Avatar of Goldeagle1221

Status

Recent Statuses

9 yrs ago
I am Spartacus!
1 like
11 yrs ago
"Stay awhile and listen!"
2 likes
11 yrs ago
God bless.
2 likes
11 yrs ago
ARISTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
11 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


A GOLDEN SPOON PRODUCTION!


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


Jeremiah froze, then after a second of thought the man smiled, his eyes still on his work before him, “smart man.” There was a squeak as he turned a bolt tightly back into place, his hands still jittery.

“Idle hands make idle minds, and idle minds…” He looked up from his work and turned his head to look at Lynnette, elbows deep inside the open motocycle, “well, idle minds are just... terrible.”

“Or bored.” Lynnette amended. “So tell me, what brings you to these parts.” She indicated the room with a sweeping gesture.

“These parts,” Jeremiah nodded at her motorcycle, “well actually my own rigg, I left something on board, but then I saw this mess.” His Omni-Tool beeped as there was a sudden clunk of metal.

“Fixed mess.” He smiled.

“And now I feel bad about asking Eimi to fix my tablet.” Lynnette said. After a moment she muttered “Well worse..” She pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to Jeremiah. “I must’ve been close to fixing it if it took you less than an hour.” She said as she looked at the bike over his shoulder. “Honestly I’ve been seriously considering replacing her”, her being the motorcycle of course. “She’s been something of a temperamental bitch as of late.”

“I mean, she is an old model, I was amazed she even had a omni brand computer in her,” Jeremiah looked back down at the bike, shoving his hands in his pockets. He began fumbling with a piece of lint. He seemed to almost dance in place as he thought until he finally said, “but I wouldn’t junk her.”

“Hmmm….” Lynn adopted a thoughtful expression. “It’s not like I want to junk her,” She commented, “but she’s pretty much past the point where I can maintain her. I’m honestly surprised her computer hasn’t crashed on me yet.” That last part she muttered. “I’m sure Eimi would just love it if I dragged my bike over to her room and asked her to fix it.” As amusing as the thought actually was, certainly enough to bring a smile to her face, it would probably result in Eimi murdering her in one form or another.

Jeremiah raised a brow, a worried look on his face, “you’ve been asking her to fix stuff for you?”

“Yea. Basically anything that has a processor in it seems to stop working after I’ve handled it for a few minutes.” She sighed. “If there is a God of Computers out there or something, he has a serious hate boner for me.”

“Or just a boner, I mean he has somehow spared you from Eimi this long,” Jeremiah shook his head and turned back to the bike, hiding a smile from his own joke, “but you’re bike is fine if you ask me, and it’s something to do.”

“That’s gross” She didn’t sound disgusted in the least. “Hmm… I might hold onto it for a while longer then. It's a moot point right now though, not like I can buy a new bike till this current job is over anyways.”

Jeremiah took a few steps away from the bike towards his own vehicle: a single pilot space craft meant for quick trips., it looked a lot like a bullet shaped fighter jet of yore, guns omitted and a beige coat. He let his back fall against its hull, the cold tingling through his shirt and causing him to squirm a little. He folded his arms and looked back at Lynnette and her bike, and honestly the location of the first genuine conversation he has had with her. His brow furrowed, his curiosity pushing the rest of the lingering effects of joy into the back of his mind.

“D-do you like doing these jobs?” he rockily attempted to segway the conversation.

“Hmmm…. I’m not sure like is the correct word.” Lyn answered after a moment. “It does remind me of when I worked in the force though. And I do prefer helping people directly over chasing down felons.” She shrugged. “I know that’s not a real answer, but well…. How about you?”

Jeremiah seemed to take a long hard thought, his nose scrunching as he looked upwards in question, “you know, I can’t really say I ever thought about it too much. Wait… what did you do on the force anyways?” He let his arms fall to his sides, one hand silently tapping the hull of the ship, “can’t imagine you were much of a ticket puller, not with those punches I’ve seen you throw.”

Lyn chuckled as she leaned over her bike and looked it over. “Well…” She began as turned it on and revved the engine once. “I actually did start off as a traffic cop.” She flashed Jeremiah a smile. “I was actually assigned a bike very similar to this one.” She patted the bike’s seat. “Of course I didn’t stay a traffic cop for long. And I eventually moved on to SWAT.”

“On the moon right?” he pointed a finger and smiled, “SWAT on the moon, like something out of a comic book- well… some comic books.”

She flashed Jeremiah a smile entirely devoid of mirth. “NAPD would definitely fit in some kind of gritty comic book world.”

“N.A.?” Jeremiah cocked his head.

“New Angeles.” Lyn answered. “Not a place I’d move back to.”

“I- I think I actually heard of that place,” Jeremiah tapped the ship rhymically, “a real tough spot, makes the news quite a bit but in the wrong sort of way. Wait… that isn’t the place that didn’t have a mayor for like three days because no one wanted the position is it?”

“It was more like a week when you ignore the cat they declared mayor.” Lyn snorted. “Yea, you can’t make this sort of crap up. Though, in reality there were a number of individuals acting as mayor who just didn’t take the official title.”

“Well with the crime rate, I wouldn’t want it,” Jeremiah shrugged, “not that I’d want to be a mayor either way.”

