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Recent Statuses

6 days ago
Current I believe there is a small chance my computer could crash on me soon. It's probably not what I think it is, but if it is what I think it is, just be aware that my posting schedule might be affected.
1 like
10 days ago
And another person falls for the iMeme.
2 likes
11 days ago
Carry on, my memeward son... uh, meme harder or they'll get you... I think that's how it goes? Yeah, that's definitely how it goes, it's a childhood classic of mine.
8 likes
12 days ago
Click the forward button to get it back.
4 likes
12 days ago
Imagine the Lion King, except it's set in Siberia with bears or wolves or something.
2 likes

Bio

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.

Most Recent Posts

Darran's first patient for the day had arrived in his office, a plain affair with minimal decoration in spite of the funds he had available to him. It was the Countess del Arheidt again. She'd been one of his earliest patients, after his first foray into surgery for the sake of modification rather than saving life, and one of the more frequent attendees of his services. To many, she was naught but beautiful, absolutely stunning even, possessed of flawless pale skin, and gorgeous red hair, and a figure to kill for; to Darran, she was plastic in form, albeit not literally. Each surgical nick, every spot he'd touched up here and odd feature he'd put in there, all were easily located by his quick and familiar eye.

'Good morning, Darran! And how are we today?' the Countess asked.

'Just fine, thank you, my lady,' Darran responded, flashing a smile, 'but I should really be asking you that question. How long has it been, a couple of months? Are you sure you aren't burning through your funds too quickly?' It was best, he found, to keep pretending he cared about long-term customers personally. He was good at that.

'Oh, trust me, my funds are still plentiful,' she shot back, grinning in her turn in a manner that others would consider sultry. 'Certainly more than enough for what I've got in mind today, especially considering the advance payment...'

'And pray tell, what did you have in mind?' Darran asked, the door to his room closing automatically, and the security pict-recorder surveying the scene recording slightly modified visual and aural data, indicating no particular misdemeanour on either of their parts. Others were more subtle about their true desires. The Countess was not.

'Well, my dear,' she murmured, leaning in close, 'I've been feeling a bit pressured by some of my more, shall we say, aggressive rivals... I was hoping you might be able to fashion me something for my own defense, just in case I require it.' Of course, what she meant by that was "people are getting too close to figuring out my allegiance to Chaos, and I need a way to kill them if necessary". Not that a weapon as simple as a pistol wouldn't do the job, but apparently, this would be more appropriate for the wiles of the Prince of Pleasure. And who was he to deny her that? Only a surgeon.

'What were you thinking, then?'

'Well, the human ribcage is quite an interesting structure, isn't it? The lower bones, if you ask me, seem almost to be formed like spikes... I imagine six of those, around my right forearm, ought to suffice. Much sharper than usual, naturally.'

'Retractable?'

'Naturally!' the Countess uttered, seemingly a bit shocked. 'I'm not a fool, that I'd rather reveal myself than continue in the shadows. Besides, the pain that forcing them to extend out of my very flesh would inflict... mmhmmhmmm... well, it's certainly a tantalising thought, let's say.'

'Likewise that of impaling your foes, I imagine. Follow me, my fair lady,' Darran concluded, standing from behind his desk - a rare wood on this planet, as it happened, one of the few indicators of significant funds on his part - and heading out through the door the Countess had entered from. A few short minutes later had led them to Darran's operation room, with del Arheidt stripped and reclothed in a surgical gown beforehand (though despite her insisting that they had time, Darran did turn down her sexual advances in the process), and Darran's hands, face, and surgical tools sterilised and appropriately covered where necessary. With all that said and done, Darran had the noblewoman place her arm into a clamp, holding the limb in place at the wrist in order to keep it steady. It remained as tight as it needed to be, despite her requests for it to be tightened just a little bit more.

'Well,' she murmured, twice-rebuked now, 'do you think you could... perhaps perform the surgery without anaesthetic? I can only imagine how unique being awake whilst you're being operated upon is...' Her breathing noticeably increased at the thought, and yet whilst it was presumably intensely erotic for her, Darran could only stare at her with a mild mixture of annoyance and confusion, his artificial limbs unfolding from behind his back, in particular an extending arm connecting to a pipe of the anaesthetic in particular, complete with needle.

'But then you'd move around,' he countered. Not willing to waste further time on this argument, he inserted the needle into the woman's neck, the drug passing into her system and knocking her unconscious within seconds. With the patient out cold, he began the process.

Step one: cut away flesh from the operating area. Multiple tiny monofilament knives inserted themselves into her flesh just below her wrist joint, first cutting a circle around, and then in straight lines downward, around the major blood vessels where necessary, before pulling the muscle away to reveal the bone beneath.

Step two: acquire sample of operant tissue, and use it as the base for the implant. A hollow drillbit inserted itself into the bone beneath the wrist, creating a tiny channel down to the center before drawing out a plug of the substances it had cut through. The drill promptly pressed into a device at the side of the bed- one that Darran had yet to figure out a way to miniaturise suitably for attachment to his body- along with six pins to form a mind-impulse link. In his head, he brought to mind the form desired of his artifice, a number of curved points that would remain hidden within the arm when retracted, and would move out past the tip of a held knife when extended, and all extremely sharp at their tips... though perhaps the bones themselves ought to be serrated on either side, as if they were blades? Since they were intended for combat, after all. Once the design was finalised, the machine beeped once, before stem cells began to bubble within, forming the structures for the individual blades as needed.

Step three: rebuild the muscle and nerve structures in the forearm to accept new implants, and control extension and retraction. This was a simpler matter: spindle-thin actuators extended from one of Darran's arms, each able to manipulate individual threads of muscle and nerve, whilst miniature optics scanned each in detail to determine exactly how it functioned. Threads were split, realigned, spliced, and overall moulded to form. By the time the bone blades were complete, what I had seemed to be quite sufficient.

Step four: attach the new implants, ensure they work as intended. A simple enough procedure. Same process as before, only with direct connection to the implants themselves. Their arrangement was such that once the flesh was fully restored, the arm would appear barely different from its unaltered counterpart, yet testing via electrical current showed that the blades would emerge quite forcefully, one set of muscles forcing them out, and the paired set drawing them back in. Which would be necessary, of course, to properly unsheath themselves from within the Countess' arm.

Step five: restore the cut away flesh. A matter of realigning the meat in its former position and fusing it back together, albeit with newly-cut and moulded channels to ensure extension and retraction would not be too ungainly. He liked having a consistent source of income more than he liked fulfilling the desires of his customers to suffer, after all.

And like that, the job was completed to Darren's exacting standards, and in the span of a mere hour no less. Removing the needle from the Countess' neck, Darran walked out of the operation room to clean his tools before retracting them back into his body. The drill in particular was always a bit fiddly, depending on how much material was still stuck inside it. He ought to figure out a way for the mechanical objects to clean themselves, perhaps an internalised form of the process he used at the moment...

He returned to the sight of the Countess, again nudified, but also with a glazed look on her face. Most likely caused by the bone weaponry extending out of her wrist, dripping a few small puddles of blood on the floor.

'My lady, it's good to see you're up and about,' Darran began, as charming as ever. 'I was going to suggest you allow some time before first extending those blades of yours, but... well, I suppose the warning is slightly moot, considering your circumstances.'

'You know, Darran,' the Countess replied, unsteadily pacing toward him, though unusually calm in tone, 'I did always like your charm. And your appearance. And I don't think it's right that somebody with such allegiances as yours has no dealings in the more sensual side of His blessings, after all...'

'Countess, with all due respect, I am not sleeping with you. In case you're inclined to attack me for the right, I remind you that I can fairly readily cut open a vital blood vessel with but a moment's notice.'

'And I remind you, doctor, that I am a woman of high standing amongst this world's inhabitants. And somebody possessed of many and varied charms and wiles.'

It did seem odd for a moment that she chose to retract the bone blades as she drew nearer to Darran. Less so when, seemingly from out of nowhere behind her, she drew out a gun and placed it just beneath Darran's chin.

'Oh, so you do have a pistol on you,' he mused. 'I wondered about that... only a stubber, though?'

'You understand that its usual positioning isn't exactly accessible to me. It's more of a self-defense measure when a lover is off-guard and thinks the same of me,' she explained, 'though in this case, the situation is somewhat different. Now, I can put it back where it came from, with a smoking and bloody barrel, or you can replace it with... yourself.'

'I do have other patients scheduled.'

'For when?'

'...not for the next couple of hours, I suppose.' And at the end of the day, he considered, sexual pleasure was a better option than mere death.

