FourtyTwo

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Seb couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well he could be an asshole at the best of times, feeling his pull on his BASE rig, on the bottom right corner as a simple rubber ball. From that, the pilot chute was stowed inside, and throwing that out at 150mph would pull his parachute out, and stopping him from going splat. It was physics, and simply put, without it, this shit wasn't possible. It was awesome, to say the least. Sunglasses still on, he breathed a deep breath, the steamy heat that he exhaled from his lungs showing just how cold it was. He smirked, looking to Ellie, nodding.
"Whenever you're ready, darling." Seb added, all Go Pros filming, as he slid forward on the rock, looking down at the snow below, aware he was going to follow her down, all the way. It was steep, and it was covered in rocky crags, but it was an awesome line, one that would be definitely doable. While the material between Seb's legs was a little restrictive whilst skiing, and prevented him from going full tilt, as he knew he could, doing this still something that he could pull off. He had them done up loose, and knew that when it came to the edge, he'd have to flick particularly hard, and they'd come out, though it was exceptionally risky to do whatever they did. Either way, he was prepared. Watching her head down, Seb smirked, as the powder carved under her skis. Pushing down, he landed on the fresh and spraying snow, and began skiing, carving above her as he smirked, chuckling with a nice whoop.

Skiing to the right of a set of rocks, he got in position above Ellie, following her down as they carved hard, the slope steep as they avoided rocky objects and ridges, a large dip throwing Seb a few meters airborne as he turned on landing, powder spraying downslope, chuckling as the sure-footed Austrian knew that it would take an Olympian to beat him at this. He was good, and knew full well this wasn't the most fun bit. On a freezing cold Norwegian mountain north of the Arctic circle, Seb turned his head to the sunrise, catching it nicely, knowing he'd add in a slow motion edit. He looked ahead, and avoided a pair of rocks, almost coming airborne with how much he carved, seeing Ellie below. They were coming closer and closer to the edge, another few hundred meters, Seb could guess. It was a while, but with a slope this steep, they were storming downwards. He didn't know how fast, but it was definitely something scary for any skiier to see, especially on slopes like this. Looking to his right, he saw the powder pour down, from his previous carving as well as Ellie's, aware that it was accumulating, big chunks going off as it spiraled downwards. Hopefully, it wouldn't generate an avalanche...the snow was too compact, he thought to himself.That was, till he got a look to his left, near a set of rocks. It looked intimidating, and was starting. Seb could tell.

"Shit." He simply said, not quiet or not loud, but just as an exlaimation, aware that the avalanche was indeed beginning. Seb could see the point that they were coming to, and no doubt, this was a moment he wanted to film. The camera on his leg, filming behind caught the torrent of snow coming down, as he knew to stay calm, feeling bits blast by at a tremendous speed, while the majority remained on their left, only starting to take more and more of the slope Speed up, reduce carving, and be ready for this, Seb said to himself. They needed to speed up to hit this cliff, and the slight reverb that sat at the end of it was their point. Below that, was about 50m worth of vertical clearance, and no hope in hell would they carry on skiing. They needed to go flying over that reverb, and they had merely seconds to ditch their skis and open their wingsuits...this was adrenaline alright. Watching Ellie, he followed suit, as they hurtled towards the end of the skiiable slope, knowing they weren't going to survive a fall without getting airborne, the notch giving a little airtime as Seb smirked. Escaping an avalanche with a wingsuit whilst skiing down a remote Norwegian mountain...this was gold. Ellie was in his full view, as he saw the white and gold figure get airborne.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Somewhere in London, England

Martin walked past the guard, nodding as he went through the first door. The room was spacious, wide open, with a glass view on the Thames outside. Blacked out glass, it almost acted as one way mirror. Walking towards the second retinal scan, he moved his eye in front of the laser, and a simple shot fired light at the back of his right eye, catching who this was. Martin Duncan Thatcher, Head of Sierra Vanguard, and most of the details that propped up on the guard's computer had black bars through it. The bald 45 year old section leader was nodded through, as the two heavy lift doors opened, Martin entering inside. Exhaling, the door shut, as he was taken down.