A genuine smile crept along Jeremiah’s face, whether it was the tickle of the joy or the fact that for once he was enveloped in an actual conversation, and enjoying himself to boot, he wasn’t sure, but it was pleasant.

“So why did you choose the Absolute Magnitude?” He found himself asking.

“The ship needed someone with my skills and I wanted a job that would take me offworld.” Lyn said with a shrug. “Almost any other ship would have worked. Hell had I known about Poole’s past at the time I probably wouldn’t have joined.” She shrugged again before returning the question. “How about you?”

“Wait, what’s so bad about Poole?” Jeremiah stood up straight, fingers still tapping the ship’s hull in an offbeat.

“Besides the fact he’s a red felon?”

“So what!” Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, “he is a good man.”

“Red felons are serial killers, criminal kingpins, and the murders of children” Lyn slowly stated. “The likes of which do not make good men. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming Poole was a spy or something else less heinous than those.”

Jeremiah pursed his lips, clearly frustrated. A flurry of words crossed his mind, things to say, but it was all erupting too fast, he couldn’t cognate a response. In truth a piece of him wanted to lash out and protect Poole, but he wasn’t sure if it was because Poole needed to be defended, or if he needed to justify something else. He turned from Lyn, realizing how silly it must be to suddenly face the solid blank hull of his ship.

“Labels of a broken system,” he muttered as he finally popped the cockpit hatch of his ship.

“What was that?” Lyn asked, not quite hearing Jeremiah’s response.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Jeremiah said a little louder as he climbed up into the cockpit, “No offense but I don’t think I’m about to change the opinion of the Moon’s Finest.”

“Uh huh” Lyn responded with a raised eyebrow. “You spend a few years dealing with the worst types society has to offer and maybe you’ll have something different to say.”

“You’re right, all I’ve ever had was peaches and cream,” Jeremiah scoffed, “who the fuck am I to think different.”

“It’s always like this with you” Lyn said with a shake of her head. “Let’s not do this right before an important job.” She turned to leave, but paused to say “Thanks… for helping with my bike.”

“Sure,” Jeremiah grunted with a strange mixture of anger, frustration, and genuine helpfulness. After a moment he growled to himself and spoke up as she was just leaving, “anytime.”


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


Jeremiah gulped in a large swallow of stale ship air. His eye’s shot open. He exhaled. He stared blankly at the ceiling, the blue flashes of the engine reflecting off the metal vault. A jolt of energy erupted from his chest and made his back curve off the cold floor, his whole body was tingling, fingers jerking in unordered response. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat shaking his body and rattling his brain, and yet all he could taste was cinnamon on his tongue.

He sat up and held his head, a wave of euphoria heating his belly and chilling his limbs. He needed to do something. Sitting started to hurt, the energy was bouncing around under his skin, it needed to move, he needed to move.

Jeremiah quickly scrambled to his feet, shockwaves of slow surreal happiness crept up his legs from the impact and whipped up a heated hurricane of energy inside his head. His muscles swelled as if he had been working out for hours but instead of sore pain all he could feel was lightening pleasure across his skin and in the core of each limb, he felt invincible.

Suddenly he remembered the coordinates from the message; if anything it gave him something to do, something to move towards, something to satisfy his body's cravings… everyone should be too busy to notice him anyways.

He looked over to his door, a wide grin on his face and a faraway voice screaming at him that this was a bad idea. He took a step and felt every vibration, his body complained when he stopped and sent another wave of energy through him, causing him to shift. Another step, another wave, he could feel the rub of his clothes, he could feel the ambience of the ship lights, he could feel the vibrations from the almost silent beeps from the computers and the hum of the engine, he could feel it all, and he swore he could even see it all. Another step.

Whoosh

The door opened for him and his body began an eager pace towards the hanger, towards his little ship, every bit of will being used to keep himself from sprinting the whole way there and back.

Step. He wondered how many others in this ship had to hold back so much at such a cost. Step. He wondered who else felt the pressure of keeping back the waters of the psyche and body from bursting into reality. Step. He wondered who else here struggled with such things. Step. He wondered if any of them enjoyed it. Step. He wondered if anyone hated that they enjoyed it. Step. He wondered if anyone hated that their body refused to hate it with them. Step. He wondered who else hated so much. Step. He wondered who else. Step. Cinnamon. Step. I guess you never know how things look through other people’s eyes.

Whoosh The hanger doors opened for Jeremiah and he stepped through, a great chilling sight of relief exhaled somewhere in his head as the door closed behind him. Immediately the sight of Lynnette’s motorcycle ripped him from his thoughts, similar to how the cycle itself was ripped apart. Jeremiah walked up to the vehicle cautiously, in case Lynn was around. It wasn’t that he was scared of her, he just wasn’t sure if he should be, she was ex-government after all, and American no less: but then again so was he. He bit his lip, I guess you really do never know how things look through other people’s eyes.

His Omni-tool chirped and he looked down at his wrist, a green blip flashed and he brought it up to his face. He looked back at the motorcycle and scoffed, “Old enough to still have spark plugs, young enough to have an Engineer's interface computer installed.”

Picking up a displaced wrench by the loose parts he leaned over the opened engine of the motorcycle and rhythmically got to work. The energy rolling through his body purred, content with doing something.

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



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


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...
© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet