BIG MUTHERFUCKIN' CRAB TRUCKERS

LET'S BE CRAB TRUCKERS, YA FUCKIN' BITCHES

PLAYERS:
SANZH - STEAMCRAB
PYP - COMMANDER CRABBARD
PHARMS - JOE ZOIDVOLKENSTEIN
GNAUGA - OKBOD MCCRABFACE
JACQUEREL - ARMANDA PAGURUS
CYBER - EXPLO D. DYNAMITE
ANTHANO - CHET

There is no way I am not going to at least attempt to be in this.

e:

Steamcrab
Steamcrab is among the most genteel of crabs, adorned with a mustache, monocle, and other attire befitting a proper gentle-crab. He is also a cyborg fusion of steam-furnaces, copper piping, and indomitable brass armor. He will murder the fuck out of anyone and anything, in an impeccably sophisticated manner with time enough for tea and constructing insane Victorian-era machines.

Abilities:
Fight!
Dapper!
Crush!
Invent!

This here's Commander Crabbard. No one knows where he got the fuckin' "commander" title from, and he ain't fuckin' tellin' anyone. He got some fuckin' crazy psychic abilities n' shit so just sit yer fuckin' ass down when he fuckin' tells you to.

Abilities:
Lift! BE CAN LIFT SHIT WITH HIS MIND.
Push! HE CAN PUSH CRAP WITH HIS MIND.
Pull! HE CAN PULL STUFF WITH HIS MIND.
Throw! HE CAN THROW JUNK WITH HIS MIND.

Joe Sandy Claw's Zoidvolkenstein

Driver:

A guy named Joe Sandy Claw. Don't ask how he got into this. Really. BUT HE IS FUCKING IN. THAT'S WHAT.

Here are his traits:

Drive! - that's right, you can fuckin' DRIVE, man. Ain't need no pussy license for this SHIT.

Panzcer! - You got these two fucking claws that can HIT THINGS, PINCH THINGS, and PICK UP FLOWERS. YEAH, that's right. FLOWERS.

IRRADICAL! - Your crab is entirely on fire. Cold fire. Motherfuckin' radioactive fire.

MarinRAIDER! - You can spray 100% pure everclear to POWDER YOUR ENEMIES' STATS LIKE A BABY'S BUTT. Also this metaphor is lame.

Okbod McCrabface has come!

A towering skinless crab with external ribs. It has a pair of branching antennae and a square shell. It knows and intones the names of all it meets. Beware its deadly dust!

Loud! EVERYBODY KNOWS WHEN YOU ENTER THE TITTY-SHITTING ROOM BECAUSE YOU FUCKING PUBLICLY ANNOUNCE YOURSELF AND A STADIUM FULL OF SCREAMING MONKS COULDN'T OUTLOUD YOU.
Dust! DEADLY. FUCKING. DUST. It'll knock anyone STONE FUCKIN' COLD just try you.
Sense! These mothertrucking antennae let you smell the fucking fear exuding from any sissy-ass punks in godforsaken proximity.
Know and intone! FUCK YOU'RE A CREEPY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER. You some kind of STALKER?

Armanda Pagurus is the token female crab, tee hee~

NO NOT REALLY SHE'S A MOTHERFUCKING CRAB TRUCKER
SHE IS SO METAL SHE IS LITERALLY COVERED IN FUCKING METAL
DON'T HIT ON ME, SILLY BOYS

Fighter:
Fighting- Look at her, she is clearly a killing MACHINE
Shooting- Dakka Dakka Dakka
Rivets- She can bolt things to other things like nobody's business, "other things" usually meaning "herself"
Literally Covered in Fucking Metal- Who's going to touch that? Nobody, that's who

EXPLO D. DYNAMITE'S SPECIALTY IS SPLODING THINGS RIGHT UP

If it exists, and is not in many pieces and/or on fire then EXPLO HAS A PROBLEM WITH IT.

Explode! Throw the dynamite, wait a few seconds, and BEHOLD THE MAJESTY!
Detonate! Lay down some C4, and when they least expect it, BOOM!
Destruct! He can probably also implode buildings if he wants BUT WHERE'S THE FUN IN THAT IF THERE'S NO DEBRIS IN A MILE RADIUS?
Kaboom! When there absolutely must be NO TRACE OF IT LEFT UNVAPORIZED

CHET. CHET'S THE NAME. YA' BETTER FUCKIN' REMEMBER IT

AIN'T TIME FOR NOTHIN' BUT TRUCKIN' AN' HE SWEARS BY GLORY CRAB JESUS THE NEXT LI'L FUCKIN' MILKSHAKE TA GET IN HIS WAY'S GONNA HAVE HISSELF A NICE MEAL O' BUCKSHOT

A'RIGHT, HERE GOES SHIT

Fight! IF HE AIN'T GONNA FIGHT HE AIN'T GONNA TRUCK
Ol' Hickory! YOU AIN'T GONNA KNOCK HIM OVER, SON. HE'S FUCKIN' STURDY. DOESN'T DO ANYTHING FOR GETTIN' SHOT BUT FUCK THAT
Sonovagun! EVERY GUN HE USES IS PUMP ACTION AND FIRES BUCKSHOT. AN' HE'S GOT A LOTTA BUCKSHOT
Iron Liver! HE DRINKS ALL THE SHIT HE WANTS AND DON'T FALL DOWN 'CAUSE MOMMA NEVER FUCKIN' SAID KNOCK YOU OUT

OKAY LET'S FUCKIN' DO THIS SHIT 'CAUSE SEVEN PLAYERS IS ENOUGH

Also I'm gonna stop typing in all capitals because that's going to get old fast BUT I'LL PROBABLY STILL DO IT SOMETIMES. Just not all the time.

