Afro Samurai

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

"Uh, wha'?" Walter spun his sight to the Japanese man, and then to the one who was spouting something about finishing his food before the run. He hadn't expected to be accepted with such warmth by this ragged group of rejects. But hey, he was a reject himself, they all had to bond together somehow if no one else would have them. Then it clicked for him: the powers. That's why they sent him here, it was 'cause he was one of those supers everybody had been gossiping about. Government brass thought this little thing they had going was a secret--folks chatter faster than documents can be classified, though. He took another look around, not yet addressing Kaneda's challenge; so, this was it? This was the cast of brave men and women who were going to put an end to the Reich and the Fuhrer? They done sent my black behind to the damn gallows. Ain't this somethin'?! He shook his head, more to himself than anyone else, but it unveiled his true feelings about the whole matter. No matter, he had been through much worse. If he was going to last for however long he had to last here, it'd be time for him to make some friends.

"Sho'", Walter stuck his words back at Kaneda.
"I'll race ya." He would smile, but it'd hurt too much.

His head spun to the one switching between different languages, and he made a mental note: that one was crazy. With the challenge accepted and mess seemingly coming to a close, he sat idle once more in customary silence. Until he registered that the German man was probably speaking to him, even though Walter didn't know a tidbit of German or any other foreign language for that matter. It just so happened the German man wasn't even speaking German, Walter just couldn't parse the words behind his accent nor the disjointed English which partnered his speech.

"Uh, naw. I don't know what you're sayin' to me, man. Maybe somebody else do. Oh, wait, you talkin' 'bout those flyin' saucers? Man, I ain't never seen one." He shrugged his shoulders, unsure if he had offended the German or not. He heard stories of the German people's tempers; he heard their tempers were almost worse than the Italians. All of them were crazy in his eyes.

All he needed to say was said, and all he could do now was wait for the commanding officer to officially bring an end to slop time--he wasn't going to be punished for leaving early. He dreaded what punishment might come from missing PT.

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

He had recently arrived in Kokotha. A mauve trenchcoat fell soft to the city concrete as he walked. There was an elegant band slid along his right index finger and a red lollipop shuffled in the corner of his mouth. Visible on his hips were a sheathed rapier on the right and a sheathed Estoc on the left, why he chose the Rapier's bulky handle that often snagged against the fabric of his coat was a mystery even to himself. He also adjusted his walk to more of a bop-hop than anything which resembled a normal gait. It made him looked comedic and unorthodox in body, and outright weird amidst the social elite.

He didn't care about any of that, today he was looking for a drink and some peace. Kokotha may not be the place to get both in the same, but he sure was going to get one of them before his stay here was up. He passed a high-class looking cafe: drink it was. He pulled open the cafe door and limbered inside, he didn't bother socializing with people who already thought themselves better than he was. Tetu came from nobility, but these rich people were different. They were new money. Big. Everything had an air of grandiose and a stench of avarice about it. Even in this hippy haven. Some part of him felt swallowed; he was inside the belly of a beast whose hunger these peons could never satiate.

He ordered himself a mocha. He didn't even like coffee, it stained his teeth--and he spent at least twenty minutes a day brushing, flossing, and swirling mouthwash to ensure his dentals had no dirt whatever in or atop them.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

facts

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@shylarah I foresaw such trepidation, since any (insert here) empowerment that enhances any property of a person is naturally stronger than a serum by way of its natural energy having a more abundant supply--but he isn't Superman, which is sort of what I gather this fear is coming from. And he certainly isn't invincible. He's also beginning where everyone else is in terms of power--untrained. Sure, he may have more potential applications, but he's no where near his full strength and probably won't get there.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@shylarah New faces stir life up, eh?

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

@Patches Didn't mean to put that in the IC btw, pressed backspace 'cause I was scrolling through the Character tab and was intending to post in the OOC but forgot I was on the IC tab before backspacing. And yeah, PM me.

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

@Patches Maybe I missed this, but what is the RP's Discord?

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@shylarah My thought process was Walter got transferred after his last mission to a new regiment without explicit rhyme or reason from the higher ups, so he's been "around" for a few days;not long enough to know who everyone is. He's just rolling with whatever happens right now.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

In the prophetic words of an ancient Wiz Khalifa scroll,

Black and yellow
Black and yellow
Black and yellow
Black and yellow

@Kessir Tarkin

Welcome to Marchand!

Woah, was she cute. Herman's unnaturally wide, nigh-oval shaped eyes grew larger beneath his equally oval shaped reading glasses. He pushed the bridge of his spectacles further up his bony nose before he stammered out a reply,

"Oh, uh... yeah. I'm--" a cough cut the middle of his poor attempt at a sentence, was it a faux or was it real? he stuttered on, "--Herman, uh... yeah, Tiller's the game, Herman's the--no, that's now how it goes!" He pitched a tight chortle that encapsulated his building anxiety, beads of sweat dripped down his neck. If there was any face left to save, he had to try...and so he forcefully deepened his voice and rekindled,

"Hey, Britney. Lookin' good today."

That's how all the hot guys in the movies do it, was his immediate reaction. She probably thinks I'm weak and a douche now, huh? A quasi-relaxed poise lay itself over Herman's thin and rather undefined jaw. There may be some confusion as to whether he was embarrassed or constipated, or both. His first interaction had gone to nil, and his reputation was probably already ruined. He supposed it didn't matter, people were going to find out he wasn't good at much of anything sooner or later; he figured he'd might as well get it out in the open before people could start making him the butt of their jokes. Dick Gregory once said 'if you laugh about something before other folks can, the joke ain't funny no more.' Or something to a similar effect.

All he knew is that he'd rather get inside than continue this painful exchange. Of course, he thought it rude to let a girl carry his luggage for him--he may be awkward, buffoonish even, but he was a gentlemen. Who knows, it might earn him back some of those ethereal "cool points." But he also didn't want to make himself seem too macho, he'd read in some magazine that girls don't like a man who thinks he can do everything by himself, so he let Britney drag one part of the suitcase while he picked up the back.

"Did I mention my name was Herman?" He gave a clownish, welcoming smile; at least as welcoming as he knew how. This was going to be a long year.

@Mr Allen J