Recent Statuses

22 days ago
Current I kind of hate how I'm being right now. Not in a "everything sucks and I feel nothing" kind of way, but in a "why the fuck will my brain not let me write anything" kind of way. It's the worst thing.
1 like
5 mos ago
Lady Selune sent me, and I came. Everywhere. Find me at BCLEGENDS#8049 on Discord.
5 mos ago
I have never interacted with Raddum before in my life, but I already think they're a loser and also probably overweight.
5 mos ago
Apparently, the Cranberries singer just died. I have no idea who that was, but alas, death is swift and merciless regardless of station.
5 mos ago
Assassins? In MY roleplay? It's more likely than you think.


Hello, I am me from the internet. I migrated here from Kongregate's Forum Games Forum, so feel free to look for me there if you wish to follow a career in internet stalking people.

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I also vote for Retcon.
Well. Guess I'll just sit here and wait for a while.
'Not a problem, Confessor,' Alexa responded to Horacio's thanks as he exited the room at the beck of Celestian Victorine. It was, after all, her job, nay her creed, to keep her allies in good health, just as it fell to her Sisters to indulge more thoroughly in the destruction of the Emperor's foes; true to form, the fight was essentially over by the time she stepped out again, though not the battle as a whole. Her heart chilled just a little as she heard that some of the pirates may have targeted the Genetorium directly, threatening the Gellar field that kept them all safe. If they couldn't reach that in time...

Her fellow sisters and their male companions did as Sister Victorine bade, the few living foes left behind executed in short order - Sister Caroline in particular seemed very keen to do so - before the group trudged onward. Alexa, for her part, helped tend to the various injuries of her Sisters as appropriate. The most pertinent was the shoulder wound Sister Vitruvia had sustained; yet for the amount of blood that seemed to have been shed, it was a very simple wound beneath the armour, a straight cut through flesh alone, and resolved with the application of medigels and sealing agents quite easily.

So simple was the injury, in fact, that she managed to resolve it even as they moved up toward the Genetorium, save the process of sawing open Vitruvia's armour around the injury site, though that took a mere few seconds before they could keep up with the rest of the group. By the time repair cement had been applied to weld Vitruvia's protective shell closed again, they were practically at the Genetorium proper - and what a terrible sight to behold, especially the heavy stubber fire coming out of the room.

And not to mention the leaders of this heretical insurgence. One, a former member of the Adeptus Mechanicus, now clearly a heretic in his- its- own right; the other in Ignatus power armour just like Inquisitor Kliment's, albeit painted in a theme much unlike any the Imperium would deem acceptable. Not to mention the wearer being a coward of the highest order, fleeing the site with not so much a word as a scream of terror, leaving even its technologically-imbued ally to take the heat for it; in a spit of fury, Alexa unloaded six boltrounds at the fleeing body, aiming for its center of mass. Of those, it seemed at least three had merely ricocheted off its protection or missed entirely, but as for the others, she couldn't tell whether she'd dealt any significant wound or not before the coward left her sight. Alas.

'Be advised, Sisters: one of the heretics has fled the scene of battle,' Alexa called out, turning her weapon now toward the small-ish crowd of enemies that still came to them, though she noted that Caroline had seemed to end the threat of the heavy stubber for good. Switching to single-shot on her weapon, she bade the pistol's aim be true, and spat four swift shots of righteous fury into the group. One blew open the chest cavity of a woman whose arm had recently been torn away; another two found their mark lodged in the gut of a Kroot that had yet to take a wound, and in turn failed to truly die in the process despite its intestines being turned to so much paste. The last bolt was turned upon the Heretek, a small explosion only adding to the destruction wreaked upon the vile machine-entity by Confessor Horacio, courageous and without fear of death despite his exposed position.

It was only as Alexa reloaded that she spied Sister Lisbeth slumped against a generator, terror in her expression and stomach acid pooled in front of her. And two holes in her armour. Frak. Even despite her wounds, a song escaped her, a dirge for her own life... Alexa rushed to her as soon as she had an opening. Lisbeth would not die this day, not on her watch.

Having been still for a few moments for the first time since the alarms first rang, Lisbeth's head wound had slowed a little, but the blood had congealed around her left eye and clotted, leaving it sealed with a sticky mess of blood and eyelashes. Her skin was growing pale, from blood loss and shock in equal measure. She had found the strength to fire a few shots over the generator, but she had exhausted herself and was now concentrating on holding her side together while running down the chains of rosaries hanging about her waist. When the light dimmed a little, Lisbeth's heart quickened, and for a moment she thought she had breathed her last, before she recognised the blurred outline of a sabbat-pattern helmet in unfamiliar colours - Alexa, in the colours of her Order Hospitaller.

"Ah...d-did we win? Did I...was I good enough for Him?"

Alexa didn't usually find cause to be concerned with a couple of bullet wounds, but Lisbeth was clearly not in the best state. For starters, she also had a head wound that Alexa had failed to notice in the first instance - whilst she didn't seem to have fallen unconscious or been otherwise concussed, she had also bled heavily from it, only adding to her overall state of blood loss. Not to mention the shock she was in; any other Imperial servant might just yell at her to pull herself together, but she knew full-well that wasn't how that worked.

'We've not won yet, and you aren't going to the Emperor's side yet,' Alexa stated bluntly, her helmet making this proclamation sound very harsh, yet perhaps determined too? Or just unduly harsh. She hated how angry it made her sound, and internally sought a way for her to keep Lisbeth distracted from her own mortality.

'Whilst I work,' she continued, 'tell me about your childhood, your time in the Schola Progenium.' Whilst she spoke, she applied sprays of antiseptic and medigel to Lisbeth's head wound to keep the injury clean and kickstart the healing process, alongside a stimshot to revitalise her and stimulate blood production, and began cutting open Lisbeth's armour to examine her bodily injuries.

The sting of spray on exposed flesh was lost on Lisbeth, who was floating on a sea of adrenaline - small mercy, then, given how sharp some of the tools mounted on Alexa's wrists were. "I was the smallest by a mile - some things never change." Lisbeth laughed, and quickly regretted her levity as her laugh turned to pained coughs and wheezing. "Children can be very cruel, sister. I was forever getting shoved about. Persie -" She hesitated. "Persephone was the only progenia who wasn't interested in using me as a punching bag." A sarcastic smirk wiped over Lisbeth's features as she continued, "but I'll bet none of them managed to beat an alien in hand to claw combat!" She jabbed a finger at the dismembered kroot's head. "Mother Superior Agna would never believe that tiny child could do what I've done for Him. I suppose He - augh - sends us these challenges to forge our faith. It certainly worked." Lisbeth rolled her head back, staring up at the ceiling through the smoke. Anything was better than watching Alexa's fingers poking about inside the entry wounds.

Alexa remained silent for most of Lisbeth's explanation into her childhood, intently examining the wounds she had been dealt as she applied analgesic and sliced into the flesh. The shoulder wound was simple enough, just a matter of extracting the projectile and quickly closing some blood vessels up to stem the flow of blood before any more was lost, but the wound to her chest proper... that was a damaged lung. Not as badly as expected - it seemed the slug hadn't penetrated before coming to a halt, merely bruised and lodged in the flesh, but that still represented damage to a sensitive organ, a bleed into Lisbeth's airways. Carefully, carefully, guided by intuition and the sensors of her helmet, she extracted the slug, then sliced open the bruised section of lung, opening it up and allowing additional blood to spill, albeit in a controlled fashion that, she reckoned, would redirect the flow outward rather than inward.

Confirming as much, and applying medigel to the wound to help it heal before beginning the restitching process, she finally replied to Lisbeth's sentiments, desperately trying and failing to convey her support through the helmet's Emperor-damned vox: 'If you are unusually short, then it is only in the physical, Sister. You know much of the God-Emperor's challenges: your heart and your faith both exceed your frame thanks to them; the xeno skull in your hands proves as much.' Unspoken, she considered that she knew very well how cruel children could be - she too had suffered social punishment at the hands of others for a time, only ceased when she proved that beneath her odd features lay a physique much larger and stronger than the fellows in her age group at the time. She hadn't had much room for kindness in her until she left the Progenium behind, she considered... but then, not many left that place with any empathy at all. Those who did tended not to do as well as she had.

Lisbeth was already short of breath when Alexa began relieving the pressure on her lung; better to have blood in her thoracic cavity than pooling inside her lungs, steadily oozing from the whole in her armour, small bubbles forming with each laboured breath. As the seconds ticked by, the pressure reduced, each breath coming a little easier. Swallowing a small mouthful of blood, Lisbeth pawed at Alexa's shoulder, her other hand grabbing the strap of her bolter. "I'll - urgh - be alright. T-take this," she pleaded, her strength serving her long enough to hand Permanence to her comrade. "Give them His mercy. Particularly the one who - ooh, Throne - who shot me."

Siphoning out the blood in Lisbeth's chest cavity as she spoke, she finally began to fix up the wounds proper, ensuring they did not continue to bleed before sealing them off. First the larger slice into the chest itself, then the bullet hole around that, and finally the now-bloodless hole in her shoulder, each sanitised and medicated as she worked.

'Worry yourself not, Sister,' Alexa decreed (in harsh, blaring tone, as her vox once again decreed), pushing the bolter back toward Lisbeth even as she gave her another stim. 'You live to fight on yet, I assure you.' Her armour was sealed up with repair cement, and finally, the wounded Sister was wounded no more. Or at least was in good enough condition that it made no difference. Patting Lisbeth on the leg comfortingly, Alexa poked her helmeted head out from behind the generator, this time looking round to ensure nobody else had been injured whilst she worked. She'd just fixed up one ally belatedly, she didn't need to find that she'd allowed the same to happen again.
Dirk Messir - Space Marines, of the Sea

'Maybe they're pretending to be submariners to get the profit of food and that things,' Dirk offered, still swiping things right up until the door re-opened and they hit the enemies with their full by which he meant the enemies yelled angry words at them and said "no, you're not allowed to be in here, you need to DIE". Then Squanch had a fight with them.

He was doing fine on his own. Yes, Dirk could answer the snail instead.

Pft. You moron. You'll expose the crew's presence here.

'Fine, I'll do that,' he said into the telesnail on the hand, formerly on the table, and had a head tilt that also he used a second hand with to cover the snail and stop noise getting it clogged with noise wreckage, which would be the wooooorst thing. 'Mosh pit mosh pit, this is a marine solidear speaking. What?' he asked, wanting to know what the married captain wanted.
Alessa Heather: Charity Fundraiser

Everything seemed to happen in a few moments. Overlook, one of the heroes who had been at the warehouse raid, suddenly cried out for everyone to get away from the middle of the room; even before Alessa reacted, Lillian did, dragging her behind a stall as the floor of the conference hall seemed to explode, spraying rubble everywhere that barely avoided injuring anybody, even the fans in the room, thanks in part to Inkscape’s quick action. Even so, they were still in danger as long as they stayed in the room.

‘I’m fine, Lillian, thank you,’ Alessa confirmed with a smile, before her expression defaulted to serious. ‘If you’re alright too, then...’ There were civilians still present, after all. Alessa yelled out into the hall, hoping her voice reached everyone inside - that the noise of something rising from within the new hole didn’t drown her out even as she continued to talk - ‘Every non-combatant, please leave the hall in an orderly fashion! The area still isn’t safe, and you need to leave!’ In fairness, there was a chance that it wasn’t safe outside either, but considering that the room had just had shrapnel fired through it and a giant stone warrior crawl in, one could hardly blame her thought process.

As she yelled out to the civilians, she could overhear Lillian speaking into the comms, describing the situation - the Rockers, of course, had made themselves known in perhaps the silliest way possible, right in the middle of a crowd of heroes alongside their fans, both endangering the public and making for what seemed to be a very easy capture. If it were just Ceramix, of course, things would be simpler; if Shatterpoint were here too, somewhat less so, unless somebody happened to have a can of containment foam on them.

