Chapter 9 Intro Thread: Back To Schedule

[dad]

NOVEMBER 30, 195▌

6 months. 6 months had passed since that dreaded day, where Marty had single-handedly thrown Fallbrook into disarray. Armed with a cult, knowledge of the town's Stand users and several Stand users of his own to serve as his pawns, he proceeded to almost demolish the town in the effort to make contact with Mothman. Thankfully, this arcane ritual was soon stopped by a haphazardly formed crew of Stand users. Marty was defeated despite all odds and the ritual was prevented. That was it. No party. No great sense of accomplishment. The "heroes" of Fallbrook were never publicly known, the majority of the town's citizens having already evacuated during that climactic battle. Eventually, the government came to know about this strange event. Help was sent. Soldiers would show up outside. They arrived rather late, but the fact that they had arrived in the first place was good enough.

The reconstruction of Fallbrook then started occurring. Everyone pitched in, even the so-called "heroes", albeit no-one would realize their accomplishments until much, much later. It was a slow and steady climb, but eventually the town started shining brighter than ever. The government made sure to deliver the best of aid while several large companies offered their support as well in these times of disaster, especially since their humanitarian efforts would look good in the eyes of the general public. Fallbrook wasn't just being reconstructed. It was being modernized. The brightest of 50s era technology was being unveiled to the general public, something to contrast their long history of being obsessed with old legends and the supernatural. The public quite approved of these changes, since it was a nice change of pace. By the time the reconstruction project was over, Fallbrook wasn't the 'old' Fallbrook any longer. A new one had risen from its ashes, a stronger and more robust town that could endure what its predecessor could not.

The cause of the incident that had destroyed the town was officially attributed to a sudden hurricane. Certain eye witnesses had reported the sight of a giant tidal wave crashing outside of town, while others had reported giant tornadoes happening in the middle of the city, usually filled with dogs and cats for some reason. Several other reports claimed that a man armed with a bowl cut and numerous abilities had caused chaos in the city, but officials found it too ridiculous to accept as a proper cause of the incident. The era of Marty had been forgotten, and perhaps it was best that way. The "heroes" of Fallbrook had all died with him after all, returning back to their ordinary lives now that the source of the town's evil had been vanquished. Some of them still kept contact with each other, but most of them would rather not dwell on the last few months.

The Fallbrook Police Station had also recently opened again, albeit missing an important centerpiece: Dolce. The chief of police had disappeared during the last battle against Marty. Not much was known about his whereabouts, save for the fact that Monks had apparently 'killed' him in a strange struggle. With no-one else willing to take the reins, Mike was forced to step up, now being the new chief of police. The banana obsessed cop is rumored to have locked himself in his office for a full week. Apparently a lot of that time was spent catching up on all the work Dolce failed to do before disappearing.

While some scars might never heal, Fallbrook was looking better than ever. A new shining future was ahead of it...Is what people would hope for. Is what its "heroes" would hope for. Unfortunately, peace is not so easily gained. A new evil had planted its seeds while the town was regaining is bearings. And these seeds will now soon bear fruit...

---

"Mmm! That's KFC! Aaah! That's chicken for me!" A chicken costumed freak was screaming outside of town, similar to a town crier as people tried their best to walk past and ignore them.

"Mmm! That's chicken for me! Aaah! That's KFC! Mmm!" The chicken kept squawking, holding a signboard in hand that read "50% DISCOUNT ON CHICKEN WINGS ONLY TODAY AT KFC!"

"God, this is embarrassing..." The person inside the costume thought as he kept waving at passerby in an effort to shill them his produce. "When those guys in suits offered me a job, I expected something more modern and not...whatever this is." 

"Mmm! It's KFC! Aaah! It's chicken for me!" He kept screaming like a lunatic, violently waving his sign as people desperately walked away from him. It was clear that both parties were suffering greatly, but life be like that sometimes. "Please tell me it's--"

DING-DONG!!

