#bergen_county

There is a shift of metal among the heaps of scrap as something stirs beneath them. Tarnished scales emerge from the rusted machinery, followed by a pair of ragged wings that stretch wide and shake themselves, sending flecks of rust and dirt pattering down across the metal.

The junkyard drake lifts its head and sniffs. It noses through the familiar heaps, checking one pile and then another, its nostrils flaring as it searches through the scents of oil, rust, old paint, and corroded steel.

Something is missing.

It sniffs again, more carefully this time, and finds a scent that does not belong among the usual smells of the junkyard. Freshly disturbed rust. A trace of paint. The faint, unmistakable scent of metal that has
recently been carried away.

Something from its hoard is gone.

With a crack of wings like sheets of tin being snapped in half, the drake shakes itself free of the scrap and drops onto all four feet. Its head lowers as it sniffs at the ground, following the faint trail of rust and paint away from the junkyard.

Elsewhere, a feathered fiend is examining the missing pieces - lining them all up on the floor of the shed in a rough approximation of assembly. She has most of it!

The rust drake does not move fast. It doesn't need to be fast. It is inexorable.

The trail is faint in places, but it is there. A fleck of orange-brown rust beneath a fence. A tiny chip of paint caught in a crack in the pavement. Here and there, the drake pauses, nose to the ground, before continuing with the same... slow... patient... certainty.

The trail leads onward, and the scent grows stronger with every step. Soon there is no mistaking it. The missing pieces are close. Whatever has taken them is nearby.

(Is the fence for Amity's yard wooden or chain link?)

A chain link fence - somewhat entangled with weeds and trees.

Singing wafts out from the shed - some silly Sabrina Carpenter song.

The drake reaches the chain-link fence and pauses, nose lifting as it catches the scent on the other side. It leans forward and exhales a slow breath across the metal.

At first, nothing seems to happen. Then a tiny patch of rust appears where the breath touched, slowly spreading outward through the links like a drop of ink blooming through clear water. The orange-brown corrosion grows and deepens, creeping through the metal until a large section of the fence has become brittle and fragile.

The drake simply lowers its head and walks through. The weakened links crumble around it, falling away with a soft metallic rattle.

(Perception + alertness or Perc + Kenning, Players choice?)

/roll 6 same pool for either so

(Which though, determines what she senses!)

(Alert!)

Is that old biddy next door leaning over the fence again looking for something to complain about?

She pauses, and tilts her head.

"I'm just PLAYING Mrs. McGillicuddy!"

The expected harangue does not come!

Rather, she hears the unmistakable scrape and crunch of something moving through the ruined fence. Then comes a low, metallic growl, like rusted machinery grinding reluctantly back to life.

"....Les?"

Les is off doing redcap things... y'know, a little pigeon time NEVER hurts.

And she's flapping up to a high shelf, tucking out of sight.

Is the door locked? open, closed, cracked?

Cracked, for breeze!

Our bold explorer reaches the shed and lowers its head toward the door, sniffing at the narrow opening. Finding it already cracked, it pushes its snout against the gap and noses the door farther open before stepping inside. AHa! There, laid out among the scattered pieces, is the missing bike frame.

The drake waddles straight toward it, claws clicking against the floor.

A loud squawk!

The drake’s head swivels toward the sound, and it answers with a screech like tortured metal dragged across concrete.

Its wings spread slightly as it turns toward the source of the squawk, its body lowering as it watches the (hiding? or just out of reach?) pigeon with wary curiosity.

Well, he can see her now - all puffed up, head bobbing with agitation. that's HER junk!

She mantles her wings and squawks again. Go away!

The drake huffs again, its breath stirring the loose rust around its snout, and crouches more firmly over the frame.

Its ragged wings mantle the bike almost protectively, while its head bobs once in unconscious imitation of the agitated pigeon. It gives another low metallic growl, making it quite clear that it considers the frame to be its own. MINE!

"What's going on?" Says the likely LEAST useful member of Amity's family in dragon taming. Egon has trotted onto the scene, the childling centaur nosey as always.

And he sees the scrapper crouched on some junk (arguable!) and facing off against the poofiest of pidges.

Egon is her least favorite sibling, but he IS the baby. Amity scolds him. Go away, go away!

Egon says "HEY, Only Les gets to pick on us!" Obedient to his sister as ever, Egon calls out with dramatic power ranger like gestures "Centaur Pouncing Mustang Doom From Above Attack, GO!" he's not as good as his sister at Wayfare but he knows Hopscotch

And he launches and comes down, not as far as he hoped, Nor as fast but he comes down and STOMPS on the creature "Flawless Centaur, Excellent"

Egon really needs his parents to buy him some new games, the stuff he has is dated.

The drake is completely focused on the prize and the pidge, watching the agitated pigeon with its wings mantled over the bike frame. It does not see the centaur coming.

Egon is young and unpracticed, and his attack lands as little more than a glancing blow, but unfortunately for the drake, it catches the creature squarely on the nose.

With a pathetic squeal like brakes that desperately need tuning, the drake bolts for the open door, scrambling out of the shed and leaving the bike behind.

The noise is so alarming Egon almost scampers back towards his sister , then sees that IT is fleeing, and he puffs up "Yeah... you BETTER run. My other sibling's a redcap, a big one! And our Mom has LASERS... Dragon tracking lasers with sharks on the beam." Wait, that wasn't quite right. Well, if any could come make a shark weapon out of lasers, it's his mom.

And indeed, it is running. It has moved it's frame from a waddle to a scuttle to get away all the swifter!

"Amity, I just stomped a dragon. I'm a dragon smiter, like Dagmar or Brekke, OR Olgar... or.. actually all I know are trolls when it comes to that, but still!" He holds up his hands "Egon the Dragon Slayer..err Stomper!"

As they peer out after it, the creature flees over the far fence and into the nearby toolshed, the one belonging to the notoriously unpleasant Mrs. McGillicuddy.

It is quiet for a time. Then there is a creaking sound from inside, followed by the unmistakable scrape of something being dragged across the floor.

A moment later, the drake emerges, wings pumping desperately as it struggles to lift its squat little body into the air with an entire weed whacker clutched in its jaws.

With a triumphant screech, it manages to get airborne and flies off with its ungainly prize.

"She's gonna blame us, isn't she?" Egon sighs.

"Probably." When did she become a girl again?

It may be hard for the old biddy to blame the kids, as there is no evidence nor any stolen items to tie it to them! Explaining the hole in the fence to mom and dad, though...

Well, if she kinda arranges the weeds....

The weeds that will NOT be getting whacked!

The fence is clearly rusted through. That can't be her fault.

"Uhm... Sis, what WAS that? Why was it here? And... " A smug look, "You may cheer my name now. E-Gon, E Gon...rarwr" to show her how it is done.

"E-gon BE gone." GLARE.

HE looks hurt, "But I whomped it stomped it, that's COOL." He pouts.