Rangers lead the way, warfighters.
Corporal Lance Member
Devil Dog
STATUS: They all laughed at Billy Joe and his accent until he drew his Holy Adjudicator bathed in light and fire. The "I Reckon-ing" was upon them. 7 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Corporal Lance
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 417 (0.11 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Corporal Lance 10 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Current
They all laughed at Billy Joe and his accent until he drew his Holy Adjudicator bathed in light and fire. The "I Reckon-ing" was upon them.
6
likes
7 yrs ago
Burn the land, boil the sea... K-I-S-S-I-N-G?
2
likes
7 yrs ago
"I wonder why my shirts have holes toward the bottom?" I think to myself, wrapping my shirt around another twist-off bottle cap for leverage.
5
likes
7 yrs ago
Feelin' like a newb again
9 yrs ago
Man, Zelda can be SCARY when you learn how to use her. Dem heels doe...
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Most Recent Posts
Even after palming the living shit out of the bolt the heap of scrap wouldn't budge an inch. Darius had worked up a sweat pounding away at his rifle, though whether that was through exertion or panic sweat was a little uncertain. The gravity of the situation certainly didn't escape him, the more rounds downrange the company placed the more time they bought away from the barbaric monstrosities that threatened to descend upon them. After over a minute of unsuccessful whipping on his weapon the man resorted to drastic measures, pulled out his E-tool, and hammered the damn thing like a cheap nail on plasterboard. After a few hard swings the bolt snapped and moved, although roughly. Darius charged the bolt over and over to work out the kinks, but it never got smooth even after all the cleaning and maintenance he'd done to it the night before. Fuckin' swell. Probably some brass that snapped off in the bolt assembly, that's what happens when you recycle your material like a poor family with eight kids hand-me-downing a pair of ratty jeans. The man kept manhandling the rifle even still, hoping to at least snap and bend something into working for at least one more Godforsaken day. It could break in its own time, but this was crunch time.
As he sat racking the bolt back and snapping it reluctantly forward, he noticed a familiar face in his periphery take a seat next to him and look at him purposefully. Drawing his gaze, it was the soldier he pulled in to take his place at the firing line. A kid, college age, swept up in this hot mess just like the rest of them. Guess war couldn't wait until a young man had a little time to start his life first. He'd barely recognized him, everything had been a blur in his hustle to throw rounds into bodies. The kid looked... different from what he'd seen of most. Resolute maybe, like the tiniest glimmer of hope was living within him. With an expectant expression he gave Darius a solemn nod. The man knew what it meant. They were in the thick of it, but even in this hellhole a man could recognize what was what. Their position as equals, what awaited them at the end of the dusty plains, it was that sort of kinship that made soldiers strong. A complete stripping down of all concepts, what mood you were in, what you believed... They were all people in a struggle. Everyone could see the end, everyone understood. To think he'd find such humanity at the end of it.
Darius chewed on his tongue as he responded in kind with an equally-knowing nod. The larger man turned his gaze toward the approaching mob growing closer with its cloak of dust and gave the boy a firm slap on the back. It was an odd sort of moment, the two of them staring down impending death hobbling along with slobbering jaws. Someone get the camera. But Darius didn't sit still for long, an impossible feat when there was work to be done.
"Back in..." he muttered as he saw a place open up on the line, charging his rifle with a little difficulty as he sprung up to stalk in a crouch back toward the trenches as if he'd never slowed down in the first place.
Maybe this time would be different. Once more the fledgling soldier shouldered his firearm, wrapping his arm through his worn sling as he sighted in. Not terribly difficult considering the Grik were hardly more than a few hundred meters out now. With a firm trigger squeeze a round popped off with a loud CRACK. Darius grinned wind, breathing in and out for his next few shots.
CRACK
CRACK
Pop!
...Click, click!
"Deadass no-good muthafucka!" he shouted in frustration, spiking his rifle powerfully into the ground with his rage, bending the barrel slightly as it hit the hard clay. As anticipated, Darius's weapon was irreversibly fucked. He was almost ashamed he'd gotten his hopes up. But the Grik were upon them, not even 50 meters from the line, some even further. He could feel the rumbling ground underneath their mindless feet, smell the... pastries? The fuck? Darius had just enough time before the Grik met the trenches to eject his magazine and place it back into his ammo pouch, sling his rifle, and grab his E-tool. Gotta use what's available to you and right now that wasn't any gun. He was more prepared than most when the mindless zombies broke through the barbed wire. Their scent of freshly-baked goodies just like grandma used to make sickened the senses, contrasting against the gore they began to unleash. While his comrades emptied their weapons more frantically into the enemy Darius held something with a little more stopping power on the line. Acting completely on reflex, as a Grik charged his position he lashed out with the sharp edge of his shovel, catching the pale mutant in the eye but only stunning it slightly as the abomination twisted its neck up toward him to hiss a banana-scented warning.
Now there were several people in the world, but all of them fell into three groups when the shit hit the fan. Fight, Flight, or Freeze. All were evident as soon as the melee began, with some soldiers abandoning their posts in full-blown terror, others emptying their magazines more frantically or lashing out with the stocks of their rifles, or freezing only to be caught in the jaw with a stray blade from a sickly-looking crime against nature. Darius had always been the Fighting type. With a guttural roar not out of place for the enemy, the man brought his shovel down on the neck of the Grik, causing it to lurch and raise its hunk of metal again. He swung twice more like a madman as the alien almost collapsed against him, head hanging loosely and barely attached as it gurgled thick, syrupy blood from its neck.
BRUMAAAAK!
As Darius shoved the limp corpse off of himself to fall with the bodies at the front of the firing line, both man and beast, he could see the rocks flying through the air crashing on his left and right flank by tens of meters. The rolling boulders skipped and bounced through the Grik ranks, crushing the sweet-scented lunatics before skidding across the line turning once capable soldiers into paste on the foreign clay. He could hear the anguished screams from the men trapped under rocks, those being sliced into or riddled with bullet holes and the panicked shouts of people scrambling away from the trenches as the pale menaces began to filter their way through the holes. Time stood still for Darius, a spectator in the bloodbath around him when the shock took over. In slow motion he could see the men to his left flank begin to edge back from the sandbags, drifting his eyes to the team to his right shouting in bloody rage as the flashes strobed from the front of their weapons in a dangerous light show. And toward the front a Grik was charging straight for him with an axed limb held high, the drool flying from its mouth in a guttural scream of murder.