"Finally, lunch break." The chicken sighed, finally being able to drop his sign somewhere as he walked behind and entered the food chain he was advertising. Kentucky Fried Chicken, also known as KFC. While they were a recent food chain, having only officially started in 1952, they were already gaining a lot of popularity. Popular enough to even show up in the modest town of Fallbrook.

The chicken entered the building, taking off his ridiculous chicken mask as well. Johnny ruffled his hand through his seaweed hair, those black streaks of his clearly agitated from all the loud shouting he had been doing in the last few hours. "Minimum wage. I work minimum wage for...this." He stared back at his chicken mask before tossing it in a corner somewhere while mimicking the squawk of a frightened chicken.

"Hey, midget. You regret this job yet?" He asked in the distance, waiting for his colleague to reply from their section of the store: The kitchen.

[RaptorAttacks]

God, this is ridiculous. Why do we stay open during lunch? Who in their right mind would spend their lunch break going to buy a book? Especially considering the convenience and breadth of titles offered by the new library. Not to mention the minimal price of maintaining a library membership compared to the buying a book.


Sitting alone in a cramped little book store, positioned between an elegant clothing storing and one of those new electronic stores, Dante Winters spent a quiet moment to loathe the banality of his job. Six months ago, the wreckage of a car smashed into the building on the left, and the building on the right was torn apart brick by brick, but by sheer luck, the book store that hadn’t gotten new wallpaper since before the war survived the hurricane. Just about every other building on the street had gotten upgraded with new franchises and brands, and just about every employee had left to go pursue better careers. And now here he was, alone, working for hours on end in a dusty casket, except instead of being buried in death, he was buried in books, pulps, serials, and newspapers. It was grim.


Looking outside, Dante peered over the beaten and battered vacancy sign to see a man across the street dressed as a chicken, screeching and squawking at total strangers to buy chicken. He supposed he didn’t have it that bad, in the grand scheme of things. If nothing else, he still had what little dignity that was afforded to retail workers.


Dante leaned back in his chair, putting his feet upon the counter as he wearily eyed the clock. Ten more minutes, and he got off his shift. Then he was free to do whatever he pleased for the rest of the day.


That probably included a visit to the Kentucky Fried Chicken. The wings WERE half price, after all.

[rainbow]

Fallbrook, a city of degenerates and crime. Despite it's considerably small size, the ammount of criminals and supernatural beings living in it was truly astounding, with the appearence of Marty and his cult the city had turned to complete chaos and there was no hope for salvation anymore. That's what everyone believed, untill he appeared, the mysterious masked man who would break the shackles Marty had imposed upon the city, his name was; Mr King Moon!

 Revelling at the idea of becoming Fallbrook's hero the child-sized stand user smirked to himself, looking down towards his new outfit. It was a look alright, black baggy pants with red triangle patterns knitted into them and a buttoned up shirt with the same black color and triangle pattern, the kid was looking exactly like Paul Cezanne's Harlequin.

"'Ey, off ye' go kiddo, we're in the city already, freeloadin' prick..."

 Jumping off the back of the truck he was riding in, the little jester would prepare to feast his eyes on what had become of Fallbrook, what destruction could Marty have caused he wondered? Were the others even still alive? Probably not but sacrifices would have to be made anyway. Picking up a -quite frankly tasteless- moon shaped mask from inside the truck and putting it over his face the child took his first steps into New Fallbrook, ready to fight the many junkies he was expecting to encounter in it. That was not the case however, instead of dillapitated buildings and empty streets, Fallbrook was filled with the exact opposite of that! Buildings taller than the city had ever had before, streets filled with cars, pedrestrians going about their day. It was like Marty had turned Fallbrook into a modern utopia! How could a man so evil do such a thing? This had to have been some sort of brain washing, there was no other explanation.

 Running over towards the closest pedestrian the kid would violently ask about the Whereabouts of Marty and 'The Cult', only to be awnsered with weird looks and 'Piss off, boy', it was almost like he was the weird one there, what happened to the stand users? The supernatural beings? The big complicated fights? It was enough to make him scream:

"What the hell happened to this place!?"

