Avatar of Goldeagle1221

Status

Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
I am Spartacus!
1 like
9 yrs ago
"Stay awhile and listen!"
2 likes
9 yrs ago
God bless.
2 likes
9 yrs ago
ARISTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
9 yrs ago
Spleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!

Bio

I'm not really a bird.

-0-

Where did I play,
A land of twisted branches,
A kingdom of clay,
A swamp of memories,
A never-ending day,

Where did I run,
Across the dawn,
Through the sun,
Across the sky,
Through laughs and fun,

Where did I walk,
Pristine grass green,
White cliffs of chalk,
Pools of sky so blue,
Orchard stones that talk,

Where did I sit,
By the gates of silver,
Near endless pit,
By forever horizon,
You may remember it.

Most Recent Posts



--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------


There was a bright blue flash. Jeremiah’s pupils dilated briefly at the sudden blast of light as he stepped into his room. The door whooshed closed behind him, and the sound of mechanical pins locking into place whirred. The sound of his overly advanced door locking was challenged only by the spinning vibrations of the trembling engine block in the far back of the engine room. Occasionally a splash of blue would illuminate the otherwise dark room, a recoil reaction from one of the engine’s alternator coils. Of course, being the engineer he could’ve wired the parts in such a way that it didn’t discharge, but he thought it looked cooler this way, giving the engine room, his room, a sort of futuristic lava lamp of sorts.

He stepped into the center of the room. The floor was spotless, immaculate and virgin to any mess, in great contrast to the rest of the room. Projects both large and small, unfinished and complete lined the walls and expertly lined shelves held countless tools and gizmos, some blinking with lights others dark and still. Panels with exposed wires jutted out of the wall, additions Jeremiah made to the ship, and to his room. On one of the panel faces a computer screen flashed, a tiny red dot blinking at the top right corner. Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed at the indicator and his fist formed around the plastic bag in his pocket. If the walk over hadn’t sobered him, this tiny little speck did.

His thoughts were jerked away from the indicator for a moment as Xaara’s voice came over the intercom. Two hours Jeremiah thought, he looked down at his wrist and a metal contraption hugging it beeped the time up at him. He let out a breath, but he could feel it in his stomach, he had only twenty minutes before his body wanted -- needed -- more. His fingers curled around the little blue pills, the sheen of the plastic keeping them from each other.

The little red indicator blinked again, and Jeremiah’s eyes snapped back to the panel. He stepped over to the computer screen and tapped a rhythm on the otherwise blank flashing screen, unlocking a bright blue screen in its place. The engineer tapped invisible keys, each flashing orange as he found it on the blue screen. As his finger hit the final key there was a soft whirr and tink. A small communications device (much like a flip phone of yore) and port shot out of the top of the panel. The metal communicator attached to the port was old, blacked from use, and recycled spliced wires unnaturally connected it to the panel below. The port wasn’t in much better shape but held more polish than the old communicator.

Jeremiah looked down at his wrist again, the metal device on his wrist lighting up as his eyes met its four by three inch screen. He began tapping away at the screen, the device a combination of a wrist bracer and an overclocked, modified and upgraded version of an “Interstellar Space Engineer’s Omni-Tool”, a fancy tablet capable of a great many things used by the Interstellar Engineer’s Union and many militaries. There was a pop as Jeremiah entered the last tap and a tiny electronic key the size of a usb jutted out of the Omni-tool. Jeremiah slid the key out of the bracer and into the waiting port. The port beeped and sunk into the old Communicator, and then the screen came to life.

There was no image visible but a tiny replica of Thor’s hammer on the end of a necklace string laid out on a wooden nightstand, but it wasn’t the image that was important. A familiar voice could be heard off-screen.

Earth, United States, Appalachians, Coordinates… The voice began to list off numbers before finishing: See you there, buddy.

The screen went blank, and the red blinking indicator faded to black. The port snapped back out of the communicator and Jeremiah retrieved the key, sliding it back into the bracer. His mind was buzzing as the panel reset itself, the communicator disappearing back into the contraption. He played with the pills in his pockets as his mind spun.