The soldier flinched and brought up his E-tool, holding it out defensively as the rusted metal crashed down into the tungsten. It hit Darius like a freight train, smashing and snapping through the shovel, digging into his body armor, and cleaving into his sternum. The force of the blow knocked him back to sprawl with his back to the dug-up dirt like a boxer on the ropes. But he wasn't dead yet. The blade might have pierced the center of his chest all the way to the bone, but it was dead center and halted after getting a few millimeters into his ribcage. Worst he could notice was that it knocked the wind out of him with the adrenaline coursing through his veins but the Grik was soon on top of him, spreading its disgusting body across the length of the trench as it tried to finish the job. And then the first stroke of luck Darius had had all day. As the monster bore down on him with clacking teeth, dripping jowls, and tropical scent it was viciously ripped in half in a hail of bullets, flopping on the ground like a fish as it reached for any living thing within its grasp with its death throes.
FALL BACK! FALL BACK!
Darius didn't need to hear it a second time. They were already in the trenches and marauding about the FOB in a gory rampage. The line was long gone. The wounded soldier forgot all heroism as he vaulted from the dugout and sprinted through the vicious melee like a rabbit among the wolves, ducking swings of jagged metal with friendly bullets whizzing past him with harsh cracks. It felt like it had taken minutes when it was really less than half of one. And then he pushed to the clearing where the scraps of his company were backpedaling against the invading threat stripping them clean like locusts.
The ragged man looked behind him heaving in heavy breaths, covered in blood both black and red. He gazed back at the dregs of those still inside the FOB fighting for their lives and realized that he had failed them. Darius ran. Soldiers didn't run. He didn't even take anyone with him, he just powered through to save his own skin and now here he was, useless and without a weapon with whoever was left. A whole fireteam... among them himself, the Captain, Intel Sergeant Murphy, the kid, a girl that couldn't have been an adult that long, a fierce man bigger than him, and the older woman with the bionic that was digging into his blood-stained torn-up vest.The man nearly jumped a mile when she shouted about covering her, grabbing his grenade and the grenades of others as she charged forward back into the bloodbath. It wasn't until then that he felt the sting, the ache, the driving pain in his chest rocketing across to his shoulders. The wounded soldier winced. It was like a heart attack, robbing him of breath as the blood oozed slowly from the almost 3-inch long gash.
But Darius wasn't about to be useless when his fellow soldiers weren't quite willing to lay down and die yet. Setting his jaw, the man grunted with hurt as he undid the only buckle holding his body armor on after nearly getting chopped into bits.
"Hey!" he called out, tossing the bloody thing to the feet of the remnants of the company.
"Four mags! Make'em count!" The wounded soldier had, more or less, not fired most of his ammunition. An extra magazine for a handful of soldiers would be a lot more useful than what he was about to do. Darius gave the group a wide berth to avoid the outgoing gunfire as he charged toward the enemy without a weapon, armor, or helmet like the madman he was. No one else but a madman would sprint straight into the mouth of Hell eager to stab the Devil in the eye.
As Darius ran he slowed down for a moment in his reckless bullrush to pick up a nasty-looking cleaver one of the alien scumsuckers had dropped. It looked like a chef's knife if someone had bent it out of sheet metal, the blade bigger than he was from the waist up. The notched killing instrument looked like it belonged more in a horror movie than on a battlefield and the damn thing weighed at least 15 pounds. And Darius was gonna jam it down their abominable throats.
"RrrrrrRRRRRAAARGH!" he shouted as he charged with the blade forward, ramming it deep into the chest of one of the advancing Grik to the middle of the blade.
Karma's a bitch, motherfucker.
As he sat racking the bolt back and snapping it reluctantly forward, he noticed a familiar face in his periphery take a seat next to him and look at him purposefully. Drawing his gaze, it was the soldier he pulled in to take his place at the firing line. A kid, college age, swept up in this hot mess just like the rest of them. Guess war couldn't wait until a young man had a little time to start his life first. He'd barely recognized him, everything had been a blur in his hustle to throw rounds into bodies. The kid looked... different from what he'd seen of most. Resolute maybe, like the tiniest glimmer of hope was living within him. With an expectant expression he gave Darius a solemn nod. The man knew what it meant. They were in the thick of it, but even in this hellhole a man could recognize what was what. Their position as equals, what awaited them at the end of the dusty plains, it was that sort of kinship that made soldiers strong. A complete stripping down of all concepts, what mood you were in, what you believed... They were all people in a struggle. Everyone could see the end, everyone understood. To think he'd find such humanity at the end of it.
Darius chewed on his tongue as he responded in kind with an equally-knowing nod. The larger man turned his gaze toward the approaching mob growing closer with its cloak of dust and gave the boy a firm slap on the back. It was an odd sort of moment, the two of them staring down impending death hobbling along with slobbering jaws. Someone get the camera. But Darius didn't sit still for long, an impossible feat when there was work to be done.
"Back in..." he muttered as he saw a place open up on the line, charging his rifle with a little difficulty as he sprung up to stalk in a crouch back toward the trenches as if he'd never slowed down in the first place.
Maybe this time would be different. Once more the fledgling soldier shouldered his firearm, wrapping his arm through his worn sling as he sighted in. Not terribly difficult considering the Grik were hardly more than a few hundred meters out now. With a firm trigger squeeze a round popped off with a loud CRACK. Darius grinned wind, breathing in and out for his next few shots.
CRACK
CRACK
Pop!
...Click, click!
"Deadass no-good muthafucka!" he shouted in frustration, spiking his rifle powerfully into the ground with his rage, bending the barrel slightly as it hit the hard clay. As anticipated, Darius's weapon was irreversibly fucked. He was almost ashamed he'd gotten his hopes up. But the Grik were upon them, not even 50 meters from the line, some even further. He could feel the rumbling ground underneath their mindless feet, smell the... pastries? The fuck? Darius had just enough time before the Grik met the trenches to eject his magazine and place it back into his ammo pouch, sling his rifle, and grab his E-tool. Gotta use what's available to you and right now that wasn't any gun. He was more prepared than most when the mindless zombies broke through the barbed wire. Their scent of freshly-baked goodies just like grandma used to make sickened the senses, contrasting against the gore they began to unleash. While his comrades emptied their weapons more frantically into the enemy Darius held something with a little more stopping power on the line. Acting completely on reflex, as a Grik charged his position he lashed out with the sharp edge of his shovel, catching the pale mutant in the eye but only stunning it slightly as the abomination twisted its neck up toward him to hiss a banana-scented warning.
