U.A.C. West

Thorps Journal Day 563

A Change of Venue

It isn’t easy being green, or really anything that doesn’t look like a genetically pure human. When the world around you is a mostly brainless mutated savage mess, you tend to take an attitude of ’don’t know, don’t care." Even though the great cluster of mammals that is Nugene, are advanced in their technical wonders, they are often really dumb.

Sure I look like a frog, I am after all inhabiting the body of one. But does that mean I don’t have a powerful mind? Of course it doesn’t, I as smart as the next seaweed, and probably a lot smarter than most of the pure humans who stumble from bar to bar and use running water.

So what job does a smart frog merit in this ‘enlightened’ society? Greeter in a bar? OK fine, I sat at the bar and watched people. At first I learned to read their moods, then I learned to glean their secrets, then I found out I could actually read their minds. You wanna know where society is going to return to the ways of the ancients, well it doesn’t seem like Nugene, the people there have a lot of sick secrets.

It has been over a year and the police still refuse to listen to my advice. I have learned a lot from the thoughts of the officials who have come into the bar. One could say I have an advanced degree in policing and criminal investigation. but do they take me seriously, nope.

So here I sit on the end of the bar wowing the slack jawed yokels by saying hello and engaging in conversation over local events. I guess I know the goings on in this town as well as anyone, and still I get no respect.

So when a representative of the Crimson Blood Trading Company (ya I know how sounds like an uninspired biker gang) came to ask for help with a run I volunteered. Along with another mutant who seems to resemble a dog named Spot, a Human looking woman names Zoiekees, and a human looking man named Phil we were hired for the next day.

We started with a quick stop to an old lady with some supplies. We were almost interrupted by some vicious mutantist hobos but we dealt with it, probably no casualties. though the one who I mind blasted might not live as his body might shut down without help.

After we returned to the caravan, the caravan master (a human looking guy named Trenton McKaid) got us headed out. A talked to a fellow plant dude who had some delicious strawberries. lat in the afternoon we came upon a place where people gathered to live. Not sure of the name. I will pick up next time I have time to write.



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