The lift doors opened, the facility small underneath MI5, but significant. It was a concrete cell, a basement below a basement, and probably could double as a nuclear bunker. 20m below the ground was deep, after all. The first corridor was thinly decorated, with few pieces to indicate you were in a top-secret, black ops espionage agency's room. Walking forward, Martin opened the door second on the left, walking into the office. It was nicely decorated, and definitely, appeared to be a warm, welcoming place compared to the cold concrete outside. It had a carpet, an oak desk, and a computer on it, though was nestled to the side and clearly looked a little more complicated than your standard affair, with a projector of sorts sat next to it. Taking a seat on the large black leather chair, he brought up the satellite feed, and picked up the tags of Lancaster, Liberty, and Cavalier. They were having fun in that hot hellhole, playing at secret identities. Gosh, it was good fun. Reminded Martin of his days as a field agent, it was good, but it had to end. This was something he did better, after all. Running things. The order of life. Taking a bottle of scotch on his desk, he gave it a whiff, before pouring a measure. He had to check on progress with Drevan, and he needed a drink.

----

Meanwhile....

Somewhere in Peshawar, Pakistan

The hashish bar was smokey, and smelled distinctly of one thing. Thom, or Cavalier, had thought to ask before they entered about the substances they smoked in here. It turned out, one such substance was one that Thom was very happy indeed that existed here in some form or measure. The hash was of excellent quality, and from the pipe, Thom took a good inhalation. Like Lancaster, they were dressed locally, and disguised locally. It was amazing what make up artists could do this day. He really did look like he was some sort of trader, tanned appropriately and wearing the correct clothes, worn to a correct degree to make him look just poor enough. A beard that he'd grown for the last few days had given him the full Hindu Kush look.
"This is most excellent hashish, Sadiq." He said, Thom's Pashto sounding local, and authentic. He had put practice into it, and smiled, as he inhaled again, laughing.
"I am very glad to hear it, Hussain! It is locally sourced, the money goes straight to local farmers. And those local farmers, they fund us! So I don't blame them at all. It is an excellent deal." Sadiq responded, the man sitting across from Thom with a pipe of his own, inhaling madly. He was a contact of a local Taliban leader, of whom Lancaster and Cavalier were here to take down a notch. English-born Mohamed Hassam was making moves, and it didn't look good. They were here to stop him before he decided that another valley would fall from the Pakistani government, and as radical as the latter was, it was better than having the Taliban around. Him being in Peshawar was perfect, and a snatch and grab was due in progress. The fact that Sadiq probably was affiliated with Hassam was why Lancaster and Cavalier were smoking pipes with him.
"Some more, my guests?" He asked, looking accross the bar, another six people reading books, and inhaling from the herbal pipes, this little place cosy and warm. The carpeted floor and comfortable seats were pleasant, but Thom knew how this would end. They'd get what they needed to know, and before Sadiq knew it, his session would be over indeed.

----

Walking into Drevan's cave of a tech room, he watched the hacker at work, standing in the door.
"You look like a man who needs some Scotch." Martin simply stated, walking inside, watching Drevan at work.
"I need you to keep tracking Hassam, one way or another. Liberty should be giving you eyes soon." Martin said, as he adjusted his bluetooth headset that he pulled from his pocket, putting it on, nodding to Drevan, as the comms link went through. Martin had let Liberty take her role in this operation, knowing full well what Lancaster and Cavalier would do. Cassie knew best when it came to environments like this. Hardline Islamic terrorists in a country where Sharia was the law; Martin would give Liberty the choice in terms of how she would follow her target, without arousing any suspicion, though no doubt it would be unorthofox.
"Liberty, it's Kingmaker. Lancaster and Cavalier are busy at the Hashish establishment talking to Sadiq. We're going to pull what we can from them. Keep following him, don't expose yourself. Remember your role. Find him, find out where he's going, and set up a trap to pull him out of that area, preferably alive." Martin said, as he looked to Drevan, the suited section leader looking firm and secure in his expression.
"Have the UGV ready. If this goes to shit, you need get them backup, fast. Keep monitoring the cell phones too, we might get a snippet of something soon."

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Name: Thom Stark
Codename (Radio Call): Cavalier
Age: 31
Nationality: English
Role: Support Field Agent
Appearance


Picture taken at least a year ago. That's a vintage '64 Ben Bracken.