'Well, if you insist,' Darran yielded with a somewhat overdramatic shrug, 'though I must point out beforehand that, for instance, ending my life for a cheap thrill or offering to Him would be the equivalent of cutting out much greater thrills in the future. I shouldn't need to explain why. If you don't mind, my living quarters are but a short walk away? The benefits of a private practice, after all.' Mollified, the Countess put her weapon away with a smile, and beckoned for him to lead on, gathering her clothes from where they had been neatly positioned outside of the surgery proper. Apparently, she'd be making this walk in the buff, if only to excite herself, since there'd be nobody between point A and point B to observe other than her surgeon. Darran wondered whether that'd add to the upcoming experience enough to avoid harm on his part.
@jbeil I'm here. I think we're waiting on @Jbcool right now, unless he's just abandoned this outright. Jb?
Looks like Pro takes this round. I now know where I went wrong, and how I can revise those issues. Expect us.
@Jbcool I'd like to include an NPC adherent of Slaanesh getting surgery in my next post. I don't know if the conversation will be particularly long, since I'd assume the NPC is put under before going under the knife, but maybe afterwards.
Making his way up toward the top deck, the sounds of pitched sea battle were a consistent backdrop to Yuudaina's jog topside. On his way, he stumbled as the largest impact yet struck the Marina, though it seemed no significant damage had been done, and he eventually passed another member of the crew - Warrant Officer Kendrick, if he recalled correctly - setting up what seemed to be a handful of spikes on one of the stairwells between the upper and lower decks. A smart move, that. Might catch out any enemy crew members who felt like attacking the crew of the lower deck. It did make making his way to the top deck just a bit more difficult, though.

And yet the sight of Vice-Admiral Freyja not only leading the charge, but practically holding back an entire ship, was certainly worth it. What else could one expect of a vice-admiral, but incredible feats such as these? Even the weakest of their number stood head and shoulders above just about any lesser Marine, after all, and Yuudaina felt that if he could ever measure up to her in that regard, he might just be able to die happy. Of course, if he ever managed to measure up to her in that regard, he wholly intended to have mastered Life Return to the point of eternal youth. And after that, he had a wife and child to teach that particular technique to as well... but that was beside the point. The point being, the enemy ship was wide open for an assault, now that it was in close proximity to the Marina.

'Distort: Rifle!' he called, his gauntlets shifting form to become a single oversized rifle, and his body already adjusting to precisely pick out targets, and then to pick them off one by one. The good thing about bearing a weapon that could change its form was that its precision could be very finely tuned, and that lead to very accurate ranged attacks when one focused on that property; even so, for each new Scrapyard target, he aimed for the center of mass, just in case they attempted to dodge or otherwise moved as the bullet was fired. It was somewhat surprising how fast some individuals could move if they felt like it, after all.
@ProPro I can already tell that this is going to be a good match.
Marxello Catchanale

Whilst he'd still done what he could to convince Syszi and Tue to return back as they snuck around, he had once again failed. At the very least, this wasn't a heavily Order-aligned city... which wasn't particularly soothing for him, for if even one Order Knight saw him, word would spread to the more conservative nations like wildfire, and that would utterly end any credibility he had in those regions. Not to mention the reaction any monster would have upon sighting him, though he wouldn't exactly consider himself their allies either. That said, the extra money they received for bringing the cannibal in alive was quite nice. And as for exploring Ambran...

'I think I'll head back,' Mark decided. 'I don't have any good reason to wander round the city, myself. If you want your blade looked at, though, Syszi, then don't let me stop you.' He handed a few of the coins he'd been given back to his partner, hopefully more than enough to let her get her sword examined alongside any other expenditures she wanted to make. And then, if neither of the two monsters wanted to return, he'd go back alone if necessary. Syszi could definitely take care of herself; Tue... Tue would probably be fine if she stuck with Syszi.
There And Back Again

Not long after their prior conversation about food, Motley's phylactery piped up for the first time in a fair while. Pulling it from within his clothing, he was accosted first by the voice of the announcer from before, and then again by his opponent, one Captain Bartholomew K. Runch. The most annoying part of his speech came from learning that he was back in Oldtown - which sounded far more like the location Motley had just come from than where he'd been going - whereas the most interesting was the desire for a one-on-one fight. No allies, just the pirate captain and the vampire. Not that any preparations of Erina's could help him here, but if the pirate captain was so concerned with honour... well, he was going to wind up having a bad time.

And then came the position marker. From the muffled voice coming through the phylactery, it seemed to be a two part move - first, something relatively invisible, and secondly something extremely visible indeed. Clearly, the former move let him find a way to get insanely high in the air, in this case in preparation for the second move, but already it revealed a key factor in this fight: Runch had the ability to fly, and not slowly either, through some means or another, which would give him air superiority over Motley if push came to shove. At best, Motley could pull off a fairly high leap, following by using his Nega-Ripple to push against the air and hover around relatively slowly, maybe using Heavy Fuel to pull himself around when possible. So, preventing Runch from getting airborne if at all possible would be important.

That said, following the trail of whatever colourful substance he'd just scattered around would by no means be difficult. It was just the journey back that'd be tedious, since he'd already travelled it once. And that would annoy him, and he decided in advance that that meant perhaps being a bit more coarse with the good captain than was strictly necessary, starting with not telling the man his name.

'I'm afraid you are not going to like what happens next, Captain Runch,' Motley droned into his phylactery, intimidation the aim of the game. After that, he put the device back beneath his shirt, then motioned to Erina to follow after him, back the way they came. More of a leisurely pace this time around, since a ten meter wide pool of life-sucking energy would be more than sufficient to keep them both safe from harm if need be, and it only made sense to let the man stew in his own worry for just a little while.

It wasn't long after they re-entered the Oldtown district that the first scattering of brightly-coloured cereal made itself known to Motley, floating atop the surface of the flooded district and rather soaked by now. Surely the same stuff that had been emitted by Runch, or whatever devices he held that let him create so much cereal. Another important point worth noting, then: Runch could create and potentially control cereal, in abnormally vast quantities no less. So, whilst it was his usual MO anyway, Motley would definitely want to get as close to Runch as possible to prevent the man taking advantage of that capacity... if his Black Ripple wasn't sufficient to nullify the cereal on its own, since a quick test showed that it was simple enough, at least, to disintegrate just the one waterlogged puff of whatever grain was in that thing. His lightning mode might also be useful for that purpose, preventing Barty from making full use of his abilities and/or devices if the electrical surge was strong enough.

Figuring out where to go was simple enough based on the thickness of cereal covering the water and land, and it eventually transpired that the destination was a large, ancient-looking colosseum. Halting outside it, Motley took a moment to gather in the sight - it wasn't exactly an eyesore, after all - then pondered on the streak of humour that Runch was showing off by setting their fight in what was quite literally a giant arena. And wouldn't it be equally humorous to force an anticlimax by making the ship's captain come and fight him just outside of it? Although there were better reasons to force such an event, after all... it could be that he'd rigged the entire building with traps whilst Motley was making his way there. Or perhaps that he'd done so before even contacting him. He seemed very certain that that was where he wanted Motley to go, after all... he pressed a hand over the phylactery under his clothing, muffling any noise that might otherwise reach it.

'Erina, you're a smart girl. I want you to stay outside the amphitheatre,' Motley ordered quietly, 'to wait for myself and Captain Runch to emerge, and if you see me having trouble at any point, to use Bend to end the fight decisively. Can you do that?'

'Tch, what, do you think I'm some sort of-'

'Okay, I made a mistake in my wording, so let me clarify: you are going to do that for me, because I'm sure it's within your power to do so.' Now was not the time for her to be contradictory, and he needed to be absolutely certain she could assist if he needed the assistance.

'...yeah, I can do that,' she murmured, just a tad surer in her words than before. 'You'll know when I make my move.' With that, she wandered off, hand already at the hilt of her blade.

And with no further distractions, Motley began to climb the colosseum's wall, fingers puncturing sets of holes into the rock as he ascended. If his theory about the place being trapped to Hell and back held true, there was no reasonable way that he'd want to wander through the halls of the amphitheatre so casually. That was just asking for trouble, after all. So, instead, he'd climb up to the top level, and make his foe come up there in order to fight him. A risk, if the air superiority thing held true, but one that might be worth taking.

A mere minute passed before he reached that top level, and he found himself within what seemed to be the amphitheatre's uppermost stands. And that raised a good question: was the ability to summon cereal the man's Stand ability, or was that a factor of some other power source, in the manner of Erina's ability to summon flames that burned the undead? He knew not, and from the look of the man below him, it could easily go either way - he certainly seemed to be an old-fashioned captain of some sort or another, at least, though the torn-up cape was somewhat less standard.

Pulling out his phylactery again, and making certain Heavy Fuel wasn't visibly manifested beforehand, he spoke into it before putting it back under his shirt: 'Come up to the stands.' If the pirate wanted to make this quick, then Motley certainly wouldn't mess around with smalltalk.

@Lugubrious@ProPro
@Hillan Wait, is the ship called the Marina or the Marinara? Because you've used both in successive posts.
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