[Nat]

’Not now, Johnny, don’t talk to m-ow! God damn it, not again-‘ A whole lot of cursing and muffled clunking later, the midget in question emerged from the kitchen with face as white as a sheet. Tan pulled off his apron, which looked like it had been soaked in ketchup and waved it pointedly at Johnny.

’Fifth time this week. What do you think?’ He complained as he carefully rolled up the apron, only to toss it in the same general direction as Johnny’s poor chicken mask. For some reason, the manager kept insisting that he was to stay at the frying station because apparently he was excellent at handling a pan full of breaded chicken, even though the pan was obviously too big for someone his size to handle. He only survived the job so far because his Stand was fast enough to turn a pot of hot oil into something more manageable - today he happened to have a bottle of ketchup nearby - so that he wouldn’t suffer any serious injuries to every inch of exposed skin.

‘Suck it up, at least you get paid to not actually smell like fried chicken.’ Tan grabbed a glass of soda at the counter and took a few sips before making his way towards chicken Johnny. It was technically still lunch time, but the restaurant was mostly empty save for a few oddballs munching on fries and chicken - Tan’s left eye twitched at the thought of the pot of raw chicken legs marinating in ketchup back in the kitchen. He’d have to clean that up before the manager noticed, again.

‘Still, didn’t think I’d see you all the way back here again. I really thought you’d died for go-I mean, KFC, really?’

[Jib]

The past few months were quiet for Mitch, though the town of Fallbrook surely was not. The man had considered moving towns, but the police seemed to of followed up on their promises to help him clear his name. It was strange just being a normal person after a life of crime, and even stranger after the events that kept taking place in Fallbrook. Well, not like Mitch truly helped save Fallbrook… There seemed to be a lot of gaps in his memory when he tried to recall those times. Perhaps this was the effects of someone else’s stand? It was rather uncanny.

Regardless of the strangeness Mitch was feeling, he was enjoying the faster paced Fallbrook. It was more up his alley of a faster paced lifestyle, though there were becoming a clear lack of roads to speed through on his joyrides. Instead, they were all filled with traffic.

HO-HONK HOOOONK

A sunglasses wearing Mitch would honk his horn at some old guy who had terrible driving. The old guy was blocking up an intersection as he tried to make out whether or not the light was green. While in the middle of it...

“GET OFF THE ROAD, SENILE JACKASS!”, Mitch screamed, leaning out the side of his convertible.

He grunted and brought a cigarette up to his lips and took a long, deep breath. Looking around, Mitch didn’t see any of those cop guys. They’d let him off for sure, anyway, right? Revving up the gas, Mitch swerved around the old man, cursing at him some more before slamming on the pedal again and speeding down the street until he saw a restaurant in the corner of his eyes. Stomach growling, he figured maybe it was time to take a break from his daily joyride. Mitch braked his car and turned into the KFC parking lot. He could get some chicken to take home as well. Stepping out the car and slamming the door, Mitch finger-combed his hair backwards and headed towards the entrance of the KFC. He swung the door opened and got in line, peeking at his watch while he waited and decided what kind of meal he wanted.

[Al Freakster the Big Cheese]

The old house on the outskirts of Fallbrook was already known as one of the few remnants of the old, strange times, back when the paranormal was a hot topic to talk about. An aftermark that was barely in the minds of residents, as a residence of some old cooky immigrant artist. That had went on a trip one day and never came back. Months passed, and no one wanted to do anything with it. Nothing of note was left after the painter disappeared, not even the bike that was seen in the days before the old man dropped off the face of Fallbrook. Was that the end of the house's story, lost and abandoned?

Well, no. Five months after Marty's Day, a giant, nay, a towering man was seen approaching the house and entering it. As he did the next day. And the next, and the next, and so the hulking mystery became an "official" new resident of the painter's house. Gradually, the house was renovated by its' new inhabitor, given a fresh coat of paint and fixed up there and there. Another week passed, and the guy opened up a small shop, selling eye-catching metalworks. Small statues, fences, things like that. The mystery became an odd shopkeep, another cog in the New Fallbrook's machine.

---

"That painter must have not been in here for a while. What he told me about Fallbrook doesn't add up in the least. Unnatural events, mystic fights, supernatural bumfuck town... Yet instead of that it is a city rebuilt, reborn and devoid of all that could be a mystery. And without any cryoshell answers on how to deal with the dark canvas masking my memories. Just looks of fright and unease. Well, Sky Diamond Lucy was a good point of start, the people there are somewhat used to me, but..." So rambled on to himself the giant, Alexander Gagarin. Devoid of almost all memories past his sudden appearance in a forest a month and a half ago, he met with a travelling painter and was put back onto his tall feet, in all ways possible. "And no customers today, too. And that damned word popping out, that annoying CRYOSHELL. Argh... A day wasted, when I could have searched for supernatural some more." A grumble ran through the little shop of metalworks, and annoyed groan followed. "Should have grabbed a bite. Ah, whatever, no one could be wanting my stuff today. Might as well go eat something. That chicken place had some sale today, didn't it?"

With these thoughts, the giant walked out of his workshop and closed it up. The time was to eat, and the towering man was a big eater. Had to support his big stature somehow, after all.

[PSIchotic]

A 4’5” man that looked to be obese from the sheer size of his torso was speaking to an old man that was at least 6’0” tall and well built. The short man had shoulder-length blonde hair and was in a loose red suit, presumably loose to avoid drawing attention to his apparent obesity. He had a brown belt and wore white gloves. The old man was in a grey fedora and trenchcoat, and had a grizzled, unshaven face. The short one barely spoke in comparison to the tall one to the point that the conversation very nearly looked one-sided. The old man spoke at a normal volume, but the short one seemed as though he didn’t want to be heard, and spoke quietly. His mouth barely moved, making his lips tough to read.

“Anyways, Corey, that’s the general situation.”

The man in the trenchcoat reached into his pockets, taking out a cigarette and placing it into his mouth. As he raised his other hand to light it, the cigarette disappeared from his mouth. Rather than surprised, the old man looked annoyed.

“Jesus, man. 5 minutes won’t ruin your lungs.”


Corey’s response was succinct, but still too quiet to be heard. The old man’s expression showed that he wasn’t going to get through to Corey. He scoffed and looked around, searching for something. Puzzled, he asked Corey a question.

“Where’s Em? She usually comes to the station to see you off.”

This seemed to get a rise out of Corey, and he began to speak much more than he had in the conversation so far. He winced and turned his head away, seemingly ashamed of something. Now that a better look could be taken of the man, his lips were easily read. He was saying something about how she’d gotten food poisoning from something he’d made. The old man began to laugh, and upon stopping responded.

“Well, buying groceries from the wrong place in this town’ll do that to you. I’ll give you directions to a good place once you report back. Though you could’ve just used your-“

The old man stopped speaking upon meeting Corey’s gaze. It was a gaze that demanded silence, as if the old man’s next words might cause harm to someone. The old man seemed to immediately know why he’d been given such a glare.

“Jesus, you’re paranoid. Why’d someone try to poison a lawyer’s wife just to test them? Fine. Just make sure you don’t get her killed by worrying about her.”

Corey didn’t respond for a moment, instead looking down. He muttered something, which seemed to please the old man.

“Been a while since you called me “Max” and not just “Green.” I’d begun to think you’d demoted me back to acquaintance.”

Max smiled, pleased at his own joke. Corey let out a very awkward laugh, as if he hadn’t before and was practicing.

“You know, that was more insulting than just not laughing.”

Max was happy that his partner had finally arrived to Fallbrook, even if it was much later than expected. Max had been looking for CJ steadily since he disappeared. The soldier was a craft sort, and hard to track. But everyone left traces. He’d cobbled together a few leads. Most of them came up with some bum in a dumpster or a trap, but one held promise. He planned to investigate it once he was sure nothing needed to be done today. The city had been quiet, and for the most part that’s a good thing. CJ’s rescue was important, but Max knew it wasn’t too urgent. After all, the art of war was to not harm those you’re using as bait. Chances are he wasn’t going hungry and wasn’t dead. That’s why he’d come to the police station. Mike wasn’t in the front, so he simply leaned on a table while he “spoke” with Corey. Max’s mind drifted back to Mike. He’d gotten to know the new chief. They weren’t friends by any means, but Max had done a few investigations for him as well as asked some favors of the man pertaining to CJ. Not much of his info was very helpful. Max let out a sigh and sat down in a chair, gesturing to the seat next to him.