Now there were several people in the world, but all of them fell into three groups when the shit hit the fan. Fight, Flight, or Freeze. All were evident as soon as the melee began, with some soldiers abandoning their posts in full-blown terror, others emptying their magazines more frantically or lashing out with the stocks of their rifles, or freezing only to be caught in the jaw with a stray blade from a sickly-looking crime against nature. Darius had always been the Fighting type. With a guttural roar not out of place for the enemy, the man brought his shovel down on the neck of the Grik, causing it to lurch and raise its hunk of metal again. He swung twice more like a madman as the alien almost collapsed against him, head hanging loosely and barely attached as it gurgled thick, syrupy blood from its neck.
BRUMAAAAK!
As Darius shoved the limp corpse off of himself to fall with the bodies at the front of the firing line, both man and beast, he could see the rocks flying through the air crashing on his left and right flank by tens of meters. The rolling boulders skipped and bounced through the Grik ranks, crushing the sweet-scented lunatics before skidding across the line turning once capable soldiers into paste on the foreign clay. He could hear the anguished screams from the men trapped under rocks, those being sliced into or riddled with bullet holes and the panicked shouts of people scrambling away from the trenches as the pale menaces began to filter their way through the holes. Time stood still for Darius, a spectator in the bloodbath around him when the shock took over. In slow motion he could see the men to his left flank begin to edge back from the sandbags, drifting his eyes to the team to his right shouting in bloody rage as the flashes strobed from the front of their weapons in a dangerous light show. And toward the front a Grik was charging straight for him with an axed limb held high, the drool flying from its mouth in a guttural scream of murder.
The soldier flinched and brought up his E-tool, holding it out defensively as the rusted metal crashed down into the tungsten. It hit Darius like a freight train, smashing and snapping through the shovel, digging into his body armor, and cleaving into his sternum. The force of the blow knocked him back to sprawl with his back to the dug-up dirt like a boxer on the ropes. But he wasn't dead yet. The blade might have pierced the center of his chest all the way to the bone, but it was dead center and halted after getting a few millimeters into his ribcage. Worst he could notice was that it knocked the wind out of him with the adrenaline coursing through his veins but the Grik was soon on top of him, spreading its disgusting body across the length of the trench as it tried to finish the job. And then the first stroke of luck Darius had had all day. As the monster bore down on him with clacking teeth, dripping jowls, and tropical scent it was viciously ripped in half in a hail of bullets, flopping on the ground like a fish as it reached for any living thing within its grasp with its death throes.
FALL BACK! FALL BACK!
Darius didn't need to hear it a second time. They were already in the trenches and marauding about the FOB in a gory rampage. The line was long gone. The wounded soldier forgot all heroism as he vaulted from the dugout and sprinted through the vicious melee like a rabbit among the wolves, ducking swings of jagged metal with friendly bullets whizzing past him with harsh cracks. It felt like it had taken minutes when it was really less than half of one. And then he pushed to the clearing where the scraps of his company were backpedaling against the invading threat stripping them clean like locusts.
The ragged man looked behind him heaving in heavy breaths, covered in blood both black and red. He gazed back at the dregs of those still inside the FOB fighting for their lives and realized that he had failed them. Darius ran. Soldiers didn't run. He didn't even take anyone with him, he just powered through to save his own skin and now here he was, useless and without a weapon with whoever was left. A whole fireteam... among them himself, the Captain, Intel Sergeant Murphy, the kid, a girl that couldn't have been an adult that long, a fierce man bigger than him, and the older woman with the bionic that was digging into his blood-stained torn-up vest.The man nearly jumped a mile when she shouted about covering her, grabbing his grenade and the grenades of others as she charged forward back into the bloodbath. It wasn't until then that he felt the sting, the ache, the driving pain in his chest rocketing across to his shoulders. The wounded soldier winced. It was like a heart attack, robbing him of breath as the blood oozed slowly from the almost 3-inch long gash.
But Darius wasn't about to be useless when his fellow soldiers weren't quite willing to lay down and die yet. Setting his jaw, the man grunted with hurt as he undid the only buckle holding his body armor on after nearly getting chopped into bits.
"Hey!" he called out, tossing the bloody thing to the feet of the remnants of the company.
"Four mags! Make'em count!" The wounded soldier had, more or less, not fired most of his ammunition. An extra magazine for a handful of soldiers would be a lot more useful than what he was about to do. Darius gave the group a wide berth to avoid the outgoing gunfire as he charged toward the enemy without a weapon, armor, or helmet like the madman he was. No one else but a madman would sprint straight into the mouth of Hell eager to stab the Devil in the eye.
As Darius ran he slowed down for a moment in his reckless bullrush to pick up a nasty-looking cleaver one of the alien scumsuckers had dropped. It looked like a chef's knife if someone had bent it out of sheet metal, the blade bigger than he was from the waist up. The notched killing instrument looked like it belonged more in a horror movie than on a battlefield and the damn thing weighed at least 15 pounds. And Darius was gonna jam it down their abominable throats.
"RrrrrrRRRRRAAARGH!" he shouted as he charged with the blade forward, ramming it deep into the chest of one of the advancing Grik to the middle of the blade.
Karma's a bitch, motherfucker.
<Snipped quote by Dervish>
I think Lance has gone section 8, man...
Cocaine's a helluva drug. O_o
Oh nooooooo! Looks like I'm about to break my promise and you'll have to beat me! Just gimme a minute to get the ball gag.
But no seriously, I'm over halfway through a post and most of the way through a 12-rack of Coors Light so I'm a little too drunk to finish tonight. It's already a good portion written tho, so it'll be up in time at a decent time tomorrow.
But no seriously, I'm over halfway through a post and most of the way through a 12-rack of Coors Light so I'm a little too drunk to finish tonight. It's already a good portion written tho, so it'll be up in time at a decent time tomorrow.
Alright, no joke, posting tomorrow. If I fail to meet that promise feel obligated to beat me with a socket wrench. I swear it won't be weird and I definitely won't enjoy it.
I'm hungry.
Yer always hungry.
You never feed me ever.
I fed you my milk toast a' the Nightingale Inn!
I don't remember that. Can I have a hambone?
I denne have any hambones, I didne eat any meat for breakfast. And I canne afford it.