Thom is about 6"1 tall, and can often be seen wearing a beige colored Kilgour suit, with a white shirt and green tie. He often has a clean shaven or slightly stubbled face, and neat brown Oxfords at his feet, with a distinct Home Counties accent that sounds quintessentially English. Whilst his upbringing was more rough than most gentlemen, he still has a quite polite manner of speaking that he has aquired as an officer and field agent in MI5, though it is rough around the edges in some places. He can be occasionally be seen smoking a pipe- something that is perhaps a little more aspiring gentlemanly than a roll-up. He seems well built beneath his suit, and a pair burn scars on his should indicating that he has had tattoos removed.

Personality:

Thom is an interesting fellow, definitely espousing the traditional English stiff upper lip and gentlemanly characteristics. Like his boss, and similarly to Lancaster, in this regard. He is perhaps a little more reserved, and orthodox in his methods, leaving the carnage to his colleagues. He seems to be confident in most part, and whilst not always a leader, he knows what it takes to point out things that he catches in the corner of his eyes. Observant, and patient, but aware that he isn't the best of the best- that is better left for Lancaster and Liberty. He isn't as sharply tuned as Kingmaker, but he has a good head, and in practical situations, knows what he does best, supporting the other two in any way possible. He seems to be an aspiring gentleman, and perhaps has embraced it a little too much, not having the suave sarcasm of Lancaster just yet to really pull it off.

Service History:
Thom was born in Portsmouth, Hampshire in 1984, his father a Merchant Seaman, and his mother a housewife from a middle-class background. His parents had little time for him, and Thom often was on his own, up to no good and often fucking around. This said, his father did have aquired tastes- and throughout his youth, his dad did show him various alcoholic beverages, one that Thom remained good at identifying, as well as a certain gentlemanly nature. The fact he wondered did hit hard in school- and his grades were poor, though he showed promise in Maths, Physics and Foreign Languages, less so in other fields. He was not an academic, it appeared- but as a sportsman, he was reaching his physical pinnacle by the age of 15. He was the local Cross-Country champion, and a member of Swimming and Boxing clubs. He always looked forward to being 16, because he'd fulfill his dream of joining the Royal Marines Commando, as an enlisted Marine in 2000.

Thom was no officer, but he proved himself on various occasions, often being tagged along on Royal Navy reconnaissance parties on shore during the Invasion of Iraq in 2003, where he proved himself despite his young age. Being only 19 at the time, Thom found himself under fire and confident in sending it back, being suggested to become an officer instead. This he took on, being merely 22 years of age as he went through Sandhurst. Two tours later, and Thom had requested a transfer to the Royal Navy, looking for a different field of work to get involved in. Conflict had left Thom changed, and as an officer, he had become more of a "Rupert", or privileged officer than he had ever thought he would become. The last that Thom worked in the Royal Navy, he was in Signals, working aboard HMS Ark Royal in 2007. This was when he was offered a career change.

Thom's work at MI6 was one of a very interesting caliber indeed. He was taken immediately on as a field agent, and learned a variety of languages, learning how to fly helicopters and aircraft, among others gave Thom a broad and wide ranging skillset that made him ideal as a supporting agent. In many circumstances, Thom was able to get agents out of a sticky situation in foreign countries chased by militants, preventing the failure of missions by doing whatever was needed to complete their exfiltration. In 2009, this was a literal example when an MI6 agent was evacuated from an improvised jungle landing strip by Thom flying a paramotor, chased by hundreds of armed AK-wielding LRA militants in Uganda. Or providing a vital role in a wiretap operation against a major arms deal in Berlin, in 2010. This later evolved into Thom joining Sierra Vanguard, on his wide skillset and positive service history.

The group needed a supporting field agent, and he was drafted into the group in 2013, after several years of service in MI6's Asian and African branches. Thom has acquired a far greater gentlemanly taste than his background would expect him to do so, and whilst not an equal to Lancaster and Liberty in infiltration and acquiring information, he is able to be the third man of the group and help to get the job done, whatever the odds facing the team.

Other:

Thom drives a gun-metal grey 2008 Audi RS6 Avant, a car that whilst having a hefty price tag, is more than useful for getting from point A to point B in quick speed. And as an added bonus, it has a lot of room for bodies. The car has reversible plates, and has been resprayed multiple times, owing to it's use in operations in Europe and Britain, though safe for Thom to use.

