*
Name: Sam Jones
Race: Human
Body: 3 / Mind: 1 / Spirit: 1
Available Stat Points: 2
Level: 3
Class: Wandering Bard
Class Features: Musical Talent, Free Movement
Professions: Bard, Fisherman, Detective, Soldier, Hunter, Automotive Repair, Gambler
Talents: Hyper-Perception / Beloved by Machines / Spatial Storage
Detriments: Inexorable Truth / Strange Luck
*
While in the library a few days ago, I looked up the definition of the word Bard. It came from the Celts originally. It spread all over the place to different languages, but at its core it basically means lyrical storyteller. Shakespear was called a Bard. Sometimes it was a slur for vagabonds. Some peoples associated it with mystics or oracles. It never mentioned burning down meth labs, so I'm taking it all with a grain of salt.
I'm standing under the shower letting the blood swirl down the drain while I look at my character sheet. The System approves of my mayhem. This System was not made for this world. I should probably be shredding the lute while wizards roast orcs with lightning bolts. Bedding maidens and divvying up loot from the dungeon crawl. I glance to the left. Still, flush toilets and hot showers. Not too shabby.
I'm trying to decide where to put my Available Stat Points. Body was nice. I am quite a bit stronger and faster than I was before, but I think I'm taller again. I don't really like that. On the other hand, I feel like I need better control of myself. Control of my uncomfortable truths and also my apparent emotional problems. Would Mind or Spirit do that, or both, or neither? The System gives me zero information. When I would read transmigration novels in the past, my least favorite would have the Systems with personalities or wisecracks. Instant skip. Now I would give my pinky toe to have a sentient anyone I could talk frankly to. It wasn't a bug; it was a feature.
"Add one Available Stat Point to Mind."
A cool rush of power enters what I perceive as my Mind. It's not overpowering, just refreshing. It feels a bit like a good caffeine buzz. I slip the leash on Hyper-Perception a smidge. I have been cranking that dial as close to zero as possible. The sounds and smells of a cheap motel are brutal with increased sensory ability. I don't want to know exactly what is on my comforter. With increased Mind, I feel like my filter is a little better. Everything else about me feels the same.
"Add one Available Stat Point to Spirit."
This one is not so pleasant. It feels suffocating. Like a shell is hardening around me and throughout me. Suddenly, I can sense new things. Holes in what I guess I'll refer to as my Spirit self. Missing pieces torn out raggedly. As the shell hardens, the holes in me smooth out and shrink to a small degree. When it is over, I feel calmer. What memories I have of my old life seem to recede away from me. I do feel like I remember less, but maybe that is a good thing in the long run. I don't want to hurt like that anymore. Too complicated to decide all that right now. Tomorrow Sam has that shit.
On my character sheet I can now get a vague sense of what Stat corresponds to what other items.
Body: Soldier and Hunter
Mind: Detective, Automotive Repair, Gambler, and Hyper-Perception
Spirit: Fisherman, Inexorable Truth, and Beloved by Machines.
Related to all Stats at once: Bard
Unrelated to Stats: Musical Talent, Free Movement, Spatial Storage, and Strange Luck
It's more complex than this really. I can sense overlap on most of these, but it is super great to have the gist available to me. I can do some actual planning on improvements. Most of this makes sense to me. I have lots of fishing memories. It being a spiritual pursuit validates a lot of my past excuses to get out in the boat.
I dry off and start taping up the large gash above my eye. Getting stitches is too complicated right now, and I don't trust myself to do it. I'm going to have a killer scar, but my face could use a little character.
As I work, I plot the course in my head. My next big stop should be Amarillo, Tx. Time to get out of this state. Then continue down Route 66 to Albuquerque, Flagstaff, a cheeky little detour to Las Vegas, and straight on to sunny California. The open road, Clementine purring under me, strange food, and charming locals. I'm already starting to cheer up!
First things first, I need to clear my chakras and shake off the bad karma I may or may not have accumulated in Oklahoma. That's right. It's time to hit the nearby Walmart and use that last personal check Mr. Cooper donated to my road trip. I'm going to load Clementine full of all the food, camping gear, clothes, and road beers my sticky little fingers can grasp.
I toss the room key on the bedside table and leave a tip for the maid. A quick drive further West, and I see the promise land. Walmart! Basically, it has everything you need to live life, and it is easy to steal from. It's a hell of a store is what I'm saying.
I strut in and grab a basket. I hit the clothing section first. Cowboy boots, ball caps, a mound of t-shirts, jeans, underwear, socks, and belts. All black. A black leather jacket with cowboy fringe? Fuck it, it goes in the basket. Three pairs of sunglasses and a chunky, silver turquoise ring I spot in the jewelry case.
Camping section is next on the list. Portable propane stove and all the needed cooking equipment for it. A small tent and a couple tarps and bungee cords. I walk past the hunting section and remember it's the 80s. "Excuse me sir. I would like to purchase that fine Mossberg 12-gauge pump action shotgun please." I arrange to have it meet me at the check-out counter, grab a healthy selection of buckshot and slugs, and head to the hardware section. I grab a hacksaw and wonder if I can saw off enough barrel to let Mr. Mossburg fit in my space.
Next comes some treats for Clementine. Polishing cloths, various chemicals and oils to anoint her big, beautiful body. I grab some new floor mats and a tasteful steering wheel cover.
For food, I grab a selection of jerky, chips, and dry goods. There is no beer for sale! I can buy a shotgun, but piss weak beer is a step too far. I grimace and mutter, "One stop shopping my ass." I load up on Dr. Pepper and scope out the checkout lanes for my target of choice. It's getting pretty late at this point. The store will be closing soon. I'm looking for a checkout worker who seems sleepy and ready to go home. Someone done with the day. It needs to be a woman. Someone I can bamboozle with my limited charms. I leave the sunglasses on to hide my shiner and pull my new cap down over the tape job on my cut.
I spot my mark and roll into range. I start my patter as I unload the cart on the checkout counter. "Hey girl! It's been a long ass night, right? I bet you're ready to get out of here huh? Have you worked here long? You know any good bars around here? I'm in the mood for a drink. I'm a musician. What kind of music do you like?" So on and so forth.
I let her talk about herself as we keep shuttling my new loot from basket to bags and back to basket. People barely get to talk about themselves at the best of times. Especially at work. I provide the service of listening and smile at her while I do it. It's pretty easy to do, because I really do mean it. People are interesting. That's one of the reasons I got into detective work in the first place.
We finish up, and after an obligatory, "Wow that's a pretty big bill." I pat her hand, flash Mr. Cooper's ID with my finger over the picture, and hand her the check. I walk out, fill up Clementine's roomy trunk, and drive West for Texas.