I love hambones.
I know ye do but I don' have'em.
Wait! Who's that guy?! Look at that guy! That is a weird strange guy!
No he's not, keep walkin'.
He looked at you. He was going to bite you. But I would bite him first because I am a good guy.
Ye're a coward and a liar.
I am a good guy, I would never let anyone bite you ev- DOG!
Ye're- WHOA!
DOG! DOG! HI DOG! HI! FRIEND? HI! HI! FRIEND? FRIEND? HOW ARE YOU? HI! FRIEND?
CALM YER BLOODY ARSE DOWN YE MANGY BEASTIE!
Patty was pulled like a rag doll by her Saint Bernard, chiding the salty dog as it lost it fell all over itself by the sight of another hound as they passed the gate, hopping around like a madman with his tail waving as if caught in a whirlwind. Less chiding and more surreptitious growling as it were, which gave the wee lass a few stares that she shrugged off as she dragged her stupid mutt toward the bazaar. Supplies were on the list today, just a double-check of what she could nab before setting out. The time to act was now, she could tell. She'd only been there a day, but little Patty had enough experience under her belt to tell that when a cavalcade of freaks started showing up they were about to do great things. Strange people from strange lands, armed to the teeth with odd weapons and foreign armors, looking stronger than she was to boot. The Gnome looked out place herself, though her coat was closed there was no hiding her backpack or the swords she had on her, looking more like a child playing "mercenary" than the treasure hunter she was. She wouldn't be outdone either way. They could be stronger, more powerful, and as well-equipped as they wanted to be. Patty would just have to be that much smarter, quicker, and less conspicuous.
The road had been a harsh mistress on her journey, now entering its third week. From the grassy wilds of the Green Glades to the Vil'Khul Forest the entire trip had been both dull and stressful. The open seas were a lot more entertaining when anything could happen, and the open and free salt-filled air was welcome on her skin. On land it was just hot and humid and she had to run from wolves sometimes or stab assholes in the kneecaps. Landborne for three weeks and she'd already had no less than four attempts to rob her, and not good ones either. Chumps from the backwoods didn't know how to set up a good ambush. But it'd all be worth it after she had snuck her way inside The Keep of the Dead and rooted out what valuable artifacts that lay within. Doch Mol, the seemingly impenetrable stronghold of the once-living. Not if she'd had anything to say about it, she just hadn't been there yet. Patty first caught wind of it from a merchant at port telling wild tales on his way out of Norbank on a schooner. The Gnome wasn't one to listen to such falsehoods yet something about it grabbed her, coaxed her, and soon she was hearing it everywhere. From her burglary in Lansque for the mayor's opal ring to her voyage down the coastline of Gilden, the story remained to tempt her until she decided that no Lord or Lady on the Western Seaboard had enough guarded a manor to satisfy her urge to challenge herself anymore.
Which had brought her to Wesville. And time was running short. She'd awoken early that morning from a fitful sleep at the Nightingale Inn to begin gathering her pack and strategizing 'fore the sun broke over the horizon. She had her tools of trade plus the telescope she'd borrowed from her last time aboard a ship, a bear trap she'd found in the woods that she cleaned the rust off of, and some holy water she'd gotten a priest to bless a few towns back in Salerun in exchange for getting rid of some pests in the belfry. It struck her to buy a crossbow but that might be too bulky. Besides, she wouldn't need it if she never got caught. All that was left were some odds and ends, but her purse was growing lighter by the day. Healing potions were a priority yet she might have to take some the dishonest way. It may as well be a good day to practice, it was the last place she'd be able to do so before she was deep within the lifeless lands.
I liked that dog. That was a nice dog. We are friends.
Aww I love ya ya hopeless moron, Patty growled from her throat, giving Fisher a rough scratch on the scalp.
Pets! Pets pets pets I love pets pets are my favorite thing! *sniff sniff sniff... sniffsniffsniffsniff* MEAT! MeatmeatmeatIlovemeatmeatismyfavoritething!
The sailor once again lost what little control she had over her idiot pooch as the Saint Bernard bounded up to a quite popular booth crowded shoulder to shoulder to get a look. As the mangy dog began to smell and lick tentatively at the heels of the people in the rear Patty would approach, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look at the wares. Something this popular was either incredibly valuable or absolutely useless junk that happened to be gaining traction as the great new fad. She had to angle her way around the table a bit but soon the woman hawking whatever it was began giving a sales pitch over what she was selling: birds. The one-eyed fair one from on the other side of the booth was selling little mechanical bird trinkets and it was at that moment that Patty decided that the answer was "both". A neat little doodad to most, but a precious tool it could be. And Patty had to have one.
Her emerald eyes grew transfixed on the flapping machinations chirping about the stand as the cogs in her brain turned. A machine like that could make a nice distraction or a test for traps, she might even be able to barter it if the fad picked up enough. But not only that, she was devising a plan to take one. Right in plain sight. As everyone watched. A vacant grin crept at her lips as the scouting began.
Patty took a strategic position on the far side of the table as the demonstration went on, one with a clear line of sight as she practiced what she'd do and say. Mind made up, ready to act, a little flying automaton flew its way from the table where her tiny hand reached out to meet it. The expression on her face was one of feigned wonder as she held the shiny fake sparrow, peering back up with childlike glee.
"I think this one likes me!" she gushed to the sensible chuckles of the crowd. Patty extended her hand once more for the toy to flutter back to the table, turning about to leave with a soft wave and convincing pleased smile to the crowdgoers. Some clapped at the demonstration before returning to clamor at the magnificent toys as they were before as Patty grinned to herself and stuffed the real machination into an inner pocket near her chest with her back to them.
The "flying bird" had been flapping against her Mage Hand as she guided it to her palm, and when it "left to return to its place among the other birds"... it never really left. Nor would it be there in a few moments. She doubted anyone had noticed her Minor Illusion with the dainty wave of her free hand. She was just an innocent little girl caught up in the magic of the next generation of toys, after all. People'd be gullible enough to believe that. The one-eyed lass had enough birds anyway, it wasn't as if she was going to miss a single one of'em disappearing. With a hand tugging at her collar to hide the movements of the freshly-stolen automaton until she could safely place it into a more discreet pocket, the wee lass brought two fingers to her lips to give a loud signalling whistle.
"Fiiiiiiiisheeeeeer! Get a move on ya daffy cur!" The Saint Bernard ceased his inspection of the interesting smells of boots and the the booth with the meat lady to flop after the tiny woman, disappearing further into Wesville's market to gather last minute odds and ends.