Corey’s eyes narrowed. Corey scoffed. Despite knowing Max for upwards of five years, the old man still tried to make Corey ease up. That made him a friend, right? The concept was still more or less foreign to the lawyer. He only had the one friend. The only other people close to him were something like a father and a wife. That was how Corey preferred it. Fewer relations meant fewer obligations, and more time for his ambition. Corey knee Max was clever enough to discern that, which puzzled him. Why would he continue to try and help him? He didn’t need help. He was fine. Besides, sitting would leave him vulnerable. What if the police station came under attack? He’d be in a poor position to defend himself. Yes, he’d simply tell Max “No thanks,” and stand. That would waste the least amount of breath. Corey enjoyed conversing with Max for the most part, but this wasn’t a conversation, and so was subject to his normal rules. Waste as little resources as possible. That included words. So, he’d simply tell Max tha-

“Relax. With your speed, you’ll be able to handle standing up before any damage gets done. Have a seat. Conserve your energy.”

Damn that clever old man. Corey looked down and to the side, as if he was humiliated at being outwitted over sitting in a chair. He walked over and sat down awkwardly. He was rigid and tense, completely on his guard. Max sighed. Corey glanced over. He’d been here a few days, waiting to see his friend before getting settled into an apartment with his wife. He was moderately disappointed that the town was no longer in shambles. Why was he called, then? But Max explained what happened, or at least what the investigator had pieced together. Injustice was still in the town. At the very least, that kidnapping, murdering, bastard of a soldier was in the town. Once Max had spoken to Mike about anything going on in the city, Corey would hunt out any other injustice in the area. He wasn’t very good at investigating people that were good at hiding. The common criminal and the crime lord that hid in plain sight were fine. They didn’t cover their tracks or were easy to find. But with the soldier, Corey couldn’t help. He was only good at conventionally tracking, not the information sleuthing that Max had mastered.

“Corey.”

“Hmm?”

“You really need to relax. You’ll burn yourself out.”

“Hmm.”

[thefirstnapkin]

Lancelot Victor Dominic Cambriel was, quite frankly, lost. He was sure he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, but, even after surveying his map again, he still couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. The young nobleman was looking for Fallbrook, the city of ghosts, goblins, and all other manner of adventure, but here was a benign, modern, and almost boring town. The only abnormal thing he had seen so far was some child with a moon mask shouting profanity into the air. Lance scratched his goatee, readjusted his favorite navy-blue beanie, and tossed the map to the side, where a small black box appeared and swallowed it up.

mggrrrrrrrrrrr, his stomach reminded.

"Yes, indeed, old friend," responded Lance. "It is high time that I fill you up."

Lance pulled out of the parking lot, and drove down Main Street, looking for a place to eat. His attention was caught by a giant chicken screeching something about half-price wings.

"And what would this be," he asked himself. "Kentucky Fried Chicken. A staple of modern American cuisine, I've been told. Here I can kill three birds with one stone. I can get a cultural experience, lunch, and perhaps my bearings here."

[siegwardofcatarina]

Joan laid awake in her bed. Her room was dimly lit by what little natural light from the noon sun came through the thick curtains covering her window. What little light penetrated those curtain revealed an unkempt room littered with discarded clothes, garbage, and empty bottles.

Eventually, Joan forced herself out of bed. Unconcerned with how late she was getting up as she had quit her job at the hospital nearly four months ago. Now she was working as sort of a black market medic. Fixing up what few people remembered her and her abilities, but Joan’s clientele were mostly people who for various, assumedly illegal reasons, couldn’t go to a normal hospital.

