The writers atm
DruSM157
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STATUS: Jokes on everyone I just look like a sad Travis Touchdown who has really really loud shits 2 yrs ago
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- Old Guild Username: DruSM157
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
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Jokes on everyone I just look like a sad Travis Touchdown who has really really loud shits
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2 yrs ago
You status bar people sure are a contentious bunch
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Adding to that, unless you are exhibiting life threatening symptoms (unable to breathe, etc) go to a rapid test site in your area than going to the ER. Local ERs are swamped and overwhelmed here.
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As someone who has been stabbed in the past knives are not kinky
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I'd rather just...never take a lewd of myself.
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Most Recent Posts
The writers atm
No wonder I thought this was interesting, it's one of your ideas. I'm on the fence about Japanese zambonis however. After seeing stuff from like Ghostwire Tokyo and other works by Tango Gameworks, as well as stuff from Junji Ito, I'd love to see more supernatural or straight up horror stuff from a Japanese story. Yokai or something completely mind-screwy.
Location: The Laughing Worg Tavern-- The City of Thorinn, Aetheria
Kazuki was running away. Would it be right to just let him walk off, to avoid dealing with Mystic Prophecy? It would be easier than handling that sore wound that both brothers felt, after all. He knew Luci blamed Kazuki for Aag’s death, but he also knew why they’d all done the dungeon in the first place.
To test the waters. To see if Benkei was ready to join Mystic Prophecy.
Kazuki wasn’t the one who failed Aaginim. It was Benkei. It was his fault they were in that dungeon at the time. His single-minded desire to be the best led him down a path that good people died.
And now when you died you never came back.
“Ka-” Before he could even say anything, Alja burst onto the scene. Her words were better than anything he could force down, and he was thankful she’d come to join them as well. ”Alja’s right. We need to meet with Mystic Prophecy, and we all have to work together if we’re going to survive.” He wanted to bite his lip in frustration. Who was left in Mystic Prophecy now?
”Let’s go, everyone. There’s no better time like the present, right?
Location: Hall, Fortuna | In Transit
“What's your problem? Don't you look before you walk?”
“Well I-”
“Huh? Can't hear you. Speak up.”
Shit. She was in control. How could such a lithe woman be so scary?
“S-sorry,” He muttered, overly embarrassed by being flustered by the girl. “I wasn’t paying attention thanks to that awful food and-” he stopped himself, realizing she really didn’t give a shit. “But yeah, it’s my fault. I was just heading towards the hangar.”
Location: Hall, Fortuna | In Transit
“Mmpf!”
Marlowe barely had time for his mind to register the small frame that slammed into him, only to fall backward onto her derriere. He looked down and suddenly his face grew pale: oh shit. On the ground, scowling like a rabid animal, was one Maeve Puckett. The reason why he’d avoided the armory.
He was fucked.
Marlowe quickly knelt down and offered his hand, which he should have known better to. She was just as likely to swat it away or just gnaw on it until he bled. Well, maybe. It wasn’t as if he’d spent time getting to know the angry gremlin of a woman. He’d stayed out of her way and tried to keep in his own lane. It was what he did best: fitting into the background and not knocking women with severe anger issues onto the ground!
At least, until today.
“You alright there?” He offered to her in as kind a voice as he could get out, hiding the tinges of fear with an air of false compassion and worry. The only compassion and worry he held was towards himself and his ability to continue to breathe, eat and shit (in roughly that order).
Tell her this
And more--
That the king of the seas
Weeps too, old, helpless man.
The bustling fates
Heap his hands with corpses
Until he stands like a child
With a surplus of toys.”
-Stephen Crane, The Ocean Said To Me Once
It is said that no one knows when the Mother Ocean took her anger upon mankind. And yet, our calendar tells us it has been over 1600 years After the Flood. Who decided when the year after the flood was? Do we even know how ancient these cities below us are? We all are raised hearing stories of the ancient world, of Gaea and it’s immeasurable wealth of power and knowledge. But even the ancients were swallowed by the sea. And yet we are told, as children are always told, that still the city lies hidden inside the bosom of the ocean, waiting for the brave boy or girl to find it and uncover its secrets. Secrets to raise land, to cheat death and to rule the world. These are simply stories for children, and yet every diver, every soldier, every monarch dreams of finding this lost city and grasping the power to change the world in their hands. I sit and wonder, is this dream of a city truly real, or is it simply a story meant to cow our minds into pressing on further, as the land continues to run out and the waters continue to rise.