@CoyoteLovely @LPRKN
Yer always hungry.
You never feed me ever.
I fed you my milk toast a' the Nightingale Inn!
I don't remember that. Can I have a hambone?
I denne have any hambones, I didne eat any meat for breakfast. And I canne afford it.
I love hambones.
I know ye do but I don' have'em.
Wait! Who's that guy?! Look at that guy! That is a weird strange guy!
No he's not, keep walkin'.
He looked at you. He was going to bite you. But I would bite him first because I am a good guy.
Ye're a coward and a liar.
I am a good guy, I would never let anyone bite you ev- DOG!
Ye're- WHOA!
DOG! DOG! HI DOG! HI! FRIEND? HI! HI! FRIEND? FRIEND? HOW ARE YOU? HI! FRIEND?
CALM YER BLOODY ARSE DOWN YE MANGY BEASTIE!
Patty was pulled like a rag doll by her Saint Bernard, chiding the salty dog as it lost it fell all over itself by the sight of another hound as they passed the gate, hopping around like a madman with his tail waving as if caught in a whirlwind. Less chiding and more surreptitious growling as it were, which gave the wee lass a few stares that she shrugged off as she dragged her stupid mutt toward the bazaar. Supplies were on the list today, just a double-check of what she could nab before setting out. The time to act was now, she could tell. She'd only been there a day, but little Patty had enough experience under her belt to tell that when a cavalcade of freaks started showing up they were about to do great things. Strange people from strange lands, armed to the teeth with odd weapons and foreign armors, looking stronger than she was to boot. The Gnome looked out place herself, though her coat was closed there was no hiding her backpack or the swords she had on her, looking more like a child playing "mercenary" than the treasure hunter she was. She wouldn't be outdone either way. They could be stronger, more powerful, and as well-equipped as they wanted to be. Patty would just have to be that much smarter, quicker, and less conspicuous.
The road had been a harsh mistress on her journey, now entering its third week. From the grassy wilds of the Green Glades to the Vil'Khul Forest the entire trip had been both dull and stressful. The open seas were a lot more entertaining when anything could happen, and the open and free salt-filled air was welcome on her skin. On land it was just hot and humid and she had to run from wolves sometimes or stab assholes in the kneecaps. Landborne for three weeks and she'd already had no less than four attempts to rob her, and not good ones either. Chumps from the backwoods didn't know how to set up a good ambush. But it'd all be worth it after she had snuck her way inside The Keep of the Dead and rooted out what valuable artifacts that lay within. Doch Mol, the seemingly impenetrable stronghold of the once-living. Not if she'd had anything to say about it, she just hadn't been there yet. Patty first caught wind of it from a merchant at port telling wild tales on his way out of Norbank on a schooner. The Gnome wasn't one to listen to such falsehoods yet something about it grabbed her, coaxed her, and soon she was hearing it everywhere. From her burglary in Lansque for the mayor's opal ring to her voyage down the coastline of Gilden, the story remained to tempt her until she decided that no Lord or Lady on the Western Seaboard had enough guarded a manor to satisfy her urge to challenge herself anymore.
Which had brought her to Wesville. And time was running short. She'd awoken early that morning from a fitful sleep at the Nightingale Inn to begin gathering her pack and strategizing 'fore the sun broke over the horizon. She had her tools of trade plus the telescope she'd borrowed from her last time aboard a ship, a bear trap she'd found in the woods that she cleaned the rust off of, and some holy water she'd gotten a priest to bless a few towns back in Salerun in exchange for getting rid of some pests in the belfry. It struck her to buy a crossbow but that might be too bulky. Besides, she wouldn't need it if she never got caught. All that was left were some odds and ends, but her purse was growing lighter by the day. Healing potions were a priority yet she might have to take some the dishonest way. It may as well be a good day to practice, it was the last place she'd be able to do so before she was deep within the lifeless lands.
I liked that dog. That was a nice dog. We are friends.
Aww I love ya ya hopeless moron, Patty growled from her throat, giving Fisher a rough scratch on the scalp.
Pets! Pets pets pets I love pets pets are my favorite thing! *sniff sniff sniff... sniffsniffsniffsniff* MEAT! MeatmeatmeatIlovemeatmeatismyfavoritething!
The sailor once again lost what little control she had over her idiot pooch as the Saint Bernard bounded up to a quite popular booth crowded shoulder to shoulder to get a look. As the mangy dog began to smell and lick tentatively at the heels of the people in the rear Patty would approach, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look at the wares. Something this popular was either incredibly valuable or absolutely useless junk that happened to be gaining traction as the great new fad. She had to angle her way around the table a bit but soon the woman hawking whatever it was began giving a sales pitch over what she was selling: birds. The one-eyed fair one from on the other side of the booth was selling little mechanical bird trinkets and it was at that moment that Patty decided that the answer was "both". A neat little doodad to most, but a precious tool it could be. And Patty had to have one.
Her emerald eyes grew transfixed on the flapping machinations chirping about the stand as the cogs in her brain turned. A machine like that could make a nice distraction or a test for traps, she might even be able to barter it if the fad picked up enough. But not only that, she was devising a plan to take one. Right in plain sight. As everyone watched. A vacant grin crept at her lips as the scouting began.
Patty took a strategic position on the far side of the table as the demonstration went on, one with a clear line of sight as she practiced what she'd do and say. Mind made up, ready to act, a little flying automaton flew its way from the table where her tiny hand reached out to meet it. The expression on her face was one of feigned wonder as she held the shiny fake sparrow, peering back up with childlike glee.
"I think this one likes me!" she gushed to the sensible chuckles of the crowd. Patty extended her hand once more for the toy to flutter back to the table, turning about to leave with a soft wave and convincing pleased smile to the crowdgoers. Some clapped at the demonstration before returning to clamor at the magnificent toys as they were before as Patty grinned to herself and stuffed the real machination into an inner pocket near her chest with her back to them.
The "flying bird" had been flapping against her Mage Hand as she guided it to her palm, and when it "left to return to its place among the other birds"... it never really left. Nor would it be there in a few moments. She doubted anyone had noticed her Minor Illusion with the dainty wave of her free hand. She was just an innocent little girl caught up in the magic of the next generation of toys, after all. People'd be gullible enough to believe that. The one-eyed lass had enough birds anyway, it wasn't as if she was going to miss a single one of'em disappearing. With a hand tugging at her collar to hide the movements of the freshly-stolen automaton until she could safely place it into a more discreet pocket, the wee lass brought two fingers to her lips to give a loud signalling whistle.