Joan turned on the radio and grabbed an unopened beer bottle. A greenish-black clawed hand briefly came into existence and snapped the cap off the bottle. Joan then took a long drink from the bottle, one of the few bad habits she picked up over the past six months.

The hosts on the radio chattered inanely about local events such as sports or construction projects. Marty and the events from six months ago were mostly forgotten by the public and Joan preferred it that way. One, so that people wouldn’t bother her. And two, it was the most fitting fate for Marty. With any luck, in one or two years people would forget that he even existed at all.

Joan headed into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. The bathroom was just as unclean as Joan’s bedroom. Unclean, unkempt, and the mirror over the sink had a cracked indentation in the center. Even so, Joan could still make out her reflection in the broken mirror. The dark heavy bags under her eyes, her unruly hair that she let grow past her shoulders, The wraps on her arms covering the burns from six months ago.

Joan stared intensely at her reflection, dark thoughts stirring once again in the back of her mind. Joan breathing became labored as the regrets piled up once more. Her heart rate slowly increasing as her head was filling with thoughts of blood, fire, and lighting. Joan gripped hard on the sink with her bandaged hands so hard she started to shake. Joan mind went blank as she quickly approached her limit and-



Joan turned away from the mirror and stormed out the bathroom, emptying her bottle of its contents. Then she grabbed another beer. She was going to need more than usual today.

[The World Opener]

Just outside Fallbrook a bus was stuck in a roadside ditch, the interior only populated by a few people as the driver bitched into the dispatch radio about their current predicament.  From the back a dark haired man flicked open the silver lid of a pocket watch, beside him was a folded trench coat after closing the watch he had an irritated look on his face. Standing up he put his coat on and walked to the front near the driver. “Excuse me. Is there anyone coming to help us?” The driver snapped back, “Not for a few hours.”

”Ah, I shall handle this then.”  He said opening the door and stepping out. After walking around to the back he placed a hand on the bumper. “44 Minutes...” he said as a massive skull faced metallic man appeared next to him and with a thunderous bang, thrust it's palm against the rear of the bus sending it flying out of the ditch it was caught in and back onto the road.

Walking back to the bus and reboarding it the driver had a look of shock. “Uh, thank I guess Mister.”

“Johannes, Alphonse Johannes.” With that bit of business out of the way the bus continued onwards into the town of Fallbrook.

”I should not have skipped breakfast today. Maybe I’ll find something in town.”

[frozenchap]

A customer was arguing with the store clerk over the price of a stereo while Seo was waiting in line while dozing off into space. On the clerk's side, he was selling the system for 30 american dollars. Thinking that was a deal in itself, the stereo worked and there was no damages whatsoever. But on in the other ring, the customer was riding on the motto 'customer is always right'. Seo could not comprehend that at all, since it was just a big box why not pay that amount and go home for the day? 

As the irritating argument went on, Seo looked to what it was he'd been waiting to get with the money he'd been saving over the summer. Eating out at food competitions and buffets. It was a casette player, and only one tape to go with it. Making out the name of that little box of treasure, he quietly sounded it out. "Pearz...Z..? Pere..z? Pears Prados? Pradada..Dada" Whispering the name of Perez Prado, it was one of his songs. 'Cherry Pink'. Luckily this thing worked and he was allowed to test it out. Not knowing what the instrument was at first, was an experience one would not want to miss out on.

Now it was his turn to pay, his femininely long hair swished and waved free with every step. Appearing much like a punk with black jeans and a wide ol' T shirt that had a few food logos to go with. Seo loved eating, his stomach was a rumbling for the next meal. Finally he could pay for the music player, the customer just before him had stormed off with an entitled attitude. Nobody had taught her how to act in public and it showed. 

Cheap headset slid onto his had as he closed his eyes and hit the play button after loading it in. It boomed loud and the sound sprung around in his head. His eyes shot opened with a jump "ShEEEHEEE!" He'd take the headset right off and let it hang on his neck, he could hear the song loud and clear. It set the mood, because from this little pawnshop was a KFC down the road. Prancing along the sidewalk while he had tunes to play, it was a highlight for the day. Not knowing what he'd do other than eat. "Thinking Chicken..Chicken chicken, thinkcen chicken, hey! That's pretty good." he'd talk to himself without any heed to those listening, arriving just at the door after a few minutes. 