-From the Journals of Kelman Vallis, 1640 AF.
• The Floating Palace, Galma. Imperial Seas •
• Windward Island, Palm Grove. Southern Seas •
And more--
That the king of the seas
Weeps too, old, helpless man.
The bustling fates
Heap his hands with corpses
Until he stands like a child
With a surplus of toys.”
-Stephen Crane, The Ocean Said To Me Once
It is said that no one knows when the Mother Ocean took her anger upon mankind. And yet, our calendar tells us it has been over 1600 years After the Flood. Who decided when the year after the flood was? Do we even know how ancient these cities below us are? We all are raised hearing stories of the ancient world, of Gaea and it’s immeasurable wealth of power and knowledge. But even the ancients were swallowed by the sea. And yet we are told, as children are always told, that still the city lies hidden inside the bosom of the ocean, waiting for the brave boy or girl to find it and uncover its secrets. Secrets to raise land, to cheat death and to rule the world. These are simply stories for children, and yet every diver, every soldier, every monarch dreams of finding this lost city and grasping the power to change the world in their hands. I sit and wonder, is this dream of a city truly real, or is it simply a story meant to cow our minds into pressing on further, as the land continues to run out and the waters continue to rise.
-From the Journals of Kelman Vallis, 1640 AF.
In Search of Gaea
Act 1: The Storm on the Rock
Act 1: The Storm on the Rock
Praetor Jorrus
• The Floating Palace, Galma. Imperial Seas •
The reflection of the sun’s light cast countless rays amid the silvered halls of the floating palace as Jorrus Faultspire, 2nd Praetor to his Majesty Emperor Gaius Starwind walked across the smooth stone floors of the floating palace towards the Consol room. Jorrus was pushing forty, with tinges of gray flecking both sides of his hair and his beard, which was immaculately groomed as any high-ranking officer under his Majesty’s Service would keep it. His metal-backed boots clacked loudly against the stones as he rapped the wood and iron door that led into the chamber of the Consol. The floating capital city of Galma was exquisite in its own right, but the size and immaculate detail of the Floating Palace stretched beyond the city as well. High aqueduct walls surrounded the palace, water rushing up and down the thick stone walls, creating a neverending cascade of mist and rainbows around the white walls of the palace. The halls were less grandiose, especially in the small chambers where the Consol met. These were halls for important business, not grandstanding and fancy feasts. A place where real diplomacy happened.
“Come in Praetor,” a gravely old voice from beyond the wood called, slightly muffled by the thick door. Jorrus, always a dog of the Empire, did as he was told.
“My lordships,” he began, as he stepped into the center of the room; face to face with a large arched table with seven figures sitting at it. He knelt down to one knee, his red cape dragging against the dusty floor and he lowered his head, removing his silvered helm and caressing it against his chest.
“Rise, Praetor. We have much to discuss with you.” The man sitting in the middle, the oldest member of the Consol and the emperor’s uncle, Delphus Starwind stared at Jorrus with wizened grey eyes. “We have heard your expedition into the Lost Sea was successful. And yet you have brought no treasure or key with you.” The elderly man crossed his gnarled hands together. “What did you find in the cursed locker?”
]“Only riddles, my lordship. But riddles which speak about the lost city, and its treasures beyond.”
“Riddles need answers, Praetor. We pray that you have some.”
“With time, I belie-”
“We do not have the luxury of time, Praetor!” The old man rose in his chair, shaking with the rise of his voice. He slammed his ancient fist against the wooden table, shocking some of the younger members of the Consol. “Right now endless Divers search for Gaea, aiming to be the ones who will plunder its secrets and treasures. The man who finds the lost city will have the power of the gods, as the old texts say.”
“Yes your lordsh-”
“I am not finished, Praetor.” The old man sat back down. “Secrets weapons to destroy any army. The power to harness the sun and moon. The power to staunch even death itself…” Delphus starred Jorrus down, and at that moment the Praetor who had fought in countless battles, seen the most horrifying monsters of the deep, and had led countless men to their deaths suddenly felt very afraid.
“You will answer these riddles, or we shall find a Praetor worth more than war medals. After all, Praetor Alexia has not failed us in her investigations of the North.”
“Y-yes my lordship.” Jorrus tightened his eyes and tried not to feel the heavy burden of shame now cresting above his shoulders. He was beginning to understand his father’s words when he had become a member of the Palace Guard fifteen years ago. The burden of duty may one day become a noose around your neck, my son. Be careful you do not let it become too tight, nor lose your footing. He was now feeling as if he was on a precarious ledge, and this noose of duty was squeezing too tight for him to breathe.
“Come in Praetor,” a gravely old voice from beyond the wood called, slightly muffled by the thick door. Jorrus, always a dog of the Empire, did as he was told.
“My lordships,” he began, as he stepped into the center of the room; face to face with a large arched table with seven figures sitting at it. He knelt down to one knee, his red cape dragging against the dusty floor and he lowered his head, removing his silvered helm and caressing it against his chest.
“Rise, Praetor. We have much to discuss with you.” The man sitting in the middle, the oldest member of the Consol and the emperor’s uncle, Delphus Starwind stared at Jorrus with wizened grey eyes. “We have heard your expedition into the Lost Sea was successful. And yet you have brought no treasure or key with you.” The elderly man crossed his gnarled hands together. “What did you find in the cursed locker?”
]“Only riddles, my lordship. But riddles which speak about the lost city, and its treasures beyond.”
“Riddles need answers, Praetor. We pray that you have some.”
“With time, I belie-”
“We do not have the luxury of time, Praetor!” The old man rose in his chair, shaking with the rise of his voice. He slammed his ancient fist against the wooden table, shocking some of the younger members of the Consol. “Right now endless Divers search for Gaea, aiming to be the ones who will plunder its secrets and treasures. The man who finds the lost city will have the power of the gods, as the old texts say.”
“Yes your lordsh-”
“I am not finished, Praetor.” The old man sat back down. “Secrets weapons to destroy any army. The power to harness the sun and moon. The power to staunch even death itself…” Delphus starred Jorrus down, and at that moment the Praetor who had fought in countless battles, seen the most horrifying monsters of the deep, and had led countless men to their deaths suddenly felt very afraid.
“You will answer these riddles, or we shall find a Praetor worth more than war medals. After all, Praetor Alexia has not failed us in her investigations of the North.”
“Y-yes my lordship.” Jorrus tightened his eyes and tried not to feel the heavy burden of shame now cresting above his shoulders. He was beginning to understand his father’s words when he had become a member of the Palace Guard fifteen years ago. The burden of duty may one day become a noose around your neck, my son. Be careful you do not let it become too tight, nor lose your footing. He was now feeling as if he was on a precarious ledge, and this noose of duty was squeezing too tight for him to breathe.
• Windward Island, Palm Grove. Southern Seas •
“You don’t have a chance against me, foul beast!” The young man spun a large, awkward blade around in his hands, facing off against a foul, three-headed creature. The blade shone with a bright light against the hot sun, reflecting off its carefully crafted metal. The thin blade curved upwards, like a normal saber, but the tip of the blade was different. Instead of a solid tip, it curved back into a sharp tip like a harpoon’s. The blade itself seemed to be an oversized fish-hook, albeit one with quite the sharp edge. The man charged forward, his mop of shaggy brown head blowing back as he spun the blade in a wide slash; carving off one “head” of the beast.
A thick brown coconut head flew into the air, and was then pierced by the tip of the blade. “Ha!” The man bellowed, grasping the fruit and pulling it from the blade. He took a swig of the bitter milk, then smiling, turned to his young onlookers, grinning like a madman. “See? I TOLD you I could do it!”
Mala, a young dark-haired boy laughed. “Wow Mar!” He said. “You were like the old heroes from Chief Talu’s legends!”
“Oh, i’ll be better than a bunch of dusty old heroes!” Marlowe turned back to the now two-headed coconut beast, running towards it. “It’s time for my finishing move!” He bellowed, before tripping on an outstretched vine, sending him careening through the air and into the dirt, at the straw “feet” of his beast. His sword landed with a loud clang near him.
“Annnd Mar is killed by the beast.” Mala muttered, shaking his head. “You always screw up your moves by yelling them out!”
“Thanks Mala,” Marlowe muttered with thick embarrassment in his voice as he pushed himself off of the sandy ground. He brushed off flecks of thin grass, dirt and sand from his blue shirt, and knelt down to pick up the fisherman’s saber, placing it firmly back in its leather sheath.
“Why do you practice all the time anyways? Do you want to be a Diver or somethin’? There’s nothing worth Diving for in the southern seas, that’s what Chief Talu says!”
“I don’t care about what’s in the Southern Seas,” Marlowe muttered, picking up one of the coconut “heads” from his false-monster. “There’s a huge world out there, ready to be explored!”
“But...doesn’t everyone already know what’s in the seven seas?”
“No! That’s the exciting part. We’ve lived on the seas for thousands of years, right? But there’s still so much that’s unknown to people!”
“How can people NOT kno-” a loud boom erupted over the island, and a huge gust of wind nearly blew the children off their feet. This was not the first or second big explosion they had experienced this week. Ever since the huge storms appeared over Gullspire Rock, every day large thunder claps, accompanied by gusts of wind and even minor earthquakes shaking the small island. The children on the island were terrified of the once quiet rock in the far distance now creating such a cacophonous display; any many of the village elders moaned that a new calamity was coming; that Mother Ocean was unhappy with their sacrifices to her name and she would now destroy their peaceful home.
During the first week, Chief Talu was calm. “It’s fine,” he began, talking to many of the frightened people at a Chief-meet. “It is simply a storm, it will blow over as soon as the breezes come.” But many breezes had followed in the days thereafter, and the storm continued to circle around the rock. Windward Island was a moderately sized island in the Southern Seas, and they were known in the local islands as a wonderful place for Krayfish spearing and for their various fruits. Every year they even hosted a Krayfish Spearing contest; something that Talu had told Marlowe of when he was younger. His mother had been a champion in the contest for many years before meeting his father, and the necklace he wore was a symbol of her skill. The island itself was roughly fifteen miles in acreage, and the village was built around the natural curved bay of the island, where their “port” was found. The port was small like many of the village ports, big enough to handle a monthly visit of skiffs and barges from the other island and the occasional merchant vessel, but nothing so grand to bring in visitors from too far.
“Let me take a small skiff out there, Talu!” Marlowe had fussed in the days after. “If it’s too dangerous, I can turn around. But there could be something there causing this storm!” Marlowe had spent much of his youth sailing a small skiff, and he’d traveled around Gullspire Rock countless times. But now it seemed to an alien; the font of a grand adventure wrapped around a dangerous cloak of a storm.
“Don’t be suicidal, boy,” Talu muttered incredulously. “Even our sturdiest fishing boats would be torn apart in a storm like that.” After a few more days of no changes, Talu sent a gull with a request to Sun’s Rest, the largest island in the southern sea and the home of the local Diver’s guild.
An odd storm has appeared near Windward Island. It is unnatural and may be caused by some ancient device. Windward Island hereby requests any divers brave enough to travel to Gullspire Rock and to end this unnatural storm. Payment: 500 shelma, plus any artifacts found... It was a pittance of a job. In the Imperial Sea, 500 shelma was the reward for slaying three Razorshark or finding some trifle in a dive. And the southern sea was not a place well known for its treasures. This was the most shallow of all the seven seas; the only sea without an immortal Leviathan stalking its waters for unwary divers. Talu knew they would not get many who would brave the trip.
It was the third day in the season of Meera, and in the distance, a singular ship had set off to complete the mission that the small town had sent for. The thunders bellowed and the skies darkened, but the small diver ship, The Sharkfin, pressed on into tumultuous seas and straight into danger. It’s captain, Himund Gale, would have it no other way.
A thick brown coconut head flew into the air, and was then pierced by the tip of the blade. “Ha!” The man bellowed, grasping the fruit and pulling it from the blade. He took a swig of the bitter milk, then smiling, turned to his young onlookers, grinning like a madman. “See? I TOLD you I could do it!”
Mala, a young dark-haired boy laughed. “Wow Mar!” He said. “You were like the old heroes from Chief Talu’s legends!”
“Oh, i’ll be better than a bunch of dusty old heroes!” Marlowe turned back to the now two-headed coconut beast, running towards it. “It’s time for my finishing move!” He bellowed, before tripping on an outstretched vine, sending him careening through the air and into the dirt, at the straw “feet” of his beast. His sword landed with a loud clang near him.
“Annnd Mar is killed by the beast.” Mala muttered, shaking his head. “You always screw up your moves by yelling them out!”
“Thanks Mala,” Marlowe muttered with thick embarrassment in his voice as he pushed himself off of the sandy ground. He brushed off flecks of thin grass, dirt and sand from his blue shirt, and knelt down to pick up the fisherman’s saber, placing it firmly back in its leather sheath.
“Why do you practice all the time anyways? Do you want to be a Diver or somethin’? There’s nothing worth Diving for in the southern seas, that’s what Chief Talu says!”
“I don’t care about what’s in the Southern Seas,” Marlowe muttered, picking up one of the coconut “heads” from his false-monster. “There’s a huge world out there, ready to be explored!”