"Fiiiiiiiisheeeeeer! Get a move on ya daffy cur!" The Saint Bernard ceased his inspection of the interesting smells of boots and the the booth with the meat lady to flop after the tiny woman, disappearing further into Wesville's market to gather last minute odds and ends.
@CoyoteLovely @LPRKN
Patty O'Flaherty
Name: Patty O'Flaherty
Height: 3'3"
Weight: 54lbs
Age: 76
Race/Species: Forest Gnome
Gnomes are a race of miniature Fey humanoids especially gifted in magic and exceptionally talented with working using their hands. Forest Gnomes are a subspecies of this group particularly attuned to the natural world around them.
Tier/Influence: 2 (Local)
Group(s): Unaffiliated
That first post is a doozy.
Took some creative liberties, assuming this is April 10th 2017 hence the weather being like it is. Also Seattle be rainy as hell, yo.
Took some creative liberties, assuming this is April 10th 2017 hence the weather being like it is. Also Seattle be rainy as hell, yo.
April 4th
The air hung anxiously in a sort of anticipatory quiet within the dark interior of the flat, rustling leaves of the dogwood tree outside casting dancing motes of light through the closed drapes. A still form laid sprawled across the couch, clad in Yogi Bear pajama bottoms and a pillow over its face in the tepid coolness of the Spring afternoon as the television cast the glow of its Netflix logo across the living room. Jingling of Christmas bells approached in a purposeful chime when a calico feline bounded upon the sofa, mewling and crying and climbing over the still-sleeping cadaver. Catori made her best attempt to ignore it until Mimi started kneading her side, stirring to consciousness and discarding the pillow carelessly onto the carpet.
"*siiiiigh*... I'm up. I'm up, I'll feed you," she groaned, lazily stroking her hand over the plushy fur of the cat. It was already one in the afternoon, on a Tuesday at that, but she hadn't had work that day. Or any day over the past two months. After leaving her job at ISCI she'd taken the time off to recuperate from her injuries and the medical compensation pay was nice and all, but there was nothing else to take up her time outside of binge-watching old sitcoms and taking care of her lawn. Cat wasn't in the right frame of being to go back to being a criminal psychotherapist, coming back to the Boise Police Department required her to pass a fitness test after her long separation (which frankly wasn't going to happen only two weeks coming off painkillers and a handful of years away from the gym), and her degree was too low to qualify for many of the psychologist's clinical positions. It was slim pickings unless she wanted to move to Canyon County and do something small time and the application process was depressing enough alone. The groggy woman shuffled her feet like a zombie toward the door, throwing on some unlaced boots and making her way to the patio to fill up her kitty's food bowl and check the mail.
Mostly spam mail, like always. Grocery store ads, a Cash4Gold mail slip she never asked for, a notice from the Toyota dealership that her truck was getting close to 50,000 miles, and an official letter marked URGENT and TIME SENSITIVE. Catori almost threw that one away if she hadn't recognized the government approval stamp on the front, spam can sneak up on you like that. Running an ebony nail along the lip of the envelope, the medium unfolded the offer letter and began to scan it with an unamused expression. She took a moment just looking at the letter, the plane tickets, and the dates and addresses before sighing loudly and running a hand down her tired face. She had a few phone calls to make.
Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ng... Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ng... Ri-i-i-i-i-
"...Idaho States Correction Institute, this is Jim Barnes speaking."
"April Fool's Day was on Saturday, Jimbo. You're a few days late," Catori croaked dryly.
"...Cat Ricci?"
"Yeah, it's me. I got the offer letter from the 3-letter organization you applied me for without telling me."
"You were looking for work and I floated your resume. I know you've got investigative experience under your belt and with those weird books you read I thought it would be a good fit. Get you back on the government payroll and all."
"They want me there on the tenth."
"...of this month?"
"Of this month, yes."
"They must really want you then, I knew your qualifications would get you through."
"No, I've already been accepted. Without interview. And they sent plane tickets. This sounds like a cult, Jimbo."
"Maybe a little, but they're the real deal. SEO likes to fly under the radar but they know what they're doing, you'll be taken good care of I promise."
"And what if I just don't go? I can't move all my stuff across the country and sell my house in less than a week."
"I didn't think the selection process would be so aggressive, I apologize for that, Cat."
"I'm gonna need favors, Jimbo. Lots of favors for this one."
"I'm sure we ca-"
"No no don't misunderstand, I'm not playing coy this time. You screwed me pretty hard intentional or not and I'm gonna need help."
"Alright, alright Cat I get it. I'm sorry. I'll help you anyway I can."
"Good. *siiiiigh* I'm gonna need someone to house-sit and get my mail when I'm between addresses, keep the place presentable until I can put it on the market-"
"Okay."
"-hand off my truck to the auto shippers and make sure the DCS people have access to the storage I need to go get-"
"Mm-hmm."
"-and I'm going to need a ride to the airport, I need to be there at 5 A.M. on Sunday."
"I'm not sure if I can help you there, Cat. Cassandra won't-"
"Screwed me, Jim. Bent me over a table, pulled my hair, smacked my ass and just had your sloppy way with me."
"Cat-"
"Raw dog. No lube, like all your life problems could be solved by sticki-"
"Cat ju-... just stop talking like that, please. I'll drive you to the airport on Sunday, I'm sure Cassie will understand if we're a little late to Mass."
"I knew you could be a gentle lover."
"Seriously Ricci knock it off, it's not funny."
"You're the only one in this conversation who thinks that," Catori prodded, a wry grin tugging at her lips, "I'll see you later this week after I make some arrangements. Mmmbye for now."
August 10th
It had been a long, exhausting week alright. Picking up around half a decade of life and lugging it to Washington State would do that to you. Catori hadn't even felt like going out and seeing the Soggy City after her flight had touched down, opting for chucking her baggage into her rented Fusion and making a beeline to the Best Western. The minor jet lag didn't help any and neither did the foreboding clouds that spoke of rain that Seattle was famous for, and the medium sipped her coffee as her tired eyes scanned the slick road. She'd been up since 5 that morning making sure that her pant suit was ironed, makeup done for a formal business setting, and slotting time to grab a "healthy" McDonald's breakfast with minutes to spare. Rob Zombie blared over the car radio louder than what could be considered reasonable as the compact crunched its tires into the adjacent parking lot at approximately 7:45, not too early and far from late. Through the drizzle-speckled windshield Catori could get a firmer look at her new headquarters and suffice to say it wasn't what she expected.