He felt his fingertips fish a pill out of the bag. He brought it up to his mouth, yet his mind remained on the message, Could it be? He popped the pill into his mouth, See you there, buddy. He smirked, swallowing the pill, “See you there.”

There was a bright blue flash. Jeremiah fell to the floor.

--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------



--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------


WHAP! WHAM!

Jeremiah stood stunned as he watched two of his crewmates turn the corner with the furious intent of lions onto gazelles. Within a blink of an eye the two of the bouncers were struck to the ground and in a few more seconds all four decided to retreat back to the bar. Jeremiah guessed from the sheer threat of Eimi and the promise of a paid tab by Lynnette, the last bouncer would have grumpily yet loyally joined his brethren in the withdrawal, if he was capable.

Jeremiah looked down at the large brute guiltily. The man was still on his stomach, his entire shoulder drenched in vomit, and a gentle trickle of red coming from his mouth, no doubt a loose tooth.

Two terrified eyes once again looked up at Jeremiah as he scanned the bile, he had nearly forgotten the man he threw up on. Jeremiah went to apologize to the man, but then stopped. The eyes belonged to a scrawny looking man probably well past sixty. He sat scrunched up against the alley wall, eyes wide and unblinking. Jeremiah moved to the side and the eyes did not follow him.

Leaning in Jeremiah noticed dried blood crusting along the corners of the old man’s mouth, pooling under the eyes, nose, and even out of the ears. A look of understanding washed over Jeremiah as he noticed the small plastic bag in the dead man’s lap, a familiar baby blue color peeking out.

“Rest easy,” Jeremiah whispered to no one in particular as he leaned over the man to take the bag. The words coming out awkward and clumsily, whiskey induced or otherwise. It sounded as if Jeremiah had a few more words to say but they never came as he felt the little blue pills through the plastic bag, his lips pursed. He offered only a few seconds of observation before shoving them into his pocket, making sure to keep his back to any potential onlookers and more importantly: Lynnette and Eimi.

Making sure his pants weren’t bulging from the new addition, he turned to face his crew, his face sober and his body slowly following. He sucked in his lower lip and nibbled on it anxiously as he approached his savours. He had no explanation for them, no real excuses, no alibi, and no real idea of what he was doing. His footsteps held the only sound, echoing off the alley until they too fell silent. The shadow of the alley was now behind him, and his friends before him.

“I hate southern Mars.”

There was a long pause.

“Ship?”
--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------



P--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------O


There was a soft patter as the bartender placed a new drink in front of Jeremiah. Looking up briefly Jeremiah gave a thankful smile, and huddled around the drink. His eyes drowned in the cheap booze before him, his stomach told him he was done drinking and his head started to burn with the desire for something else.

He stared at his dark reflection and smiled, he couldn’t be rude. Sitting up he lifted the drink to his lips and slammed it into his waiting mouth. The instant the burn creeped up his tongue he knew he made a mistake. His body refused to swallow and he was stuck with a mouthful of the whiskey, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunks hiding a winter’s prize.

Quickly he scanned his crew members, Lynette was chatting at him but all he heard were gurgles behind his own ears. His head jumped through all the ways he could handle this when Poole suddenly barged from the bathroom, said something, and pushed his way out of the establishment. The exit door swung wide and Jeremiah took it as a sign. Leaping from his stool he disregarded the sharp “Hey, you have to pay!” as he sprinted full speed out of the bar.

The blast of heat from the powerful sun slapped him across the face as he exited, shooting right by the thuggish bouncer. He sharply turned the corner into the shade of the conjoining alley and as soon as he did, the contents of his stomach spewed from his mouth, lukewarm whiskey first. He heaved, his face burned with strain, and a second wave dribbled out.

He clamped his eyes shut, not able to see through blurry tears as a third bout rocketed from his throat, burning his esophagus on the way out. Breathing heavy he slowly opened his eyes, tears dripping from the corners. He smiled, it was over.

Jeremiah’s eyes focused as he stood leaning towards the wall, and he noticed two terrified eyes staring back up at him.

“Oh…” Jeremiah stood up straight, “my B-”

Suddenly a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He didn’t quite recognize the grappler’s face as the burly man shook Jeremiah around by the collar, but the voice sounded extremely familiar.