First things first, though, there was a granite statue to take out. Even as a plan formed in Alessa’s mind, observing the area for a good position to work everything out, Lillian asked her to back her up - like they promised, of course. ‘Absolutely,’ Alessa agreed, the idea cementing itself in her mind as she began describing it: ‘If you can get big enough to charge the giant without too much injury, I should be able to melt its knee joints. Just make sure it falls ove-’

And then it showed up, smashing through one of the entrances in a cacophonous symphony. Was- was that an Endbringer?! No, surely not, she- no, she recognised it, that was, gah what was his name, Beyonder? She didn’t have time to think, as regardless, it- he- was charging the rock creature with great speed.

‘Sorry, T-L, gotta act now! Duck and cover!’ she quickly explained, yanking her hand out of Lillian’s grasp and very quickly analysing her firing angle. Nobody in her firing range, nobody she might accidentally hit, especially with the Rockers on its legs seeming to fly off of their own accord - aiming one hand at each of the giant’s knees, she fired twin rays of intense heat and light at the statue, with the intent of melting the joints and fusing them together. If she’d aimed properly and put enough energy into the rays, the joints would either collapse entirely under the weight of rock above it as they melted, fuse into useless lumps that would make Beyonder’s tackle all the more effective, or at worst weaken them enough that the thing’s legs might break in half on impact. Regardless, if Alessa had her way, that statue was coming down, albeit not quite where she’d have made it fall.

Raymond Haywood: The Cruise Room

Raymond listened in on the discussion held in response to “the vigilante” and their fairly reasonable consideration of how easy it could be for a given villain to be kidnapped and turned to Patriarch’s control. Sabotage seemed very sure that taking down the organisation entirely would be impossible; Retcon accused her of being unwilling to lose her biggest income source; and Purge simply stated that the full force of his mafia would be put towards ending the Community. Fools that they were. Like most organisations, the head was the most important organ. If they took out Patriarch alone, his would-be children - his immediate subordinates, that is - would fall on each other like squabbling siblings. The metaphor was darkly apt.

Then a newcomer entered. Raymond was curious, but soon smiled with mirth beneath his helmet as he realised what was being pulled. Of course, the old bait-and-switch ruse - have somebody pretend to be you, only to go on as if nothing had happened if and when the decoy gets assassinated. An old classic.

Except, as Jason cited the bad feeling in his gut, Raymond in turn began to experience a squirming cognitive dissonance within him - “what if.” The Jacks knew already that the vials contained parahuman abilities within them, somehow; there had been no word about a Broker imitator before now. What if they’d been talking to a proxy all along? What if this was the real deal, with the powers in their vials? Or what if both were fakes, and the real Broker still had yet to present himself? The notion settled like a lead balloon in Raymond’s stomach, heavy yet engorged with doubt. He hated doubt. It was a natural human reaction, after all - nobody wanted to not know something.

Alas, his internal mood lightened somewhat as somebody, Whipstitch if he recalled, made a grand speech about how controlling bastards and tricksters simply couldn’t be allowed to keep living. And then sat down with obvious confusion, seemingly trying to make her power work properly. The vigilante from before- wait, weren’t they a boy just a moment ago? Either way, they went to check on the woman, shortly before somebody with a lot of confidence approached this new Broker, or Broker imitator, or patsy, or whatever they represented, and practically demanded he hand over the vials in exchange for his organisation’s services. Wow. He was probably a dead man, then - if not thanks to the Broker himself, than thanks to the other villains’ outrage at his brash attempt to wile away so many unknown abilities for himself.
@The Fated Fallen I've decided it might be best if I have Sett sleep alone, since most other options are taken and the only two characters left are those Sett's already interacted with recently. A bit of a shame for me, I feel, but to that end, I'm left with no need to write for a collab, which I believe answers your question quite nicely.
Dirk Messir - There's "The Truth..." angry headshake And "The Truth!" smile and nod

Well, okay. No killing the boys then. Which was OBVIOUSLY what Dirk wanted to start that there in the place of men. So they lived, bitch. Whilst that happend, Smitch opened up the door, and it reveals a bunch of things, like stones, and bowls. Ding dong, Mariner logos. Dirk wasn't a stupid, I recognise them from when they fought the bad guys back on the island. The Island. Yuushuu Island, to be clear. He's gotta be clear on it.