A manor in the city stood out enough, one with a large surrounding fence and gate even more so. It had a sort of ancientness to it, and while well-maintained it was clearly aged and worn. It almost looked like a historically preserved building and she wouldn't be shocked if it had been in fact. The style was clearly Victorian with the abundance of dreary windows that ran nearly floor to ceiling on all levels and the high-slanted roof with the flat top. The paled brick gave it a more official feel she thought, akin to a courthouse. But the most striking detail about the manner was that it didn't have any color. Completely translucent in almost a perfect cube, beginning at the fenceline and going back as far as she could perceive. Cat had never in her life seen that before. As she had driven up Route 99 all manner of spirits made themselves evident in a colorful display, even more so when she turned off into the more residential Roxhill where people, y'know, had residences to pass away in. She had seen at least one a block on her way to the manor yet the manner gave off absolutely NO aura whatsoever.
"...well that's not creepy at all..." remarked the psychologist to herself, pulling herself from her Ford.
With her coffee in one hand and purse and umbrella in another Ricci made her way toward the ornate gate at the entryway to the foreboding edifice, just a short trip down the sidewalk. The air was brisk for the spring, sitting just below 50 degrees with a biting wetness to the air and a healthy wind. It hadn't rained for about an hour but she wasn't about to take any chances. All except for the dampness it reminded her of Idaho. Emergent thoughts battled for attention as she made her short jaunt with moments before she was introduced to her new organization. The typical anxiety of starting a new job, the annoyance of the whole moving situation, worrying if her cat Mimi was going to be alright in her crate for a few hours. Orientation had better be short, Cat had things to do once she was either assigned a residence or found one herself.
Yet as early as she was Catori wasn't the first one there. It had taken her more than a moment to realize that a sunny blond girl with an aura to match belonged to the same organization. It was a bright goldenrod with orange tinges, like fresh-squeezed orange juice but more clear and bright. It denoted positivity, action, and extroversion, generally outgoing people. But you didn't need any special vision to see that from her mannerisms. Catori had initially thought she was out for a morning jog until she waved her down. Maybe... the SEO had some sort of fitness program like the FBI? That was probably it, the girl was dressed more to walk dogs than to work for a 3-letter agency, unlike the businesswomanly attire that Cat sported. She'd probably change once they got inside. To be honest it was a little worrying to know that she'd be working with someone so young. She looked like she just graduated high school! To have someone so far younger than her as technically her "senior" made her feel a little inadequate.
".....Heeeey..." the psychologist droned flatly in response to the chipper young woman's greeting. She wasn't in the mood to deal with people today, probably not all week with the crap she had to put up with. Moving her cat, getting her things shipped, phone calls, picking up her truck, more phone calls, learning the job... it was a lot to do. She circumnavigated the perky girl with a purposeful walk, cradling her umbrella and balancing her coffee in two fingers to tug on the gate. No dice. It wasn't locked though, but there wasn't a buzzer she could use to ring herself in or even a card reader by what she could see. Maybe it worked off RFID chip...? She'd need someone to let her in. Facing herself toward Sierra, Cat put on a more empathic, neutral, and professional tone than the dismissive and pessimistic droll she had first displayed toward her.
"Excuse me, my name is Catori Ricci, I was instructed to appear here today for in-processing? Oh, I'm sorry, it's nice to meet you as well, I'm not incredibly awake right now. Would you mind letting me inside, please?" she asked politely. To her chagrin Cat had almost left her tact back at the hotel. It didn't matter whether or not she was in the mood to deal with people, first impressions only happened once.
The air hung anxiously in a sort of anticipatory quiet within the dark interior of the flat, rustling leaves of the dogwood tree outside casting dancing motes of light through the closed drapes. A still form laid sprawled across the couch, clad in Yogi Bear pajama bottoms and a pillow over its face in the tepid coolness of the Spring afternoon as the television cast the glow of its Netflix logo across the living room. Jingling of Christmas bells approached in a purposeful chime when a calico feline bounded upon the sofa, mewling and crying and climbing over the still-sleeping cadaver. Catori made her best attempt to ignore it until Mimi started kneading her side, stirring to consciousness and discarding the pillow carelessly onto the carpet.
"*siiiiigh*... I'm up. I'm up, I'll feed you," she groaned, lazily stroking her hand over the plushy fur of the cat. It was already one in the afternoon, on a Tuesday at that, but she hadn't had work that day. Or any day over the past two months. After leaving her job at ISCI she'd taken the time off to recuperate from her injuries and the medical compensation pay was nice and all, but there was nothing else to take up her time outside of binge-watching old sitcoms and taking care of her lawn. Cat wasn't in the right frame of being to go back to being a criminal psychotherapist, coming back to the Boise Police Department required her to pass a fitness test after her long separation (which frankly wasn't going to happen only two weeks coming off painkillers and a handful of years away from the gym), and her degree was too low to qualify for many of the psychologist's clinical positions. It was slim pickings unless she wanted to move to Canyon County and do something small time and the application process was depressing enough alone. The groggy woman shuffled her feet like a zombie toward the door, throwing on some unlaced boots and making her way to the patio to fill up her kitty's food bowl and check the mail.
Mostly spam mail, like always. Grocery store ads, a Cash4Gold mail slip she never asked for, a notice from the Toyota dealership that her truck was getting close to 50,000 miles, and an official letter marked URGENT and TIME SENSITIVE. Catori almost threw that one away if she hadn't recognized the government approval stamp on the front, spam can sneak up on you like that. Running an ebony nail along the lip of the envelope, the medium unfolded the offer letter and began to scan it with an unamused expression. She took a moment just looking at the letter, the plane tickets, and the dates and addresses before sighing loudly and running a hand down her tired face. She had a few phone calls to make.
Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ng... Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ng... Ri-i-i-i-i-
"...Idaho States Correction Institute, this is Jim Barnes speaking."
"April Fool's Day was on Saturday, Jimbo. You're a few days late," Catori croaked dryly.
"...Cat Ricci?"
"Yeah, it's me. I got the offer letter from the 3-letter organization you applied me for without telling me."
