DJAtomika

Streetlight Dragonflies

@Not Fishing Probably for about a year, maybe more. David's in his early 50s and his work is rather prolific.

Streetlight Dragonflies

David watched, unamused, as the drama unfolded in front of him. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him. Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.

Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.

The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. He lifted his camera and took a snapshot of the man that picked up the photograph, more specifically his hand and the photo, and checked the lighting as he took a seat in the man's booth.

"I, uh, sorry. David Sawyer, photographer. Couldn't help but notice that photograph that the little girl dropped...looks oddly similar to a picture I took inside this diner. Here, have a look."

David placed his digital camera on the table and scrolled through his pictures until he found the one he'd snapped of the dragonfly perched on one of the diner's lampshades. He turned the camera around and let Gary have a look at the picture.

"I saw that dragonfly up on one of the diner's lamps, thought it was weird so I took a picture. It's strange that she'd be carrying around a similar picture, right?"

Streetlight Dragonflies

Hey @Not Fishing, d'you think it would be feasible that Gary and David know each other? I ask this mainly because both our characters are jornalists, although David's already retired and probably has at least ten years on Gary.

Omega Serenade

"Eh, it's just a bit of vorcha, really. Sooner or later Blood Pack's gonna sweep 'em up and leave us be."

Hazan was lounging on one side of the sofa, datapad in hand- er, talon as he sifted through what data they'd gotten. The safehouse Daro had gotten was pretty adequate, considering she was a doctor and not a mercenary. With a bit more money, they could really turn this place into a comfortable haven, but as it stood they were here for secrecy, not to live. And this was an upgrade from the dump he'd been living in.

"I've got a guy in the Upper Slums who can launder those credits. Give him a bit of time and he'll return 'em clean as a whistle, in case whatever IT specialists Perix has can trace where those chits have been. Oh, minus a little bit off the top as a fee, of course."

The credit chits, he took and stuffed into his pocket. Inwardly he also wanted to know how much they'd snagged as a haul. A good finder's fee could set them up well for the rest of the operation, maybe even be able to hire some mercs off of it for backup. Hazan sat up as Daro projected the imagery off of the info dockets in the envelope and watched as she scrolled through them. What caught his eye was the guard routines for another section of Omega, on the complete opposite side of the station from them. And supplies? Apparently Perix had more than just couriers running payments and information across Omega. More leverage for them to use.

"You seeing what I'm seeing? Perix is hiding something on the other end of the station and he's got Tenus in charge of it. I wonder if we should do a little recon on that warehouse?"

Printed guns, melded metal - An experimental GM-less Cyberpunk RP

Tbh I'm just here for some cyberpunk action and stuff, I don't really have anything to add to the discussion.

I have this thread subscribed, I'll come back again once everyone's settled on the way we're going to run this RP.

Streetlight Dragonflies

So just lemme know when you'd like mod interference, cuz you guys are killin it on your own. x3

*munches popcorn*

@Mokley

I mean, once it's necessary to move the plot along.

Essence of the World: Flesh Reborn [Adv. Roleplay]

Dr. Jean-Phillipe Vannier

Name: Jean-Philippe "JP" Vannier

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Sub-Class: Latent Healer

Description: JP stands five feet and eleven inches tall, or 181 cm in metric, and weighs roughly 75 kilos. He has a head of short, neatly cut black hair that's greying on the sides and the fringe. A sharp chin and high cheekbones accentuate his slightly tanned skin that's dusted very lightly with freckles and a few acne scars here and there. His build is very average, coming across as a man who values his fitness a lot, but his job means way more to him.

JP as a person is very... Abrasive. On first meeting, he comes across as a man who doesn't value physical or social interaction a great deal, and he doesn't. His mentality is that if it interferes with his professional work or my strict schedule, he must make it so that it doesn't. He pushes all distractions to the side so he can be at 100% all day, every day, especially since he deals with criminal cases. He carries a strict schedule at both his job and his daily life. Interference with his schedule earns you his ire and anger. In his mind, everything needs to be done in a specific way, always and forever. Changes to this routine are often welcomed with grumbling and complaints about how his methods are more efficient and detailed. He is very sharp-eyed and precise in his work, some people often describe him as clinical and calculated to an extreme level. But it gets the job done and it's done very well, so few complain about his methods.