Thom has an exceptional taste for whiskey. He is probably one of the best among the Sierra Vanguard team at telling apart drinks, something from his youth. It's uncanny. He also happens to enjoy smoking pipes, a vintage 1930s hazelnut pipe being the nicest of his collection. Wacky Backy has been mixed infrequently.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Name: Martin Thatcher
Codename (Radio Call): Kingmaker
Age: 45
Nationality: British (English)
Role: Section Leader
Appearance:



Picture taken approximately nine years ago. George W Bush did indeed photobomb this rare picture of Martin.

Martin stands at about 6"1, and looks intimidating, an agent of Sierra Vanguard in years past. He is bald, with his hair almost completely shaved short. Brown eyes, and a broken nose, as well as a scar running down the length of the side of his neck, not noticeable immediately at first but mostly healed. He has a fairly moderate build, and keeps in a moderate level of fitness, neither at his peak or lazy. He can usually be seen wearing a bespoke suit from Anderson & Sheppard on Saville Row, a distinct dark grey and with a black tie, his pin as Kingmaker attached in the building. A pair of Oxfords sit on his feet, and a pair of immaculate Ray Ban sunglasses sit on his face on a sunny day, when he is forced from his office to venture outside. He has no tattoos, or any other distinguishing feature, apart from his wrought steel appearance when he stares you in the eyes.

Personality:
Martin is an individual who unites the chaos that is Sierra Vanguard, being a former field agent and someone who has risen the ranks. He is not remorseless, but he has seen it all. Death, love, duty, honor. He has seen them come and go, and knows that Sierra Vanguard agents are one of a kind. He likes to say he runs a tight ship, but he knows full well he lets his agents do as they please, as they do their jobs as they know best. He will bring them in line whenever it is needed, and will be a bollocking that usually hits home, proving the point. Martin may appear on the outside as a tough and loud superior, but is sharp and intelligent, with both in copiously good quantities; being able to often hammer the point home. He is gentlemanly, and understands ettiuquette, though being from a middle class background, he doesn't forget his roots and probably swears more than most, this being perhaps anger at times. He isn't as cocky as perhaps Lancaster is, but neither is he as unorthodox as Liberty, taking a path as the section leader that balances the two quite well. A lack of criticism from his superiors on Sierra Vanguard's efforts in his last three years as section leader show that perhaps, Martin is quite good at keeping the team on point.

Service History:
Martin Duncan Thatcher was born in Oxford, England, in 1970, to a middle class family, growing up in a mixed environment of his dad's Army glory, and his mother's job as a doctor. He consistently proved to be stubborn as a mule when it came to doing well in school, but he did get good grades at the end for some reason- he was just born smart, and able to pull good results from nowhere. Martin was destined for something better than fucking around doing donuts in car parks and smoking weed, it would appear, whether he liked it or not. In 1988, he accepted an offer to the University of Cambridge, studying Philosophy, a subject that he studied for three years. He was a member of their Rugby Society, a highly prestigious social grouping, and number of others. He served in the TA as an officer, and while this wasn't anything notable, Martin's father was a former Major that had influenced his sphere of thought on doing this. His intelligence was duly noted, as he was approached by a member of the British Secret Intelligence Service, working for MI5 in his third year. This was something that did surprise Martin.

He was brought on board as an intelligence analyst, at first, being asked to work in MI5 in dealing with internal threats of terror. The dissolution of the Soviet Union had brought with it a variety of threats, and Martin was good at catching the gun runners and bootleggers before they became a threat to British society, picking up espionage work naturally, from 1991-1993. He was later placed into working on the field, something that he was taught to a greater extent by a variety of sources. From ex-SAS soldiers, to spymasters, he picked up the trade of espionage and the intricacies within. He learned languages rapidly, and was taught how to shoot, stab, and generally stop someone from killing you. It was something that came late, but Martin wasn't a physical slouch, back in these times. Skills that an agent would need, were ones that he picked up. For the next five years, he worked in MI6's division in South America, and from here, he was offered a spot in Sierra Vanguard in 1997.

In his time in Sierra Vanguard, for the over fifteen years, Martin was involved in a variety of operations. An assassination on Blair by hardline activists that never was reported on in 2001 (politics is not Martin's game- he does not care for political figures in the West), or the destruction of North Korea's long range missile capability in 2002. The killing of two infamously corrupt Swiss bankers at a hotel in Geneva under "mysterious circumstances" in 2005, of whom were funding Taliban-related insurgencies in Central Asia. The bust of psycho-active drug shipments from Columbia in 2009, that were responsible for the deaths of tens of party-goers in Ibiza, and virtually turning almost a whole grouping of farmers and insurgents beserk. He may not have been former military, but his sharp mind, and his even more efficiency nature, made him one of the agency's top. Of the skills required for a Sierra Vanguard agent, he mastered most. Speaking ten different languages with a pitch perfect fluency, being able to become almost someone else with a different alias, as well as perform high risk operations in countries with no backup, Martin proved he was very talented indeed in his time as an agent.

By 2012, he had aged, and of course, there were plenty of new agents waiting in the wings. So with the departure of the Section Leader, he was promoted, the head of MI6 knowing full well that Martin was the best man for the job. With age, came wisdom, and Martin's mind as a leader found people who were more than willing to continue Sierra Vanguard's mandate. He is good at his job. And most threats, be they critical to world security or minor, he has dealt with. The one that he now faces is one that perhaps will be beyond even his reach, as an experienced operator...and that would take a very scary threat indeed.

Other: Martin drives a black Jaguar XFR, proving the epitome of class is still with the British Section Head. Crossing London can sometimes be a boon at rush hour, so for when his team needs to be inspected arming up at the London Docklands, a black, unmarked Agusta-Westland AW109 is his heli-taxi across the nation's capital, with a capacity for the whole team. Usually carries a Samsung S5, with a custom built titanium case. Like a Swiss Army Knife, it contains more than just a smartphone in tools.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

THIS RP IS CLOSED- IF YOU WANT TO INQUIRE ABOUT A VACANCY, PM ME AND I WILL BE IN CONTACT, WITHIN 48 HOURS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED IF YOU POST A CS. (or seriously, you'll be very lucky to live afterwards)

---------------

Within the cellars of the MI6 building in London, England, there is a lift shaft that takes you about 20 meters underground. To get to that lift, you'll need to go through at least two retina scans, two pinpricks analyzing your blood, a dozen armed agents at their posts, and two very large steel doors. By this point, you are potentially the most extravagant and avant-garde of any operator working at MI5. You have Black Clearance, allowing you to piss off the roof if you so wished. Nobody knows what is on the other side of the lift doors, when you reach the bottom, apart from a small, select few. That select few is the section known as "Sierra Vanguard".

Sierra Vanguard was set up a SIS task force to ward off the face of international terrorism, in the face of increasingly ballsy terror attacks. It was an organization that could trace it's routes back to the post Second World War era, combating Nazi Partisans and Communist Guerrillas in the wake of Germany's partition in 1945. It is a secret service working at the highest level of discretion, not actually affiliated entirely with the British government. The only people that acknowledge and know of it's existence, is the Head of MI6, and the Secretary General of the United Nations. The force is mostly British, though other intelligence agencies transfer their most exceptional talent to the section to augment it's power in either information warfare or boots on the ground.

The task force was always small, but the pinnacle of a wider effort by the intelligence services. Always lavishly provided for, it's agents as competent in a casino dealing with huge sums of money as they were sneaking into complicated military installations. A needle-precise force that could deal with threats worldwide, using methods not available to any force in the world. Within 24 hours, it's agents can be deployed, and no threat is too large for them to take on. In today's world, Sierra Vanguard still operate as a force for good, against security threats worldwide, making sure that the wrong people don't make the wrong moves. Their operators have adopted to the modern world, and are armed with the latest spy gadgets, devices and weaponry to get the job done, and their digital support is as good as the physical agents. They are multilingual, and are as confident playing high stakes poker as they would be strangling guards. Witty, charming, a unique taste that an agent needs, even in 2015.

On many an occasion in the past, a Communist nuclear plot has been foiled by the brave men and women of Sierra Vanguard. Other times, the plans by rogue warlords in Columbia to sell drugs with dangerous, society-destroying hallucinogenics. Other times, it's been assassination plots on world leaders, from Thatcher to Bush, Ban-Ki-Moon to different groups of Popes. Sometimes, lives have been lost. But the world has no idea how much it owes to this tiny group.

There is only one problem. It's operators, as stated by section head, codename "Kingmaker", are "a colorful group". And while the job always gets done....it's operators are one of a kind.

Welcome to Sierra Vanguard.

---

There we have it. An RP conjured up from the inspirations of many Spy fictions, Sierra Vanguard is as bespoke as a Saville Row suit. You need to be made of the right stuff. Inspiration for the RP includes Kingsman: The Secret Service, James Bond films (old and new), Splinter Cells (various), The Man from UNCLE, Spooks (UK series) along with references to previous RPs that I have ran with the three.

