully tied down to chromed tubes. Like the peace-strap on a sword'sscabbard. Not unavailable, but politely set aside. Shokstix, chains, clubs all
brandished openly, but the guns are put aside for the moment. Until someone
forgets the rules.>

A chill down my spine. Someone walking on my grave. I know the feeling too
well. For six long centuries, that feeling has meant danger. A quick hand
gesture and Honey is safe. The rest of us can fend for ourselves. It might be
fun. I'm a bit thirsty anyway.

<A huge hand made of steel and plastic grasps the stretchy fabric of the
silver-haired woman's dress. A quick push against the wall. She squeals as the
dress tears and she trips on too-tall heels. The hand doesn't allow her to
fall. She finds herself in a corner, concrete on two sides behind, The Twins
in front of her.>

<Each Twin holds a pair of weapons that had once been Ingram Street-Sweepers,
before they had extensive modifications made to them to make them even faster,
more deadly. The Twins' orders were simple - SOP - protect the non-combatant -
Honey. The Twins are both very good and very efficient at following that kind
of order. Onboard targeting and fire control systems have chosen targets based
on a rather elaborate threat prioritization algorithm and locked onto them longbefore the motorcycles circle and stop.>

<Weapons appear in hands as the bikers approach. Strangely, The Daemon
re-holsters his big old .45 auto and smiles as he comes back from beneath his
vest with a pair of mercury-loaded polycarbonate nunchakus. "Shiiit, mon, boys
and girls jus' be playin'." He touches his upper arm, showing where the
approaching go-gangers have each tied a blue bandana. "Jus' good clean fun."
There is a small hint of his mother's island Nation accent when The Daemon is
distracted. The nunchakus begin to spin into skillful figure-eights with
blinding speed.>

<Night draws a length of black, weighted chain - manrikigusari - from some
hidden place. If the approaching bikers were less stoked on speed, danger,
cash and adrenaline, they would be impressed, and a bit frightened, by the
sight and thought of eight feet of whirling steel chain that makes absolutely
no sound.>

<One end of the black chain wraps around a biker. Quick twist of the grip sends
alcohol to feed his bike's turbine - drag that skinny bastard for a couple
blocks. Nantucket Slay-ride. The rider would be surprised to know that his
attacker and intended victim was the only one present who knew the actual
etymology and history of the slang term. Night's arm and back tense. Shock and
alarm fill coarse humanoid features as the Disassembler is pulled from the seat ofhis olive-drab Harley-Davidson NightStallion. One down. The chain resumes
its pattern, a silent steel serpent choosing its next victim.>

Where has White Crystal gotten to? Damn and blast. I should have had The Twins
watch her too. She'll be too much fun to lose now.


<A Yuletide-colored Hodaka's rider ducks beneath the chain, guns his engine,
charges the man in black who swings the weapon. The rider has just enough time
to think "What the fuck . . ?", looking at the boots and black denim-clad shins
above them, standing atop his handlebars. Then, boot connects with chin, and
there is no time to think about anything any more.>

Where IS she?

--***************************************************************************
-- Ken Aubey  (aubey@europa.asd.contel.com) <= NOTE CHANGE OF ADDRESS!
--***************************************************************************