You don't even know them Maniac! You can't just say you know what that means Psycho!

Sure, okay, but. Marine logos. Men who are coatmen. Chapter 1: What it means. Probably they became ex-Marines.

'Maybe they were ex-marines,' I utter, with not really scene the truth of that why there is marines being prats of the curry bean. They hook people now. No you're a hooker. Shut up.

You Figured It Out! Nicely Done!

I say shut up, this seems importent. Maybe. Dirk's thinking is interrupted by Some Guy screaming as he flies into space, or just the see, where there are see breezes to breeze through life like a breeze. Easy-breezy.

'We should take their stuff,' he concluded after watchingman the man goes to the drownland with that dunk tilt. 'They can't do this forever. If they try, and have their stuff be our stuff. They won't be able to protecc.' He paused just long enough to interrupts Smarch. Stupid Smarch calendars. 'But also attacc. People.' With his Brand New Hydraulically Operated Twin Brother, Coat, Dirk begins to begin to hide books and a telescope in his coat. He'll need them for the future year of later that very same year, on International Bring A Buttton of Bees to Work Day. There'll be bees, and he'll shoot them with a bee bee gun. Or create a beehive golem out of more bees. Perfect yes.

You utter fool.
Jack Valent

Jack's offer of assistance was happily requested by Jensen, and with little time lost, he began whipping up a batch of his own pancakes. "Whipping up", what a curious term. What could it refer to specifically, when it was used in such a broad fashion? In due course, most everyone else who wasn't already there poured into the kitchen after he had, ready for breakfast and whatnot.

First, Myles with a bit of a downer expression - 'Morning, Myles. Like Jensen said, we're just cooking pancakes; I know they aren't normally your thing, so if you want, I can whip up some bacon and eggs for you instead? Man, they always forget about the sausage in that, despite it being such an important part of the meal. Sure, you can have bacon and eggs on their own, but it's just not the same, is it?'

Then came Chloe, who called out her presence before even reaching the room - 'Hi, Chloe. They do smell good, right? Feel free to have some if the sandwich isn't good.'

Next up, Luka, looking as good as ever and asking how their mornings had been - 'Morning, Luka. My day's been pretty good so far, even if it's just been showering and all that. And a bit of cooking, too. You look great, man, nice outfit.'

Giovanni came in a little while after that, asking if he could get some of those pancakes - 'Sure thing, Gio. They're for basically everyone, after all. I'll probably have some once everyone else has theirs, I reckon.'

And then Nilin arrived, looking way better dressed than pretty much everyone else in the room, even Luka - 'Holy crap. Yeah, you look amazing. You'll be the talk of the town, I'm sure - is that old-fashioned of me to say? I mean, I know it is, but if it's true, then it's probably not an old-fashioned sentiment, right? Plus, Viorel is the oldest-fashioned person, and he's never said it, so it's probably not that old-fashioned yet.'

Bridget was next down the line, and by this time, Jack and Jensen were basically done making and passing out their pancakes, so Jack moved on to Myles' bacon and eggs. Admittedly, Jack wasn't sure how to approach Bridget, given how hostile she seemed to be to everyone but Myles, and even he wasn't always on her good side. She was dressed well, though, so Jack figured he'd address that - 'Morning, Bridget. I'm gonna say something, actually, and it's that you look damn good in that dress. Gives you an aura of power, you know? Everyone likes to feel powerful, don't they, so whatever you're wearing, more power to you. That applies to everyone, really,' he continued, addressing the entire room pretty confidently. 'We're gonna have a good time today, I can feel it! I mean, unless some huge tragedy happens, but it's a pride parade, and we're there, so I imagine it'll be fine.'

Finally, Viorel leaned into the room, calling Luka and Myles away to chat with him. 'I'll have your stuff done for when you get back, Myles!' Jack called as he walked out, leaving him to finish off the bacon and eggs and sausage- no, actually, it was sausage, bacon, and eggs. The sausage was arguably the most important part, since he thought about it. Or at least had the most bulk compared to the other two aspects of it. Regardless, he finished those off, with a bit extra in case anyone else wanted some too, turning the heat down on the pan to make sure all of that stayed warm and ready to be served, then took to the table and grabbed some pancakes for himself, drizzling them with syrup before tucking in.