So, your operator. Bugcatcher. Liberty. Lancaster. Kingmaker. Cavalier. All very capable, in their own regards. And very interesting professionals indeed....

-----------

CS SHEET:

Name:
Codename (Radio Call):
Age:
Nationality:
Role: (Field Agent? Hacker? Section Leader? For now, one of the first two.)
Appearance (picture/description- preferably the latter if any at all)
Personality:
Service History: (This part needs to be filled out as truthfully as possible. Blank sections are a possibility. This is on Kingmaker's desk, remember.)
Other: (The car they drive. The preferred independent tailor for their suits and Oxfords. Their favorite watch and smartphone. If you don't put it here, then flesh it out IC, as this is what builds your character's taste.)

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

It was ideal. The next scene catches up with the prologue, if you vaguely remember it. Crossing a street going towards a hotel, sirens blaring, Jan commanding the team to push up rapidly against more terrorists. I do plan on it being a good on, as my last post in itself wasn't that great.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

The rear end burbled in a blue flame, as Ross smirked, the road continuing on. A few signs blurred by, and Ross was on the brakes, aware that this was the end. If Kimberly had any sense, he hoped she would too, as he saw the couple of police cars up ahead. Well, they were friendly at least...they weren't moving at all, and were just keeping the road shut, with a hastily erected barricade. Chuckling, Ross put the P1 into first, the wheels skidding as he did a 180, the flames roaring. They were going back now. But Ross didn't care entirely. This was just awesome. For him, he was happy to get the chance- and as they headed back to Dubai, Ross aware that the speedometer was climbing back to 200mph and the engine roared, the whole car feeling like a Eurofighter, he was in a second heaven, the P1 GTR something he knew he wouldn't drive again.

----

Clambering up a little further, Seb chuckled lightly, clambering over as he jammed his pick in, clambering his hands up a little onto a chunk of rock, the sharp granite cutting into his alpine gloves but offering a good grip as he moved his left arm up, using his right pick to stick a position into the ice, while he got a better hold with his crampons.
"100,000 is liberal for the first few days, but we can try. Good editing makes the difference." He added, clambering up, setting up a cam in a part of the granite rock, threading the rope through as he weighed himself back.
"We're anchored well on this one. Pull it out as we go. Another 20m of solid ice after this. Then we go along the ridge. Remember, slow and steady. Breathe." Seb said, looking down at Ellie, chuckling, as he pushed up, crampon in as he wedged his feet in, sliding a little as the pick came loose. He wedged his second in, and held up, moving his right hand back into place as he pushed straight back up, heading off centre of the area that had decided to collapse. It hadn't been significant, but it was good he had grabbed a grip with the pick in his left hand before moving.
"Shit." Seb said, as he moved up, grunting as he got his hold back, waiting on Ellie to sort out the cam that was below him.

After sorting it out, Seb continued the push, pick in, feet up, pick out, pick in. It was tedious, but this was coming to an end, and argueably, it was proving to be a difficult section. They'd spent almost ten minutes doing this short distance, playing with ropes. Now, Seb wanted that to come to an end. The slope began to become more and more rocky, and less vertical. Moving slowly, he didn't want to stand, but clambered slowly over the granite rocks. He set up another cam, jamming it between two sets, before getting a good tension on.
"Cam's in, you're held Ellie. Push on." Seb said, as he moved slowly over, his rope still in his harness as he moved over the rocky section of granite, climbing as he used his crampons to kick into the ice and sharp granite features when needs be. Pushing over a little further, the rocks became less steep, and the ridge began to form, as Sebastian chuckled.

