Lena

Lena, the Savvyhead

Lena, The Savvyhead

Stats

COOL	-1
HARD	0
HOT	+1
SHARP	+1
WEIRD	+2

Savvyhead Moves

Things-speak: Whenever you handle or examine something interesting, roll +weird. On a hit, you can ask the MC questions. On a 10+, ask 3. On a 7-9, ask 1:

• Who handled this last before me?
• Who made this?
• What strong emotions have been recently nearby this?
• What words have been said most recently nearby this?
• What has been done most recently with this, or to this?
• What's wrong with this, and how might I fix it?

Treat a miss as though you've opened your brain to the world's psychic maelstrom and been unable to focus.

Oftener Right: When a character comes to you for advice, tell them what you honestly think the best course is. If they do it, they take +1 to any rolls they make in the doing, and you mark an experience circle.

Workspace

A battered taco truck she's converted into a workshop and occasional storefront for the barter of oddments. On long trips, she sleeps on the floor of the trailer.

The long metal table used for repairs can also double as a patient table. A small life support system is attached to the wall, and Lena has basic medical experience that amounts to "we're a lot like machines, really."

Look

A petite woman with enough scrapes and old scars from hard lessons learned never to be confused with a Skinner. Lena wears mostly vintage gear: corset, long skirt, tea gloves, and her favorite accessory -- a parasol. She makes exception with her heavy worker's boots and school backpack, where she keeps her tools.

Her only real weapon is a retractable blade hidden in the shaft of her parasol (2-harm, hand).

Other Hx

Worm

Lena remembers the first time she met Worm.

She'd set up her Emporium of Lost and Found in New Morocco a month ago, and got a steady, if anemic, stream of business. Once the locals figured her for a Savvy, the paying gigs became more detective work and less anything else.

One night, Templeton woke her up, knocking on her rolling side-door. Templeton was the next best thing to law enforcement in New Morocco. A heavyset man with small, dark eyes. "Lena, get dressed. Need you for some Speaking."

She almost asked if it could wait until morning, but you don't get a knock on your door in the middle of the night if it can ever wait. Templeton seemed to sense her reluctance and said, "They might not all last until morning."

Lena quietly dressed and then followed Templeton to the tunnels past the green room. Back in the day, New Morocco had been a sports arena and convention hall. Most tenants and visitors only saw the lots outside, where the cheapjacks and odd-slingers barked at shoppers for scrap, and the convention floor inside, where the prestige retailers got prime real estate.

The green room was Templeton's office, and the tunnels led to other, secret areas of New Morocco. The de facto sheriff led Lena to a small stage with seats for an audience of thirty. Who knew what private shows were performed here. On this night, five bloodied and beaten merchants stood in the color-gel stage lights, squinting out at her.

"Who is that?" One called out. "Help us, please," begged another.

Templeton ignored them. He took a 9mm handgun from a seat and faced Lena. "Hold this, get a good read, and point to the man who was carrying it."

Oh, it's a lineup, she realized.

Lena took the weapon in her hands and closed her eyes. She opened them again and she was running, breathing hard, through the narrows of the talisman shoppe district. She had the gun in her hand. She could hear faint shouts behind her, getting closer. More action ahead of her, near the food court. Ditch the nine, gotta ditch the nine...

She tossed the 9mm under a vintage music cart, and when the gun left her hands, her perspective became the weapon, looking up at its owner before he ran into the shadows.

Lena opened her eyes and caught her breath. Speaking always made her hyperventilate. Templeton waited silently, his fat fingers steepled together.

She focused on the lineup and found him; the man who had last held the gun. Narrow face, wiry frame; yes, it was him. "Number three," she said.

Templeton nodded, and then turned to face another man, standing in the rear of the theater. Lena hadn't seen or hear him enter. He stood perfectly still, wearing a business suit as if, prior to putting it on, he had only seen one on a vintage doll.

"Okay, Worm, do your thing," Templeton told him.

And Worm smiled. Lena wouldn't ever forget that rectangular smile, equal parts gratitude and menace. Worm moved with the gait of a creature wearing the skin of a human, trying to fit in. He stepped onto the light of the stage, and the five merchants began babbling all at once, trying to negotiate with anyone listening to keep the suited man away from them. One merchant wet his pants, trembling.

Templeton turned to Lena and said, matter-of-factly, "You don't want to be here for the rest."

She wasn't.

EFFECT: Worm gets +1 Hx from Lena, and everyone else gets a -1.