He was a lanky fellow, and could've been mistaken as a lass from behind. Finding himself in the line, perusing the menu they had set up with a hungered expression addressing his face. Everything looked so good, chicken was a must have. Gravy, fries, no salads, chicken, chicken. Cookies..Did they have cookies? Now just standing in line, Seo was obnoxiously letting his music play. Probably bothering the other patrons of this fine restaurant. 

[killeroftheminge]

It wasn't every day that you got to be a hero. It also wasn't every day that that heroism was left in the trash and the world moves on, but perhaps that was for the best. Adeline was filled with a lot of thoughts after Marty had been taken out, her mind clouding over after the gang had resolved it time to celebrate afterwards. While the others were able to cheer and dispel that dread away quickly after, ready to move on, the feeling didn't come so easily for Adeline. And so, soon after the initial reconstruction, she simply slipped away into obscurity, unable to tell even her closest friends in the group...

---

6 MONTHS LATER

"Hey, MC Stutters, where's that round we ordered?!  We've been waitin' a whole ten minutes!" 

One rumbling voice booms out over the rowdy din of bar patrons, filled with all manners of outcasts, ne'er do wells and those that simply needed an escape from the modern drudge of "New Fallbrook." Many would rather spit than let that name roll over their tongues, and that's exactly the kind of environment that the Sky Diamond Lucy bar offered. Well, now it does anyway, after some very careful media advertising by one of the business owners. 

"Don't you talk to my partner like that, Sal, you drudged up meat head! Jude, where's that round they ordered?!" A rather short red head calls from the other side of the room, throwing dagger like stares at anyone that dared to meet her gaze, including the rather frazzled looking man behind the bar counter, desperately working himself to fill out calls. 

"J-j-just a sec, I'm a little b-busy here..." Jude mutters, pulling out a tray of glasses and filling each with golden, foaming booze. 

"What was that?!" 

"I-I-I love you, dear..."

"Mhm, that's what I thought! ...Love you too."

Jude finally manages to finish, sliding the tray down to the end of the bar before filling out other patron's requests, a hand catching it before hoisting it onto their shoulder. 

"Ade, w-w-would you, uh-"

"Yeah, I got it, Jude." 

Adeline Cariveau hefts the tray of drinks, her attire spattered with all kinds of alcohol as she brings it over to perhaps her least favorite customers in the joint, ready for another round of taunting and ass pinching. What a birthday. 

[ToledoJones]

In the time since Fallbrook’s destruction Monks had committed himself fully to the reconstruction of the town, choosing to leave behind detective work for a full time position at a local construction firm. Financially, this decision had been a smart one: there were far fewer crimes so the police hadn’t needed to hire outside contractors and it seemed like the need for construction crews would never slow down. His decision to change careers had hardly been purely financial, though it was equally as selfish a reason. He had accomplished everything he had set out to do with his deceive agency so he saw little reason in continuing.

***

“Ugh!” Monks grunted as he swung his pickaxe down on a chunk of rubble. Even six months later there was still a lot of debris scattered around the city, though mostly on the outskirts. His current task was smashing rubble into chunks small enough to be easily removed. Not exactly an elegant job, but the physical activity had been good for his old bones. Even so the lunch whistle was a welcome a sound when it blew. He quickly called for Ayida to join him and got cleaned up before heading into town for a bite.

“I guess donuts have no place in New Fallbrook.” Monks frowned staring at the empty storefront where Dunkin’ Donuts had once been. Nearly everyday he had walked by the building hoping to see some sign of the Donuts making a comeback but there had been none, even once the building was restored it remained empty. It was probably for the best, his memories of Dunkin’ Donuts were bittersweet at best... But nothing could taint those sweet, sweet taste memories, not even Marty.