“You little shit!” the angry man yelled, “I’m sick of little pukes like you thinking you can just drink and dash like this is some community well.”

“Woah!” Jeremiah finally managed to speak, the whole world spinning still, “I would never-”

“You just did!”

“Did what?”

The bouncer pushed Jeremiah into the wall, an angry scowl on his face as well as faded tattoo’s on his neck. If Jeremiah had to guess, he wasn’t hired for his professionalism.

The thug put a stiff hand on Jeremiah’s chest, holding him against the wall with an arm like a tree trunk, “listen buddy.”

“Odd choice of words.”

“Listen freak.”

“Much better.”

“Hand over the credits.”

Jeremiah made a face, “front right pocket, and don’t try anything or I will be charging you some credits”

The bouncer snorted as he rammed a beefy hand into Jeremiah’s pocket, pulling out nothing but a piece of lint and a very conspicuous 9mm bullet.

Looking up at Jeremiah, the man seemed extremely unimpressed.

“I must’ve left it in my other pants, or you know, the bar.”

A fist zoomed towards Jeremiah’s face, the engineer managing to wiggle away in time for the hammer like hand of the Bouncer to crack against the rough brick exterior of the building with a painful howl. Quickly Jeremiah hooked his foot behind the Bouncer’s ankle and swept his feet from under him. The bullet went flying in the air as the large man tumbled into a pool of vomit as well as the smelly stranger who for some reason hadn’t left.

Jeremiah snatched the 9mm out of the air and turned to leave as he heard the unmistakable crunch of the big man’s jaw hitting the pavement, but as he did his eyes widened like saucers. Four equally large brutes were walking into the alley, all wearing the same black shirt as the one lying in the bile, and each wearing a very very annoyed face.

S--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------T

!
@Klomster Mind if I borrow your minotaurs? Not from your group specifically, but if I could use members of the race in my lands, they'd be perfect bruisers for the red pantheonist rebels in my nation.


...Minotaurs...
Jeremiah is TONKA TOUGH
#1: Minotaurs are fine.


OH!

--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------

Jeremiah stared blankly at the brown drink in front of him. The recognizable throat burning smell of cheap whiskey rose from the fake crystal glass as well as every exhale that fogged it. His body slumped and refused to move when the largest of the rag-tag crew he found himself seated with excused himself from the stools accompanying the bar in favor of a jukebox, God help them all.

In total Jeremiah portrayed a broken man whose bounty had just slipped through his fingers just as he formed a first around it, and truth be told he was upset, but not as upset as he wanted to be. He couldn’t help but find a fuzzy itch pop up now and again across his psyche or a tickle under his skin. While the massive high of the drugs swimming through his veins had passed a few hours ago, they still managed to warm his tender body with heated pulses. He held a tight grasp on his lucidity and he clearly recognized the agony of the situation but even then he couldn’t help betray a whimsical smirk, one easily mistaken for optimism rather than remnants of controlled substances.

Taking another sip from his cup the liquor skidded down his throat with a certain acidity that kept his attention away from the smudged lip stain on the other side of the glass, one he recognized as neither his own or clean. The alcohol quickly blazed around his empty stomach and he felt the cheap booze mingle with his high, causing him to suddenly squirm in his seat; a mild reaction. Had this whiskey been chasing a new capsule of the drug he knew as ‘Joy’ down his throat, he knew all too well the results would be violently unpleasant for those around him, but that would hardly be the whiskey’s fault.

He let his light green eyes scan his fellow bounty hunters. He had been working with them for longer than he wanted to count, and he knew every one of them as much as a fallen leaf knew a pond: not much. It was better that way, he smiled warmly at his glass, a sense of euphoria washing over his head, there was a certain bliss to ignorance, and a peace to quiet.

Thud!

Unfortunately bliss and peace never lasted. Jeremiah looked down and frowned at his plastic glass as it rolled away on the floor, a tiny puddle of brown following it. He had little idea of how it ended up there, but he was sure glad the owners were cheap enough to settle for the shatter-proof plastic glasses; heroes every one of them.

--------------------------------⦽--------------------------------

© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet