I found these tattered blood-soaked pages under the windshield wiper of my truck. After discussion, we at the Music City Old School blog feel that it is necessary to warn the Old School Community that a band of imposters and degenerates might be posing as Music City Old School representatives. Watch out. These words from so-called “Arthur” are presented without further comment. No baristas were harmed in the following events.
Hello Old Schoolers,
Let me spin out a few musings straight from the heart of Music City.
It was Saturday and our last meet up before a big job we had planned. With the logistics finished and escape routes memorized, the marks were marked. Everyone knew their role.
I would be the first man in and undercover for two days; observing and learning everything the Windy City could teach me. Our ops, three teams, had secured two separate safe houses and my clandestine rally point which would make for total coverage around the Bird Cage. It was a soft target.
We had also hired an outside man. This was dangerous, but should one of us go down; a chained beast would be unleashed. Chicago is used to a level of terror and violence. It’s no secret that their operators are savage brutes capable of ending any one of us. It’s also no secret that the Bird Cage is a prized target of other groups.
Overlord and July will control access to one of the houses. Diesel and Frank, our heavies, will run the other quiet outpost not far from the target. I’ll be close to the water in case our escape demands it.
We will be viciously outfitted and ready to donate to charity. Overlord and I will have the role of crowd containment. Our weapons are like cudgels, shotguns to the face. We intend to grab them by the back of the shirt, incapacitate and break the will. I hear there will be bourbon and Juzams.
Our propaganda and interrogation operative, Nietzsche, is poised to break the mind of any high value hostage we might take. These torture sessions could take hours. He is a master of both physical and mental anguish; able to keep a target locked for hours in stasis and cruel enough to squeeze them in a vise.
The Professor has a potent brew of Pyscho-Active compound and complex symbols and plans to release it at the very moment of our strike. Chaos will reign when our target requires the most defense.
July has a weapon so potent and strange that I cannot describe it save it is as if Picasso had painted a sniper rifle.
Frank and Diesel are on site control. The land around the Bird Cage will be locked down. Diesel is a professional, no flash, no spice, just old school aggressive action. Frank has been studying ancient mystic techniques and can defend against any blow until he unleashes a massive coup de gra. His weapons are among the most beautiful seen on earth, artifacts gained from distant and unique lands whose very existence is rumor.
Svante has been training for fourteen hours a day since he returned from an overseas mission. Something has changed in him, mercy leaks away through a new hole in his heart.
Bam-Bam is on explosives duty. He scares me. I fear he will do anything to take the target down. We run he risk of the job turning into a bloodbath and it will already be too late if he adds more names to his kill list.
God, alone, knows what kit the Outside Man will bring.
There are others in our band as well and it is into a group of twelve that we peer now. Saturday night. I’ve been told by a trustworthy source that all of the following is true……………….
I had shown up on the east side with the hunger and thirst of man who had been chain sawing logs all day because I had been chain sawing logs all day. Nietzsche, Frank and the Professor were smoking outside of Felony Front Coffee, our usual base on that side of town.
We had a brief discussion concerning some contraband that needed to be moved and it was time for me to eat.
Upon my return, Felony Front Coffee was a ghost town. Some of its crippled denizens lurked in a corner playing craps or Munchkin.
“Hipsters…” I muttered, careful not to get too close.
Where was my crew? We owned this joint and spread our collective largesse among the workers here month after month for over a year. None of the Music City crew was to be found.
I did see a face I recognized behind the counter.
“Pardon me, did you see the group playing Magic in here?”
Her face quickly turned down as she saw the bag at my hip and the blood drained from her pressed lips. “Water… fucking water” she whispered in a distant way.
I shrank back; someone had hurt her and recently. I turned to leave quickly and as I did so she screamed, “Out, get out!”
I was in no mood to argue. I checked our secure comms and found out that the team had scrambled to a wretched den of commercialism nearby which sold booze.
We had been banned at 6:20 P.M. in the evening from a coffee shop that let people sit and play House on Haunted Hill and Monopoly for hours and at which we had spent untold dollars.
Svante was telling the story to a few others as I walked up.
“I was describing the incredible potency of my deck. You know, just going on in detail about what a fantastic deck it is. I’ve been dreaming about it, working on my deck for hours on end and I’m just excited about how it’s performing.”
I see a few nods. Svante’s deck is indeed awesome.
“That’s when she stepped into view about twelve feet away over by the counter. Now all of you know I’ve had my eye on this girl, but I’m a gentleman and the time was never right. Here she is staring at me while I’m talking about my incredible deck. She’s staring at me. She is into it, I think. They sell Keyforge at the counter and she has seen us in here dozens of times. Now she’s ready. She wants to learn about Old School Magic. She was even here during our Holiday Charity tournament. She gets it. She moves a few feet toward our table and stops as this little kid crosses with a box of Dinosaur Lunch Counter Surprise”
“That’s when I went for it. I leaned back so she could see my dapper leopard print ascot, and said loudly, ‘I think my deck is a real winner.'”
“She closed the gap and pointed at us, “You have to leave. This space is for people who play our games, not… whatever you are all doing… there are children here… You are banned from Felony Front Coffee and you need to leave by 6:30″
“I was confused and heartbroken” Svante said. “Then, that turned to rage. She did not love my leopard print ascot. She did not love Old School Magic. Rather than storming out, I simply unbuttoned my dress shirt, pulled my ascot aside and revealed that all this time I had been wearing an under shirt that featured the logo of A STEAMING CUP; Felony Front Coffee’s direct competition over in Donelson”
“I’ll have you know that it takes water to make coffee and I RUN WATER in MUSIC CITY. I am a GOD OF WATER! I’ll be taking your share and redistributing it to A STEAMING CUP. TRY MAKING COFFEE WITH NO WATER! What’s your number?”
We will see you all at the Old School Players Ball.