"You were looking for work and I floated your resume. I know you've got investigative experience under your belt and with those weird books you read I thought it would be a good fit. Get you back on the government payroll and all."
"They want me there on the tenth."
"...of this month?"
"Of this month, yes."
"They must really want you then, I knew your qualifications would get you through."
"No, I've already been accepted. Without interview. And they sent plane tickets. This sounds like a cult, Jimbo."
"Maybe a little, but they're the real deal. SEO likes to fly under the radar but they know what they're doing, you'll be taken good care of I promise."
"And what if I just don't go? I can't move all my stuff across the country and sell my house in less than a week."
"I didn't think the selection process would be so aggressive, I apologize for that, Cat."
"I'm gonna need favors, Jimbo. Lots of favors for this one."
"I'm sure we ca-"
"No no don't misunderstand, I'm not playing coy this time. You screwed me pretty hard intentional or not and I'm gonna need help."
"Alright, alright Cat I get it. I'm sorry. I'll help you anyway I can."
"Good. *siiiiigh* I'm gonna need someone to house-sit and get my mail when I'm between addresses, keep the place presentable until I can put it on the market-"
"Okay."
"-hand off my truck to the auto shippers and make sure the DCS people have access to the storage I need to go get-"
"Mm-hmm."
"-and I'm going to need a ride to the airport, I need to be there at 5 A.M. on Sunday."
"I'm not sure if I can help you there, Cat. Cassandra won't-"
"Screwed me, Jim. Bent me over a table, pulled my hair, smacked my ass and just had your sloppy way with me."
"Cat-"
"Raw dog. No lube, like all your life problems could be solved by sticki-"
"Cat ju-... just stop talking like that, please. I'll drive you to the airport on Sunday, I'm sure Cassie will understand if we're a little late to Mass."
"I knew you could be a gentle lover."
"Seriously Ricci knock it off, it's not funny."
"You're the only one in this conversation who thinks that," Catori prodded, a wry grin tugging at her lips, "I'll see you later this week after I make some arrangements. Mmmbye for now."
August 10th
It had been a long, exhausting week alright. Picking up around half a decade of life and lugging it to Washington State would do that to you. Catori hadn't even felt like going out and seeing the Soggy City after her flight had touched down, opting for chucking her baggage into her rented Fusion and making a beeline to the Best Western. The minor jet lag didn't help any and neither did the foreboding clouds that spoke of rain that Seattle was famous for, and the medium sipped her coffee as her tired eyes scanned the slick road. She'd been up since 5 that morning making sure that her pant suit was ironed, makeup done for a formal business setting, and slotting time to grab a "healthy" McDonald's breakfast with minutes to spare. Rob Zombie blared over the car radio louder than what could be considered reasonable as the compact crunched its tires into the adjacent parking lot at approximately 7:45, not too early and far from late. Through the drizzle-speckled windshield Catori could get a firmer look at her new headquarters and suffice to say it wasn't what she expected.
A manor in the city stood out enough, one with a large surrounding fence and gate even more so. It had a sort of ancientness to it, and while well-maintained it was clearly aged and worn. It almost looked like a historically preserved building and she wouldn't be shocked if it had been in fact. The style was clearly Victorian with the abundance of dreary windows that ran nearly floor to ceiling on all levels and the high-slanted roof with the flat top. The paled brick gave it a more official feel she thought, akin to a courthouse. But the most striking detail about the manner was that it didn't have any color. Completely translucent in almost a perfect cube, beginning at the fenceline and going back as far as she could perceive. Cat had never in her life seen that before. As she had driven up Route 99 all manner of spirits made themselves evident in a colorful display, even more so when she turned off into the more residential Roxhill where people, y'know, had residences to pass away in. She had seen at least one a block on her way to the manor yet the manner gave off absolutely NO aura whatsoever.
"...well that's not creepy at all..." remarked the psychologist to herself, pulling herself from her Ford.
With her coffee in one hand and purse and umbrella in another Ricci made her way toward the ornate gate at the entryway to the foreboding edifice, just a short trip down the sidewalk. The air was brisk for the spring, sitting just below 50 degrees with a biting wetness to the air and a healthy wind. It hadn't rained for about an hour but she wasn't about to take any chances. All except for the dampness it reminded her of Idaho. Emergent thoughts battled for attention as she made her short jaunt with moments before she was introduced to her new organization. The typical anxiety of starting a new job, the annoyance of the whole moving situation, worrying if her cat Mimi was going to be alright in her crate for a few hours. Orientation had better be short, Cat had things to do once she was either assigned a residence or found one herself.
Yet as early as she was Catori wasn't the first one there. It had taken her more than a moment to realize that a sunny blond girl with an aura to match belonged to the same organization. It was a bright goldenrod with orange tinges, like fresh-squeezed orange juice but more clear and bright. It denoted positivity, action, and extroversion, generally outgoing people. But you didn't need any special vision to see that from her mannerisms. Catori had initially thought she was out for a morning jog until she waved her down. Maybe... the SEO had some sort of fitness program like the FBI? That was probably it, the girl was dressed more to walk dogs than to work for a 3-letter agency, unlike the businesswomanly attire that Cat sported. She'd probably change once they got inside. To be honest it was a little worrying to know that she'd be working with someone so young. She looked like she just graduated high school! To have someone so far younger than her as technically her "senior" made her feel a little inadequate.
".....Heeeey..." the psychologist droned flatly in response to the chipper young woman's greeting. She wasn't in the mood to deal with people today, probably not all week with the crap she had to put up with. Moving her cat, getting her things shipped, phone calls, picking up her truck, more phone calls, learning the job... it was a lot to do. She circumnavigated the perky girl with a purposeful walk, cradling her umbrella and balancing her coffee in two fingers to tug on the gate. No dice. It wasn't locked though, but there wasn't a buzzer she could use to ring herself in or even a card reader by what she could see. Maybe it worked off RFID chip...? She'd need someone to let her in. Facing herself toward Sierra, Cat put on a more empathic, neutral, and professional tone than the dismissive and pessimistic droll she had first displayed toward her.
"Excuse me, my name is Catori Ricci, I was instructed to appear here today for in-processing? Oh, I'm sorry, it's nice to meet you as well, I'm not incredibly awake right now. Would you mind letting me inside, please?" she asked politely. To her chagrin Cat had almost left her tact back at the hotel. It didn't matter whether or not she was in the mood to deal with people, first impressions only happened once.
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