His social life...well let's just say it doesn't really exist. Outside of a few colleges that he lectures at, he doesn't maintain constant contact with the medical world at large. He keeps to himself and rarely, if ever, attends or speaks at a bigger conference or some such, even though his work is respected and valued in the field of medicine. Very few have broken through his extremely thick shell, and those people he considers his best friends, people he would lay down his life for. Because underneath the sharp, snarky exterior is a soft inside that just wants company that understands him and how he works, and a heart that appreciates the value of human life. He doesn't worry about maintaining relationships between acquaintances or short term friends, but he does maintain strict professional relations with his forensics team, all of whom he respects and trusts a great deal. In speech, he's blunt and often ignores or doesn't pay attention to someone's feelings, being extremely honest about statements and pointing out mistakes if someone else makes them.

When not working, JP spends much of his time at home, either reading various medical journals to expand his knowledge base, or painting as a hobby. If he's ever out maintaining his fitness, he's either jogging or cycling around his neighbourhood. He's infamous amongst his neighbours for being a recluse that you rarely see outside, so on the occasions he does go out to shop for groceries or to exercise, he gets curious stares to the back of his head.

All in all, JP is a realist. A fiercely professional man who reinforces his ideals with action, keeps to himself for the most part and is a very reliable man who gets the job done.

History: JP started his interest in medicine early in his life, after expressing his intent to become a nurse to his parents, who were also nurses. When he was young, he always thought his mother and father were superheroes, helping those in need and caring where others didn't care. He enrolled into medical school after he finished college and left as a registered nurse with an associate's degree in nursing on the side.

JP first started with a local Loom hospital, staying in the accident and emergency department for a few years while he worked on a Bachelor's degree in medicine on the side. Through his stay in the hospital's A&E, he saw much of what would turn him into the aloof, blunt man he is now; deaths, accidents and fatal injuries that shook him to his core. But he gritted his teeth and soldiered on anyway, thinking that he was too stuck in to back out. When he left temporarily to graduate and get his degree, he was desensitised enough to the carnage and bloody horror that was his old department. With that in mind, he shifted focus to surgery instead. After his degree, he spent his residency in general surgery, enriching his knowledge of the human body while getting his hands dirty at the same time.

It was around this time that he encountered his first criminal case. His senior, a surgeon of many years, let him assist in his first case related to crime; to save a man who had been stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. The entire process fascinated him, not the medical aspect, but everything else related to it. Working with the police, helping to catch a killer and bringing him to justice. It excited him in a way that being a regular surgeon didn't. That experience prompted JP to express his interest in taking up forensic pathology. His training didn't start until after his residency ended, after which he went straight to Loom's police precinct Two, doing a one year residency under the apprenticeship of the chief coroner there. When his residency finished, he was transferred to a different precinct, Precinct Five, as the chief coroner there was due to retire in the coming year. JP took over the job with gusto, and spent the remainder of his time until current day there.

During his time in precinct Five, he came into contact with detective Holly Knight, and subsequently worked with her and her team for several years, being the chief medical examiner and pathologist that gave her team all they needed to collar a multitude of serial killers, rapists and other criminals over the course of that few years. However, how disconnected he became between the victims and the job only grew with time, and his abrasive personality and extreme honesty didn't sit well with the others he worked with. They only tolerated him because of his sheer amount of experience and skill in doing his job. Holly, however, was his only friend. Since, due to some extreme and random chance, she was his next-door neighbour. They shared the same commute to work and Holly was the only one who could stand how he was like. They formed a sort of...friendship not long after; Holly defended his choices and, in turn, JP kept up his good work for the precinct.

Of course, his life wasn't without its fair share of mysteries. Since he grew up and his parents passed away of old age, he inherited what little they had, crammed into his tiny apartment near the police precinct where he worked. Within their belongings were a fair share of books in a language he didn't recognise. Thinking that they were just some weird collector's items, he left them in the cardboard boxes he'd found them in. Little did he know, however, that his mother was descended from a long line of mages, and the books were her books on spells and innate magical power. Obviously, JP didn't know anything of it, and he left the books as they were, gathering dust in their cardboard boxes. He didn't care much about his family history; in his to-the-point mind, the only thing that mattered was his work and himself.