'Mm. You did good on these, Jensen,' Jack uttered after a couple of mouthfuls. He really had, honestly, they had quite a few good cooks in the SYNBAD building. Usually Gemina insisted on cooking, but it was always a good time being able to contribute to the offerings made.
Jack Valent

Jack awoke relatively early, or at least what felt early, stretching himself out before getting out of bed and gathering up a clean white towel, along with a set of clothes for the day to replace the pajamas he'd slept in last night. He always reckoned that sleeping in never did a body good - once you were up, you were up. Then again, he'd never really woken up before six in the morning, so he imagined he'd need to figure that one out when the situation arose.

And now that he was up, he needed to make sure his roommates were, too. Well, they shared a section of the second floor, really, but that included at least one room separate from everyone else, so roommates they were. Before exiting into the main floor area, he knocked rapidly on both of their doors, calling 'Luka, Gio! Time to get up, chaps! Today's an important day, we need to be up early!' With that achieved, he stepped out of their "apartment" and walked to the boy's bathroom. He always wondered why there was so much empty space upstairs between the bedrooms and the bathrooms, but he imagined that between Viorel, Gemina, Angelica and Laura, there was probably more building design experience in play than he had. Plus, it was nice and airy, something that wouldn't happen with a simple corridor.

Jack wondered about bathrooms, sometimes. He knew the term was used for toilets and bathrooms alike in the US, but even if they didn't have a bath, the presence of some form of cleaning appliance apparently qualified them to be bathrooms rather than toilets - like showers, for instance, which despite using water to clean one's body with, definitely didn't qualify as baths in their own right. Then again, baths in the past were basically large rooms containing shallow swimming pools, so what did he know? The point was, he considered as he placed his day clothes neatly on one side of a free stall and took a couple of seconds to leave his night clothes in a pile on the other side, humans had weird definitions for things.

A few minutes of showering later, Jack exited the stall and redressed, now in his outfit for the day. Nothing fancy, he reckoned. He didn't need to be fancy for this, really. With that said and done, time for breakfast, he felt. Or rather, time for Blinky to come running down toward the bathroom just as Jack stepped out. He smelled oddly nice today, didn't he? Maybe Gemina had gotten her hands on him properly today after all.

'Morning, Blinky,' Jack greeted the goblin, in turn being greeted with 'Shiny Man, Shiny Man! Wakesy, is time for shinys!' Ah, of course, the semi-daily ritual.

'Sure thing, Blinky. I might just have one shiny left in my back pocket...' he teased, reaching behind himself as the goblin bounced around with self-absorbed excitement. What Blinky didn't know was that the "shinys" Jack gave him were basically scrunched-up arm blades - more accurately, foil blades excreted from one arm, torn off with the other, then crumpled up noisily behind his back before being presented. This time, he produced some aluminium foil to crush into a ball; other times, the metal ranged from iron, to copper, and at one point what was basically gold leaf, just to see if he could. Jack always found it curious how he could just freely generate almost any substance he wanted, so long as it could cut something. Yet he'd never needed to experiment too much, since if he needed something specific, he reckoned he'd be able to create it regardless.

'Aaaand you ready, Blinky?' he asked, presenting the foil ball in front of him. Blinky wound up stepping from one foot to the other with excitement and preparation, just long enough for Jack to toss the ball back to the opposite corner of the area, calling out 'Go get it!' in the process, then leaving Blinky to be enamoured by his new shiny in the opposite corner as he made his way downstairs.

It didn't take long for Jack to make his way to the basement. He'd intended to cook breakfast, for himself and whoever else was downstairs at the time, but it transpired that Jensen had beaten him to the punch, complete with a tune being sung for him in an odd, presumably fae language by Alyssa. He greeted Jensen with a 'Morning' too, in his case following up with 'You mind if I help out here? I never get to make pancakes very often, but they're always really nice.'
@Jaredthefox92 Okay, that is a different situation from what I was imagining. I am not the GM, and don't claim to know his mind, so I'll leave the answer to that question to @Jbcool.
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