Max

Baron rules Mudwater.

That is what you need to remember. Because when everyone in town is carrying, you can forget there is a chain of command. Lena paid her stipend to Baron on the first of every month and in return she got a little space on the market for her shop. That is a clean deal. No politics.

Then Reinhardt and his Brotherhood got popular after defending Mudwater from hydro-pirates, and the power began to shift. Sure, "Mad Max" was a loon, obsessed with his holy doctrine, but he kept a disciplined crew of choppers. No proselytizing. Sure, his gang would buy up or trade for relics -- crosses, rosaries, statues or art of the crucifix -- but that just meant more business in the market. Lena felt a degree of safety around the Christians; she knew a loon with a code of morals was far better than an anarchistic loon.

But Baron didn't like them. They were a power, and a new kind of authority in town. His town. They would escort merchants to and from the water source outside town. They'd run errands. Things that Baron never offered the residents of Mudwater.

So it didn't surprise her when Templeton showed up and introduced himself at the weekly merchant's meeting as the "deputy" in town. Baron stood at his side the whole time, smiling. Clearly, Baron had bought him and moved him down from New Morocco. This seemed like bringing in a mongoose to handle a snake problem. But then you have a mongoose problem.

Also, Templeton knew Lena was a Speaker. Mudwater knew it, too, but Templeton never paid for her services. Like he was above it. Like she was free of charge if it was "official police business." That's partly why she left New Morocco.

Reinhardt didn't seem to care about Templeton and his little tin badge. "Max Max" and his Holy Knights kept doing what they always did, largely ignoring the new lawman in town. That only riled Baron more, and before you knew it, Templeton was having "meetings" with the Brotherhood about any kind of mundane problems he could find. The worst was "noise pollution."

Adding more to the problem was the fact that some tenants in Mudwater hated Reinhardt and his gang. They never openly challenged the Chopper, but they would instead whisper to Baron how they felt better with a "real lawman" in town and wished Reinhardt would just go off and be a missionary. Lena never got the hate toward Max, but it was there.

She was in her shop one day, working on a muffler for one of the bikes, when Templeton showed up. The two hadn't really acknowledged one another since he moved to Mudwater, but now he stepped up like they were old associates. "Need you for a bit of Speaking again."

Lena told him flatly, "It'll cost you."

He blanched. "This is official police business."

"This is official Things-speaking."

He sneered, but reached in his pockets and showed her some jingle.

A minute later, they were walking to the Holy Knights tent-ville, and Lena's stomach started to tighten. Templeton spoke to her as they went:

"That Reinhardt is causing a stir. He's saying he had a visit by the Holy Spirit last night, it came outta the crucifix his crazy cult members pray to all the time. Normally I don't care about his little sermons--" that is a complete lie, Lena thought "--but now he's saying this Holy Spirit anointed him and his band of nutballs the true defenders of Mudwater."

Ah -- so that was Reinhardt's plan. Use religion to marginalize Templeton and elevate himself as the big-swinging dick of this town.

Lena and Templeton entered the tent the Knights used as their church. The entire Brotherhood was there, waiting for her. Reinhardt stood next to the three-foot-tall crucifix; the one from which the Holy Spirit allegedly spoke to him. His eyes bore into her, staring, searching for something in her own eyes. Lena couldn't focus on him for long.

Templeton treated Lena like his trump card. "Now, why don't we put this to a test, shall we, gentlemen? Let's have this lady Speak to your crucifix and she'll confirm whether or not any spirits besides Jim Beam made a visit last night."

Oh shit, Lena thought. If I tell the Knights there was no such visit, it could devastate their faith. It might even be enough to break the back of this gang. No wonder Templeton brought me in.

Lena glanced at Reinhardt again. He knows I'm a Speaker. Why would he invent such a story when he knew I could be brought in to refute it?

Reinhardt willingly handed off the crucifix to her. In that deep, bellowing voice of an evangelist, he said, "You are not a believer, I know. But God has brought you here for a second chance; a chance to see the light and the path. Take this, and tell my congregation you see the Almighty appear."

Lena took the crucifix in her hands, Reinhardt on one side and Templeton on the other. At the entrance to the tent, some of Templeton's goons arrived, ready to clear the Knights out.

Lena closed her eyes.

She opened them and found herself in Baron's house, late at night. She was carrying the crucifix in one hand, and a machete in the other. She continued into Baron's private study, where a map was tacked to one wall. In one corner, the words "New Mudwater."