Abilities/Skills:

• Hyperawareness - Inactive as of current day, but within JP's essence is a manifestation of his instincts, both as a surgeon and as a pathologist, taken to its logical extreme. He is able to notice the most minute details about anything he focuses on, be it a corpse, a witness or suspect, or even things as simple as inanimate objects or a room. His mind then infers the most logical conclusions from these details and pieces together an image or an outline of what's happened or what might be wrong with something. These images show up for him as a faint, orange silhouette of people, objects and actions caught in suspended animation that only he can see. The ability only triggers if he focuses on a situation or scene at hand, not all the time.
• Magic Healing - Within him, and his bloodline, are the powers of healing. When he lays hands on an injured person, his magics accelerate their body's healing factors, even knitting bone and regenerating lost organ tissue. This takes stamina, and he can only heal so much before falling unconscious.
• Advanced Knowledge of Anatomy and Physiology - As a licensed medical practitioner, JP knows the ins and outs of a human body. What makes it tick, which parts go where, what works, and how to fix what's broken.
• Advanced Studies in Forensic Pathology - Along with being a doctor, his studies focus on criminal intent and injury. His knowledge extends to weapons, what calibre of bullet makes what sort of wound, different types of knife wounds and so on.

Notable Belongings:

• Brown messenger bag
• Comb
• Reading glasses
• Pocket notebook and pen
• Smartphone

Streetlight Dragonflies

With a big mug of coffee by his side, David sat in a corner of the diner, idly tapping away at his Macbook as he processed a folder of photos he'd taken of the countryside surrounding the quaint little town. His camera laid next to his mug and underneath that sat a single missing persons poster. A plate stacked with pancakes and bacon sat nearly untouched on the other side of his laptop. The hubbub in the diner was rather quiet, given the time of day, and as he took a swig of his strong, black coffee, he took in the familiar small-town sights and sounds. It was comforting, very homely and warm. Felt like safety, even though he knew he was here for the complete opposite of that.

David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.

He just couldn't resist.

As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.

Zzsh-click.

As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.

Ugh.

Omega Serenade

"It would be extremely difficult. I can run but not that fast. Alright. Time for me to grab him."

Hazan watched as the runner appeared on his visor HUD as a red triangle, mildly satisfied with how their plan had turned out. At least their mark had stuck to the planned route. He drew his hood on over his head and lifted the scarf around his neck to conceal the lower half of his face. In his ragged hoodie, scuffed jeans and work boots, Hazan looked like any other bottom feeder or beggar that populated the slums. But underneath those dirty clothes were elements of his combat armour, and his pistol laid snug in his back holster. He stuffed his talons into his pockets and made his way down the alley towards the runner, idly noting his position on his visor. As he approached the man, he powered off his visor and coughed into his hands. The runner, a slightly taller man, wrinkled his nose as Hazan bumped into him seemingly by accident.

It was no mere coincidence though. Almost immediately, Hazan's arm shot out and wrapped around the man's neck, pulling him into a choke as he pulled him against the wall and out of sight. His other hand whipped out his Predator and jammed the barrel against his back.

"Quiet now, don't want any of your tails to hear you. Now a little bird told me you're running some errands for Tenus Domititus, carrying some important stuff on your person. I want it. Where d'you keep it?"

The man struggled in his grip but that only made Hazan squeeze tighter. He kicked the back of one of his knees and lowered the man to the floor, shifting his grip so that, instead of having an arm around his neck, his talons were entangled in his hair, pulling the man's head backwards as he kept a foot on his legs, arching his back rather painfully as he moved his pistol's barrel to his face.

"I'll give you to the count of three. If you don't tell me where it is, I'm going to turn your face into a bowl for my fruit. One."

The runner struggled and yelped in pain but said nothing. He could feel him shivering in his grasp even as he waited.

"Two."

Hazan waited and still nothing. He clicked the safety off his pistol and sighed.

"Three."

"W-w-wait-"

His shot buried itself in the plas-steel floor, the gunshot echoing down the alley. Hazan smirked as the man audibly whimpered as he recoiled from the pistol that sat next to his ear, instead of in his face. The turian let the red-hot gun barrel sit dangerously close to his cheek as he leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"That was just a warning shot. Now hand over the goods and make it snappy."

The runner reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope that rattled with several small objects in it as he pushed it into Hazan's waiting talons.

"H-h-here, I-I'm just a courier, I swear I don't know anything!"

"Oh I know that. Thanks for the hot tip."

He took the envelope, stuffed it into his pocket, and then swung his pistol at the back of the man's head, knocking him unconscious. Hazan dragged his limp body to the side of the alley and propped it up against the wall. Then he took off his hoodie and scarf, draping the spare clothes over the man's body like he was a hobo. Underneath he was clad in a simple t-shirt that made him look like just someone passing through. With the envelope safely in his pocket, he powered up his omnitool and hailed Daro.

"It's done. I've got his stuff. Now let's clear out of here before someone checks in on him."

Streetlight Dragonflies

Can't wait for this to start.