“But...doesn’t everyone already know what’s in the seven seas?”
“No! That’s the exciting part. We’ve lived on the seas for thousands of years, right? But there’s still so much that’s unknown to people!”
“How can people NOT kno-” a loud boom erupted over the island, and a huge gust of wind nearly blew the children off their feet. This was not the first or second big explosion they had experienced this week. Ever since the huge storms appeared over Gullspire Rock, every day large thunder claps, accompanied by gusts of wind and even minor earthquakes shaking the small island. The children on the island were terrified of the once quiet rock in the far distance now creating such a cacophonous display; any many of the village elders moaned that a new calamity was coming; that Mother Ocean was unhappy with their sacrifices to her name and she would now destroy their peaceful home.
During the first week, Chief Talu was calm. “It’s fine,” he began, talking to many of the frightened people at a Chief-meet. “It is simply a storm, it will blow over as soon as the breezes come.” But many breezes had followed in the days thereafter, and the storm continued to circle around the rock. Windward Island was a moderately sized island in the Southern Seas, and they were known in the local islands as a wonderful place for Krayfish spearing and for their various fruits. Every year they even hosted a Krayfish Spearing contest; something that Talu had told Marlowe of when he was younger. His mother had been a champion in the contest for many years before meeting his father, and the necklace he wore was a symbol of her skill. The island itself was roughly fifteen miles in acreage, and the village was built around the natural curved bay of the island, where their “port” was found. The port was small like many of the village ports, big enough to handle a monthly visit of skiffs and barges from the other island and the occasional merchant vessel, but nothing so grand to bring in visitors from too far.
“Let me take a small skiff out there, Talu!” Marlowe had fussed in the days after. “If it’s too dangerous, I can turn around. But there could be something there causing this storm!” Marlowe had spent much of his youth sailing a small skiff, and he’d traveled around Gullspire Rock countless times. But now it seemed to an alien; the font of a grand adventure wrapped around a dangerous cloak of a storm.
“Don’t be suicidal, boy,” Talu muttered incredulously. “Even our sturdiest fishing boats would be torn apart in a storm like that.” After a few more days of no changes, Talu sent a gull with a request to Sun’s Rest, the largest island in the southern sea and the home of the local Diver’s guild.
An odd storm has appeared near Windward Island. It is unnatural and may be caused by some ancient device. Windward Island hereby requests any divers brave enough to travel to Gullspire Rock and to end this unnatural storm. Payment: 500 shelma, plus any artifacts found... It was a pittance of a job. In the Imperial Sea, 500 shelma was the reward for slaying three Razorshark or finding some trifle in a dive. And the southern sea was not a place well known for its treasures. This was the most shallow of all the seven seas; the only sea without an immortal Leviathan stalking its waters for unwary divers. Talu knew they would not get many who would brave the trip.
It was the third day in the season of Meera, and in the distance, a singular ship had set off to complete the mission that the small town had sent for. The thunders bellowed and the skies darkened, but the small diver ship, The Sharkfin, pressed on into tumultuous seas and straight into danger. It’s captain, Himund Gale, would have it no other way.
”ALL HANDS, BRACE!” Another wave slammed into the side of the Sharkfin, and Himund Gale felt his giant frame rocked by the crashing sea. He’d lived through forty-seven years and had never once in his life seen a storm like this. Then again, he’d made a good living for the past few years avoiding such dangerous waters. After all, he’d owed it to his young ward to make sure he’d actually make it to become a true diver, and with that eventually set off on his own ship. A five hundred shelma job should have been easy.
This was anything but.
”Patch!” Even with the explosions of thunder around them, Gale’s voice seemed to carry to every nook and cranny of the ship. With his call, an older-looking man poked his head up from the lower decks.
“What?”
”How’s the aether engine holding?’
“She’s straining against these waves cap’n! The ship can’t handle this much abuse!”
Gale looked upards towards the spire of stone that was Gullspire Rock. They were close enough now. A little further and-
The ship came to a halt. The whipping winds and roarings seas began to die down. The ship seemed to slowly move forward, as if it was caught in a thick syrup. Behind them; in fact, all around them in a perfect circle, the crew could see the roaring waves and storm.
But not here. Was this the eye?
”Patches,” Gale said, taking a deep breath. The ship had held. Thank the Mother Ocean. ”Lower the anchor and prepare the tethers. We’re getting ready to dive.” He looked around the ship to it’s young crew, a motley crew who he’d picked up over the years. Some were born into the world, others were brought to it by providence, while some simply sought out the adventure.