Reinhardt's voice whispered in the silence, and she realized she was looking through his eyes. "This is what Baron has planned for our town. With Templeton, he will make it a reality. You need us, Lena. You need me."

Lena realized in a heart-stopping flash: Reinhardt KNEW she would be called in to Speak to this crucifix. He PLANNED for it. He brought the thing here to show her this. He invented the Holy Spirit story just so Templeton would bring her in. But why would...

Lena felt Reinhardt stepping closer to the map. She saw it in detail, and what she saw chilled her to the bone.

Lena woke from her Speaking session and caught her breath. The whole church waited in anticipation. Reinhardt studied her stoically. Templeton stepped up, impatient.

"Well? What did you see?"

Lena realized that validating Reinhardt's "vision" of the Holy Spirit would give his Brotherhood unprecedented power in town. If she denied seeing it, Templeton would gain control of Mudwater after breaking the back of the Knights.

But then she thought of that map, of Baron.

"I saw the Holy Spirit visit Max."

The Holy Knights cheered and applauded. Some of them came forward to touch the crucifix. Templeton growled and stormed out, unwilling to be witness to the confirmation of Max's vision.

On Lena's way back to her shop, Templeton intercepted her and hissed, "You're not getting paid for that, woman. You just started a war."

For Reinhardt's turn, whatever number he tells me, Lena adds +1.

Bristo

((Note that this Hx chronilogically takes place before my one about Maximillian, and before Worm's Hx about Lena))

Tuesday night. Exhibition.

Lena settled into her lawn chair on the roof of her truck and secured her parasol into the threads of the seatback. Motes of dust popped against the fabric, carried in the wind. In her chair pocket she had everything she'd need for the evening: Bottled water. Spyglasses. A soybar. And her journal, to make notes.

The roof was a great vantage point to watch the Exhibition. Not far off, merchants cleared the pavement for the festivities. What began as a one-time event had quickly grown into a weekly show for the residents of Mudwater. Part talent competition, part show-and-tell, and part experimental theater, Exhibition served as a way for Mudwater to let its hair down and have some fun.

Last week there were fire breathers, card sharps, and the blacksmith's daughters sang a song in chorus. There were also regulars, some more welcomed than others. Reinhardt typically took the stage for a couple of minutes to share a thought about human kinship and God. Kellar -- the rat-stick cook in the food section -- always had some macabre puppet show. Now and then even Baron would show up and pretend to be the emcee of the night.

Lena heard Bristo climbing up the ladder and helped him bring his folding chair up. Recently he'd taken to watching Exhibition with her. They'd discuss their favorite performers, and gossip about the strangest and worst ones. Neither of them had much need to get in the spotlight. And Lena liked Bristo's company.

Secretly, her favorite pastime with Bristo was what the young man nicknamed "Advice Column." He would present a situation to Lena -- "completely hypothetical, of course" he'd say -- and she would offer her advice for the fictional young man in that scenario. A week later, Lena would casually inquire about the hypothetical man's travails and get an update that her advice had been quite helpful.

Tonight, Bristo and Lena listened to another of Reinhardt's "one-minute sermons." As the intense Chopper walked off stage, Bristo leaned over to Lena and asked, "Hypothetically, how would a man about town gain leverage with that crazy Max without actually joining his flock?"

"Is this the same man who also travels into the wastes and the ruined city on scavenger hunts?"

"Let's say it is, sure."

"Well, I would say the best bet is to find a hotel."

"A what?"

"They were large buildings with many identical rooms, but not like a hospital. I heard of one named 'Rama' out beyond New Morocco, but I believe it's home to a brutal Hardholder." Lena didn't know that the hotel building had lost some letters from its awning, and was once named Ramada Inn.

Bristo arched an eyebrow at her. "Why would I -- er, this man -- be interested in a hotel?"

"Because, legend has it, in every hotel bedroom's nightstand you could find a King James Bible."

"As in a book?"

"The only book that matters to Max. Whomever finds one will have great leverage with Max. That kind of favor can go a long way."

"Hmmm." Bristo pondered.

The next week, as a new Exhibition began, Bristo joined Lena again. He would not speak of his scavenging adventures, but he did bring Lena a precious gift: A small toy horse, one side slightly melted from some old, intense heat.

She held the horse in her hand and instantly knew -- its last owner had been alive before the apocalypse. This was an exquisite oddment, bound to give her many hours of memory-bliss.

Lena hugged Bristo and thanked him. He was a good friend.