----

Part Three:
Windchill
OST

They'd packed up the Mammut rope between the two of them, and ditched the crampons, Seb walking with a pair of Salomon Mountaineering boots, in a kinky blue and orange color, though they looked practically brand new- minus the scratches from the rocks. The ice picks were slung back into the bag, the sharp picks detached and Seb now leading the two over the ridge. There was a slight dip, but the sun was about a fifth of the way up in the sky, an orange haze over the Fjord just wonderful. It was why living was worth it. A moment of pure glee, that never failed to disappoint Seb. The sharp razerback of the mountains, and the desolate feel. They could have done some Heli-Ski here, but Seb wanted to be adventurous. Go Pro on, he headed along the ridge's exposed front, on both sides, huge drops. He kept his footing careful, as he adjusted his beanie, looking back at Ellie, the Go Pro around the back of his head, on his chest, and on the top of his boot. Weird positioning, but it all had a reason. Clambering over a few bits of rock, scrambling the set, he continued walking the ridge, the cold chill blowing over and leaving a cold and powdered residue over his chin and beanie, the Austrian as sure footed as he could be. He was quiet in times like this, just taking it in was the way he liked being. He was quiet, perhaps a little more at ease with this. Just happy in a place like this, and with his female companion.
"Would you look at that view." Seb said, smiling, as he adjusted his Oakleys, walking on as he scarpered over some more rocks, moving with some fluidity as he almost ran up the patchy rock network, his feet planted. This had to be the peak, even if it was unmarked. THe wind howled loudly, it was cold, a windchill of maybe -20. Considering it was already -10, it was about -30 degrees up here, and the only thing that had kept frost from forming on the Austrian's face was the fact that he had kept moving and layered up very well indeed. Wiping his nose with the back of his glove, he smirked, as he scarpered down. There was a small rock that stuck out, and Seb felt it gripped his rubber sole well, as he threw his skis off his back into the snowy bank. Putting his rucksack down, off his back, he nodded.

"You can lead on this one. I'll check you over, then I'll sort my shit out. Then, we'll go have some fun." Seb said, smirking, as he kissed her on the forehead, his lips cold and her forehead colder, as he brought his wingsuit out of the bag, packed down tight, as well as his BASE rig, black in color and low-profile. Stashing the bag as small as he could, he took the Go Pros off his boots and chest, fitting it to a chest harness on the wingsuit, and on the right side of the black and blue wingsuit's leg wing. This was advertising, but it was good alright. A little expedition of their own. An escape, a real challenge into a place that people didn't go, and Seb was happy that they were alone right here, right now, in the howling wind and blowy powder. The slope below was steep, but immense. As Ellie kitted up, he checked her BASE rig- or the container in which her parachute was packed into, and her wingsuit, looking over her from head to toe.
"Arms and legs out." Seb said, with a cheeky slap on the butt, laughing as he got his own kit on, nodding.
"You're all good, Fraulein Dorian." He said, as he took his Beanie off, the shaved hair of the Austrian visible for a moment before he got his helmet on, a red open-face one that seemed to sit well on his head. A simple click, followed by the tightening of his rig's straps, both at his legs and chest, were followed by the zips on his wingsuit. He packed his rucksack in it's compressed components by his back, under his rig, in a position where it wouldn't get in the way of this flight. Last, were the skis- which he latched onto his feet, aware that his wingsuit wouldn't interfere with his legs on this, not entirely at least. Poles, and that was the last of his own stuff.

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Anyone for a post?

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

The Agera roared past, as Ross smirked, getting behind, the P1's sleek body sitting behind the Viking fury that was the Koenigsegg just roaring, as Ross replied. Maybe her car was a little more raw, but this was no less engineered. The Carbon Fibre oozed out of every pore, it felt refined. The way it stuck to the tarmac, and the delivery of power was a mad feeling. The V8 was loud, and it felt like sitting in a race car, only that it was able to accelerate even through the gears. The power didn't stop, it was unrelenting. The desert road was totally empty, and at mid-day, boiling hot. Ross was sweating, even for him, going 180, 190, then 200mph on a desert road in 40 degree heat was unbelievable. They were covering football pitches in seconds at this speed, and it didn't stop. 210, 220...seventh gear on this car was coming close to it's end, and it was a feeling like no other. A tiny bend in the road didn't even stop, as Ross followed Kimberly's lead, the road still unbelievable as they sped, and sped. The wheel didn't vibrate as madly as Ross expected it to- for a car like this, it was engineered. The Koenigsegg may have been total Swedish fury in a road-going package, but Ross remembered what the P1 was. A machine that was made by a former F1-running team. And whilst most would see it as passionless, and just a slab of carbon fibre, it was anything but. It had a soul, a feel like it was made to perfection, and as if some real care had gone into making this more than just a silly fast beast. It felt like a fighter jet, one that Ross was expecting to find a flickered button somewhere on the dash to launch the munitions. It was stuck to the tarmac, and even at this speed, Ross knew that as petrifying as it would be to make a mistake, it was as if this vehicle was in his head, just knowing full well that Ross was taking it to it's very limit and not one hair over into a sand dune. At this speed, the world was becoming a blur, a sickening one.