Gale grinned looking them over. ”It’s time to get to work my little tadpoles. Go below and get your gear together. We dive in ten minutes.” Several of these newbies he’d picked up days ago, between Callas and Sun’s Rest. This would be the proving for them; if they could work as a team of divers. Even if their payment would probably be spent on food and fixing the ship, this would be good practice for them. Hopefully.
This was anything but.
”Patch!” Even with the explosions of thunder around them, Gale’s voice seemed to carry to every nook and cranny of the ship. With his call, an older-looking man poked his head up from the lower decks.
“What?”
”How’s the aether engine holding?’
“She’s straining against these waves cap’n! The ship can’t handle this much abuse!”
Gale looked upards towards the spire of stone that was Gullspire Rock. They were close enough now. A little further and-
The ship came to a halt. The whipping winds and roarings seas began to die down. The ship seemed to slowly move forward, as if it was caught in a thick syrup. Behind them; in fact, all around them in a perfect circle, the crew could see the roaring waves and storm.
But not here. Was this the eye?
”Patches,” Gale said, taking a deep breath. The ship had held. Thank the Mother Ocean. ”Lower the anchor and prepare the tethers. We’re getting ready to dive.” He looked around the ship to it’s young crew, a motley crew who he’d picked up over the years. Some were born into the world, others were brought to it by providence, while some simply sought out the adventure.
Gale grinned looking them over. ”It’s time to get to work my little tadpoles. Go below and get your gear together. We dive in ten minutes.” Several of these newbies he’d picked up days ago, between Callas and Sun’s Rest. This would be the proving for them; if they could work as a team of divers. Even if their payment would probably be spent on food and fixing the ship, this would be good practice for them. Hopefully.
Alrighty, characters have been accepted and the list is on the character tab. Go ahead and copy/paste your CS onto the Character tab and I'll have the IC up and running soon.
I'll have a cast selection finalized after work today. Crew is hard capped at 5 folks since the previous run of this rp got overextended with its cast.
So remember...
So remember...
Location: Mess Hall, Fortuna | In Transit
The fancy pilot, William seemed to have the same reaction Marlowe did to the food. Which was a normal, human reaction to stale, gray cubes filled to the brim with nutrients. He’d consumed similar with Singh’s Raiders, but their cubes had been other colors, like red, brown or yellow with spices or flavors packed in. Azuki bean flavor, coco flavor, or curry flavor. Sure it’d usually been too sweet or spicy to Marlowe’s tastes, but it at least had flavor. Also depending on who was in charge of mess duty that week, you could dip your cubes in a light gravy or cream if they had the supplies for it.
He considered dipping the bland gray cube in water to soften it, but decided that ruining the water with the mush of whatever this was designed from was a bad, bad idea. He just forced down the rest of the cube, and chased it with the rest of his water. “Grrk-”-it was less of a word and more of a retching sound-came from his throat right as one Mox Holiday brought her bubbly personality to the fold.
“Y’know, I reckon they’ve added a new flavor, don’t you? I’m gettin’ a bit of paprika in mine I think. Ain’t that somethin’?”
Marlowe simply stared at her. He gave her the emotionless expression someone who’d stood on the precipice of gastrointestinal horror has stood, right when someone devours a raw sheep’s liver in front of you and declares it to be “scrumptious” (this had only happened once before in Marlowe’s life, and it was the source of multiple nightmares). He was barely able to produce a slow blink as a reaction to Mox before turning to William to give the blonde man a pleading look that screamed HELP.
Still, Mox’s small talk seemed to demand response. ”I think that’s just whatever dried proteins that make up this stuff starting to go rancid,” Marlowe remarked to Mox, before fishing out a hard black clump of something from the back of his mouth. ”I think that was supposed to be pepper,” he said before throwing it on his tray. It looked more like a piece of a tooth from some poor sap who fell into a nutrient vat. Maybe that’s how Jones got a good deal on this shit; perhaps the box exclaimed “NOW WITH 15% LESS HUMAN BYPRODUCT” on the side of the packaging.
Marlowe finally stood up and stretched. ”Welp, no time like the present to burn off whatever this gunk is.” If the armory was going to be a warzone with Puckett throwing profanities and a possibility of plasma damage from her gear, perhaps the marginally safer option would be in the hangar, cleaning off some of the rust from Bucket’s joints with a used toothbrush.
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