“Arf arf!” Ayida howled, suddenly taking off at a sprint. Monks sighed and tailed after her, finally catching up in front of a bustling restaurant a few minutes later. “KFC?” He read off of the building to her. “You want chicken? Fine.”

At first glance it almost appeared as though Monks was wearing a zoot suit, but looking closer it was clearly his old, olive-green army jacket that he wore over simple black tee and a pair of high-waisted green pants. If it weren’t for his lovely Akita companion it may have been difficult to place him at all, especially with his dreads grown out, his hair now covering his ears.

“Hello?” He called out to the empty counter. “Do y’all serve chicken livers?” When he got no response, he looked around for employees. Eventually he spotted one who seemed to be eating their own lunch. Wait! Is that Tan? Monks had been making an effort to be more outgoing as of late, so he decided to greet his old friend. “I do remember hearing you made a mean fried chicken.” Monks chuckled as he approached Tan and a colleague. “I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to try it, though.” Monks swore the guy in the chicken costume looked familiar but he couldn’t place him.

[dumb guy]

It had been six months since Juno Monroe arrived at the town of Fallbrook, his pursuit for the stand user known as Kyu had come to an absolute halt as he was thrown into a haunted mansion and violently molested by three pumpkins for the sake of someone he never even met. This place was awful, it swelled with the energy of a thousand stand users gathered in one location. The acidic birds and other demonic entities didn't help either.

Unfortunately, Juno and his fiancée don't have any other options to run to except for this small town in the corner of America, as the infamous Texas Rangers will never stop pursuing them. Standing in a phone booth, he made his monthly call to his love, it was obvious that living out in the woods for so long had taken both a mental and physical toll on him. His eyes were sunken in with signs of insomnia, and his bare feet and hands were caked in dirt.

"Hon, I'm alright, just been dealin with the typical meanderin of the wilds and all. Haven't seen any other users since that one time either... It's all good to come up darlin, towns been secured..."

The mumble of the phone hinted some passive agressive remarks were being thrown at Juno's inadequate social behavior.

"No hon, I'm not a mountain man- No I have not been fightin hand in hand with bears and wolves... Hon, listen to me I haven't been able to talk because there used to be no workin phones miles from my coop, it aint like I forgot about you now, alright?"

Juno cringed as a high pitched yelling pierced his eardrum, he looked defeated.

"Yes, yes darlin, you can come up now... Yes I know it was dumb to scout things out on my own, stop rubbing it in... Okay, now you're going a little too far those pumpkins were real and trying to kill me."

As he looked around, still paranoid towards the possibility of another random stand encounter -as coming in to town tended to cause this for him-, the junkie spotted a glorious sight.

Is... is that!?

It was a KFC, right in Fallbrook. It had been so long since his lips were graced by the succulent flavors of this southern staple, a true delicacy for any country boy.

"HON, THERE'S A KFC I NEED TO GO BYE."

The sound of enraged screaming could be heard as Juno hung up the phone, accidentally walking into the glass door of the booth before wobbling out into the street without looking to see if any cars were approaching. As he passed the dancing chicken man, a single tear rolled down his unusual visor.

"God bless America..."

He whispered to himself.

[rigarna]

Allen woke up from his sleep, jolting backwards and hitting his head on the western wall of the alleyway he had been in for many months, some people say it's his new home. Allen bent down towards the floor, holding the back of his head with his hands and screaming in agony into his jackets sleeve to try and make his pain sound quieter. When Allen was done screaming he said "Once a month I do and when I do, it isn't gonna be a good day."

Allen got up from the gravel floor of his Alleyway home and walked out of it. Allen looked at the small cafe he had always seen when he left the alleyway, ever since he first went into it. Funny how that all this modern technology is coming in and this place hasn't changed one bit, not since I got here at least, Allen thought to himself as he turned around.

Speaking of which, a new chicken place has opened up, what was it called again? Allen wondered as he scratched the right side of his head.

Oh yeah KFC! I might as well go check it out and see if I can buy anything with the money that I have. Allen thought as he walked along a sidewalk.

And with that, Allen walked towards the KFC to get some food for himself.