So you're all at a greasy spoon diner, having some meals to yourselves. Most of you are strangers, but hey, maybe some of you know each other, DON'T FUCKIN' ASK ME. Radio's playing some rockabilly. The place is pretty empty tonight.

Or at least it was. Because all of a sudden SOME MOTORBIKE FUCKOS PULL UP AND BARGE INTO THE PLACE AND START ORDERIN' HUGE MEALS AND BEIN' LOUD NUISANCES AND SHIT. One of them OGLES THE FUCK OUTTA ARMANDA, and another ROLLS HIS EYES ANGRILY AT STEAMCRAB. YOU GONNA LET THESE FUCKERS DO THIS SHIT?

HELL NAW.


JOE CLAW WOULD LIKE THE MOTERBIKE FUCKOS TO CHILL THE FUCK OUT WITH A GLASS OF MarinRAIDER!

Steamcrab sizes up one of the bikers. Picking up one of the bar-stools (or whatever furniture is available, Steamcrab gives no fucks) he crushes it in a display of THREATENING GENTEEL MENACE.

Okbod is too busy DRINKING HIMSELF SILLY to notice his seat being YANKED OUT FROM UNDER HIM and subsequently crushed.

There are three things you do not fuck with in this world.

One is a crab's ride. The second is a crab's daughter. The third is a crab's greasy roadside dining experience.

CRABBARD THROWS ONE OF THEM FUCKERS OUT THE FUCKIN' WINDOW IN THE FRONT.

JOE SPRAYS THESE FUCKERS WITH ALL KINDS OF BOOZE. +1 BONUS DIE TO ALL ACTIONS TAKEN THIS ROUND.

NO FUCKIN' WAY ARE THESE GUYS INTIMIDATED BY STEAMCRAB'S BULLSHIT. YOU KIDDIN' ME? COME ON.

THE GM ROLLS 2d8 FOR A TOTAL OF 10. WITH TWO BONUS DICE, STEAMCRAB ROLLS 4d8 FOR 19. TWO OF THESE INTERLOPERS BACK RIGHT THE FUCK AWAY.

BETWEEN THE EVERCLEAR IN THE DUDE'S EYES AND CRABBARD'S GENERALLY IMPRESSIVE PSYCHOKINESIS I AIN'T EVEN GONNA BOTHER ROLLIN'. BITCH FLIES RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW.

SHIT, NOW THE REMAINING GUYS ARE PISSED AND THEY'RE GRABBIN' PIPES AND SHIT!! YOU GUYS BETTER FUCKIN' DEFEND YOURSELVES OR SOMETHIN'

MCCRABFACE KNOWS and start motherfucking INTONING THEIR EMBARRASSING MIDDLE NAMES AND NICKNAMES THEY THOUGHT EVERYONE FORGOT IN SECOND GRADE. NO DICE, EUSTACE. OR SHOULD I SAY "CHICKPEA". He follows up with a MEANINGFUL AND REALLY FUCKING CREEPY GLARE.

JOE CLAW WOULD PICK UP A MOTHERFUCKING TABLE AND TOSS IT AT THE CLOSEST OF THE MOTHERFUCKING MOFOS. GET OUT YOUR PLATES BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT SERVED.

Armanda is not yet insensibly drunk but is still too intent on finishing her drink to pay much attention when the unruly bikers barge in, alternating passing the pint glass between her mouth and the open lid of a fuel tank (alcohol is the manliest source of propulsion).
Once people start whacking each other with stools though, it becomes a bit more than can be easily ignored. She daintily set the glass down on the counter and then made this action entirely pointless by smashing the wooden countertop with her other, mechanical claw so hard that the mug flew into the air and shattered against the ceiling.

Turning slowly (not that she could turn with any other speed) to face the bikers she blasted an intimidating cloud of diesel from the four chimneys mounted on her armoured shell, in the manner of a bull pawing the ground before it charges, a tactic that she may come to regret seeing as they are all indoors.
It might be interesting to note that at this point our heroes have actually caused far more property damage than anyone else.

Steamcrab raises his claws and menacingly snaps them repeatedly in preparation to fight. This bout of violence will be solved with GENTLE-CRAB'S PUGILISM.

CHET AIN'T HAPPY 'BOUT THIS

HE TAKES A SHOT GLASS LOADS IT WITH WHISKEY AND A HANKIE

THEN HE LIGHTS IT ON FIRE WITH HIS LIGHTER AND CHUCKS IT AT 'EM

DRINKS ON ME, ASSHOLES

Crabbard ain't normally one for violence.

Except he is.

And he just loves pullin' his foes towards him so he can SNIP THEIR PISSY LITTLE HEADS OFF. GET OVER HERE AND GET MESSED UP.