Avatar of Fading Memory

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Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current Awake O Sleeper
1 like
2 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes. Again.
2 likes
6 yrs ago
Don't sweat the small stuff, it's all in your head
1 like
6 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes

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Alrighty, I’m intending to have my OOC notes done this weekend. I grant permission to bug me if I fail to do so. Keep me honest lmao.
Alrighty, my hesitations are dismissed. Thanks.
Howdy. I appear to be experiencing a brief period of demoralization. Of the folks who expressed interest and edged the Household vote above the others, only you two have continued to express that interest since then. This has me somewhat anxious about what I should do, as I do not want to pull the rug out from beneath anyone.

Do you two want to try this out with potentially just the two of you, or would you folks rather I turn and shift my efforts into a 5e game or something? Due to you guys hanging out and staying involved this long you guys get like, a double priority vote over anything else at this point.

I am happy to try this out still if you guys want to, I just needed to get these jitters out of my head and see where the room was at.
I will also be satisfied with that question. As long as we’re not disgustingly outnumbered Zav is willing to dazzle with magic.
Let this be your karmic lesson for not simply using capitalism to your gain at all times.
My period of illness has inspired me, and thusly caused me to scrap the slow note file I was working on. Instead, I shall slap myself on the forehead and call myself an idiot for not realizing each of these combat sections I was going to rewrite fits on a small screenshot. So I'm just going to do that and kick myself into gear on the setting stuff.
As an update to folks here, I have grown quite ill and have been mandated rest by a doctor. I don’t have much left to do for my notes for this, but wanted to be vocal about some slowness from me.
I am once again reminded of how gross it is to unironically refer to a woman as ‘female’. I suffer this self cringe for all of you. My burden is my own.
"Wouldja look at that-- chums know each other, that's downright heartwarming."

CAPTCHA's words accompanied her rise to her feet, and her slow yet inevitable path towards the plane's bathroom facilities. She made a show of stretching her body, groaning and creaking as if lounging on the table had been oh-so taxing on her lovely frame. With one final twist of her back- she slumped against the door of the lavatory, and made a gesture of 'whaddya gonna do?' as she shrugged and swiftly disappeared into the spacious, luxurious, chamber. The conversation and questionnaire were dying down, and CAPTCHA made swift work of allowing her mind to mingle with every single device in this corporate drek facility. Her lips twitched, she accessed the Resonance, and her Living Persona manifested in the digital area of the bathroom. Her bouquet extended into the metaphorical air, and the flower petals of the dead roses began to swarm in the room, creating a brief, yet utterly debilitating, localized storm of Noise. No more secret cameras, listening devices, or strange scanners for the moment.

She stepped to the counter, brushed it idly with the back of her hand, and in her next gesture began to pour out and organize an absolutely fat line of Novacoke. An old nail file came out of her pocket next, lining things up just so before the woman leaned down and took a mad rip. She rose back up, snorting once, before pinching her nose and tilting her head back.

"--Oh, frag, that's it."

She stepped forward once more, carefully brushing any remnants of the substance into the sink then humming aloud in a showy tune as one might if they had just finished their bathroom business and were trying to be polite about things. The sink fills, then drains. Then fills. Then drains. Then fills again. And, at last, drains once more. The storm of Noise subsides, returning any such recording devices to their ordinary functionality without so much a shred of a sign of conventional hacking having occurred on their Johnson's plane.

When CAPTCHA emerged from the bathroom, it was moments before the landing and she had a positively wicked grin on her face.
CAPTCHA steps onto the bus, joined by the Ares Duelist drone which was half-assedly covered with its own freshly-vended armored jacket. Her other small drones fit onto her person, in a pocket or under the collar of her own armored trench coat, well enough; the Dalmatian, Alondite, had been launched surreptitiously into the air the moment the cargo door had opened, the sizeable drone soaring higher and higher as its sensor arrays came online until it was a nearly unnoticeable dot beyond sight range. The only issue was the Steel Lynx, which CAPTCHA had insisted on having its crate loaded on top of the bus no matter how many extra minutes it would have taken for an industrial powered cart to come by and do so. The bus carries them out the back of the airport, then deposits them to meet their final team member.

CAPTCHA's shit-eating grin mellows into a sultry variant.

"Ooo, man of the cloth. This girl likes the hard-to-get types. Or is this priest the confessional type, because, hoo, have I got some sins to get off my chest." She unhelpfully catcalls as Wildfire tries to actually achieve some kind of productivity.
What drivel. The hideousness of a tiefling so pink her flesh may have very well seared itself into his eyes was the first thing to bare itself to Zaraknvyr's eyes. Within this female's grasp was the hairy and alcohol-stench-laden form of the fae-kin, which upon notice caused the drow to physically hold back the rising disgust in his throat. The entire scene made him sick, and the only solace he felt in the observation was seeing the satyr collide with the ground in a heap, and witnessing the dizzying flight of the pixie as the tiefling tossed them out. The woman's muttering reached his ears, and his satisfaction warped into a thread of usefulness which he swiftly gripped.

Zaraknvyr waited aside, eyes peering from within dark hood, as he allowed the party of the Bleak Cabal to pass before him. Upon their formal entrance into the Ubiquitous Wayfarer, the drow approached the bouncer and produced his coin pouch in hand.

"One for the show." He rasped, flicking a gold coin to the obnoxiously pink woman. "Two for information." He held up two additional coins between his index and middle fingers, but did not bestow them upon her immediately. "I believe strongly in the lubrication of the economy."

He lifted his head, allowing the sight of his discomforting, toothy, smile to be lit from within his hood.

"I am in haste. Searching for a portal. Can you be of use to me?"
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