The road began to twist, and Ross shifted down, as he swept past Kimberly on a nice right hander, sand kicking up from the side of the road as he smirked, back on the power. This thing lept through the higher end, and soon, Ross was ahead of her again, the light blue shade of rare hypercar roaring onwards.

----

6AM
Somewhere in the Lyngen Alps, Norway

The route was horrible, it wasn't vertical, but at least 75 degrees upwards. Early morning had proven to be a good call though- the sun was just rising, and the snowy and rocky ice was as cold as it would get to have a firm anchor. Enough to pose a considerable challenge, considering the gear that Seb was hauling. This was an ascent and a half, and as Sebastian buried the picks in, clambering up and anchoring his crampons. They were at 1,600m above sea level, the sight of more spiked and snowy mountains behind, and a fjord not too far away in the distance, immense in it's scale as it headed to Tromso. Not for a few hundred meters, like this. After getting past the glacial deposits that were further down the peak, getting to here was good. It was a mountain of considerable challenge, and doing what Seb planned to do here was going to be tricky, that was for sure. His colorful skis sat on his back, by his 40 litre Lowe Alpine Rucksack, with his Black Diamond ice picks and crampons dug in. He felt his harness come a little taut, as he waited on Ellie to move up a little, aware he was making the lead on this climb. The Austrian wore a blue down jacket, and black thermal trousers, to keep in whatever heat he could. A black Mammut Beanie sat on his head, and a GoPro at his chest, with few ice screw-ins on his Mammut harness for the ice. Where it was tricky to ascent and make a hold, the screws went in till Ellie cleared it and took them out. He wore a pair of strongly polarized, red tinted Oakleys fit for use in snow like this. A pair of thermal gloves, and a few other bits and pieces too. The rucksack had his BASE rig and wingsuit inside, packed tight.

Either way, they were coming close to the top. They wouldn't ski down this face of the route- they were going down the other side. And Seb had more than just a plan for this trip. Skiing and wingsuiting went in hand and hand, and whilst extremely risky, it was also an incredible rush. The Lyngen Alps were very well suited for alpine skiing, with routes aplenty to be carved on the way down. And from the view from afar that he had made on his recon, Seb had noticed that there was a gap at about 1,200m, when the snow ended, and a vertical wall of rock started. That was the kick-off point, and from there, they could glide down to the fjord. This place wasn't often explored by BASE jumpers, and Seb was surprised- whilst the clearances were perilous, it was doable, for certain, and definitely something unique.

Shifting up a little more, he felt the ice tremble under his pick, and re-established a hold, hearing the ice splinter.
"It's mainly surface skims." Seb said to Ellie, looking down at his female companion, before shifting up, waiting on her again, just not wanting to get too much slack but not too much tightness in the rope. In effect, if one of the two fell, with a good anchor, their weight could be held. Either way, the drop down below wasn't petrifying, but Seb knew that he would rather smash this ice pick against the ice than begin that drop. Shifting his gloved hands upward, he established another hold, chuckling. The GoPro wasn't recording, not yet at least, but he had gotten bits of footage on the way up.
"It's a wonderful place. Not often do you get to see the sea and mountains in the same place." Seb said, as he kicked up a little, clambering a little further, giving about another 100m worth of climbing till they reached the mountain's ridge.
"It's definitely going to be interesting. It will be a quick start after we ditch our skis, you'll have to fly almost immediately. Adds to the fun. I can imagine it will be fun to edit." Seb added, chuckling, as he looked down at Ellie. She was just how she was- sweet, awesome, and the only person that Seb knew that would follow him. It was a fruitful relationship they had, and whilst right now Seb wasn't thinking about the ins and outs of their relationship, he knew that on a mountainside, somewhere beyond the Arctic Circle on a steep Norwegian mountain, that she was the one for him.

Vigil!

I would carry on, but it's really hard to RP sometimes when half the people aren't about. It was a really good RP- it just needed a little more care I think. I definitely liked Lucas, and there was a lot more to develop about him. The tipping point was coming with CaughtintheRiddle's character coming to visit Lucas, and from there, shit would be getting very involved between Lucas and the Mafia, but that didn't happen- ah well.