Hmm, should I post or do I wait for the others to write?
GreenGoat Member
Harmless Flower Person
STATUS: Memes aside, pineapples on pizza is ok actually. Being shat on for liking things different from other people gets old after a while. 5 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 3 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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- GreenGoat 12 yrs ago
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5 yrs ago
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Memes aside, pineapples on pizza is ok actually. Being shat on for liking things different from other people gets old after a while.
7
likes
5 yrs ago
Hark, it seems I am in dire need of medical attention that is easily accessible by specialized containers we call medical bags.
2
likes
6 yrs ago
no one cares about christmas. What is important is how we let some strange old man in red in our house depositing mysterious packages and never question him for it
7 yrs ago
Oh shit, I'm sorry
7 yrs ago
instructions unclear, snorted all the dicks
3
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Most Recent Posts
Uhm, you could just link the personality section like KoL did.
There, posted. Kinda tired now. Tell me if stuff are wrong and things.
Maxwell Donovan,
Location Unknown, Russia.
The tip of the cigar glowed brightly for a moment. There was no one there but him, the large man wearing a fancy three piece suit, running his fingers through his hair, staring intently at the multiple monitors in front of him. The only living man for miles around, he'd wager.
He blew out a large puff of smoke, tapping his fingers on his rather baroque looking chair. It seemed horribly out of place in this dimly lit room, surrounded by equipments, wires and monitors. Merely one room amongst many of its kind in this place. This was where his Hlidskjalf was, his Huginn and Muminn the equipments around him. Or was the raven Prototype? Or would he be the raven considering all the information he fed her?
One of his monitors, or more specifically, the monitors catching TV signals from Japan, switched suddenly to some... rather bland looking feed. Granted it took some skill to hijack an entire nation's signals to broadcast that. It was some unknown group, declaring war upon all of the supers, a very unwelcome addition to the chaos at hand. At the very least, he felt slightly gratified watching the footage of the airport exploding. It was no small feat to get his hands on some plastic explosives, much less actually smuggling it in Japan.
Maxwell chuckled.
What a lie. He had simply made another type of explosive, and the interceptor jet he cooked up got past everything without even a blip on their radar. The very same one Prototype was using right now to follow through with another part of his plans. A plan that could very well be jeopardized by this sudden appearance of a third party, one that was unknown and unaccounted for in his grand scheme. He could not cancel Prototype's mission, because he had no information on them. He could not continue with the mission, because he had no information on them. Both decisions risky, so he took a third option.
Tracking someone who jacked a signal strong enough to spill off the nation they targeted would no doubt be almost impossible for anyone. But he wasn't just anyone, and he had the vodka and time to waste, so why not just ask them directly for information?
Just minutes later, and a whole lot of strings sent out, he jacked directly into one of their communication node and left a message. A short message pertaining to their mutual interests, and how to contact him.
He extinguished his cigar, standing up to get another bottle of water. So much more he didn't understand, so much more he needed to learn, so much more he needed to do.
Maxwell could wait. He could wait until they contacted him, or until it was time to destroy that organization.
Prototype 2
The aircraft she piloted was ridiculously small, only a meter longer than she was if she was to stretch her hands out above her head. The wing span was only twice that. For most, it would resemble a fat black shiny triangle. Perhaps precisely because of that it could bolt straight up to almost hypersonic speed in around ten seconds with the dual ion thrusters Maxwell designed. Of course, going at that speed would be impractical when trying to dogfight someone, or even in any sort of flying conditions that doesn't involve being at high altitudes. A sharp turn would literally tear both the pilot and the plane apart. Instead it had multiple verniers on it to maximize its maneuverability in the air. That also meant it had barely any weapons on board, but that was hardly a problem when it could literally outfly even a missile if threatened.
Prototype was in a prone position, her hands on two vertical control sticks in front of her. The cockpit did not have a glass canopy like most aircraft would at this time, simply because Maxwell was loathe to have a structural weakness in the design that could blow apart once it hit top speed. The lack of a canopy for vision was simply compensated by making the entire cockpit a screen taking feeds from outside the craft, making it seem like she was flying by herself with the company of several odd floating analog toggles and meters.
Its been a few hours now and she was trying hard not to go to standby mode.
Beep.
Almost immediately, she gripped the control sticks tighter, going into manual piloting. The aircraft slowed down, the verniers firing off in clusters, before finally coming to a dead stop further away from where Ned, the biker gang and the Champions were facing off. Hopefully the noise of them fighting, as well as them actually trying to concentrate on fighting each other would distract them from the noise of the aircraft.
"Boss."
"You're there? Good. Drop in further away and give Ned support fire."
"Okay."
She dropped off in the town itself, as the craft zoomed away to the skies. Prototype was clad in experimental white armor now, carrying a rifle that looked a little large for her. Her face was obscured by the helmet, though her vision remained clear due to the inside being a screen with a view to the outside. Technology Maxwell was really fond of.
Prototype sought out the high ground almost immediately. An obvious move, but for good reason. She crawled the last few meters towards a good vantage point on the roof, and aimed her rifle towards the group. All were perfectly visible, albeit far away. None was out of her range. Stabilizing her aim, she pointed the muzzle towards the group of Champions, and squeezed off several rounds.
"Engaging."
Location Unknown, Russia.
The tip of the cigar glowed brightly for a moment. There was no one there but him, the large man wearing a fancy three piece suit, running his fingers through his hair, staring intently at the multiple monitors in front of him. The only living man for miles around, he'd wager.
He blew out a large puff of smoke, tapping his fingers on his rather baroque looking chair. It seemed horribly out of place in this dimly lit room, surrounded by equipments, wires and monitors. Merely one room amongst many of its kind in this place. This was where his Hlidskjalf was, his Huginn and Muminn the equipments around him. Or was the raven Prototype? Or would he be the raven considering all the information he fed her?
One of his monitors, or more specifically, the monitors catching TV signals from Japan, switched suddenly to some... rather bland looking feed. Granted it took some skill to hijack an entire nation's signals to broadcast that. It was some unknown group, declaring war upon all of the supers, a very unwelcome addition to the chaos at hand. At the very least, he felt slightly gratified watching the footage of the airport exploding. It was no small feat to get his hands on some plastic explosives, much less actually smuggling it in Japan.
Maxwell chuckled.
What a lie. He had simply made another type of explosive, and the interceptor jet he cooked up got past everything without even a blip on their radar. The very same one Prototype was using right now to follow through with another part of his plans. A plan that could very well be jeopardized by this sudden appearance of a third party, one that was unknown and unaccounted for in his grand scheme. He could not cancel Prototype's mission, because he had no information on them. He could not continue with the mission, because he had no information on them. Both decisions risky, so he took a third option.
Tracking someone who jacked a signal strong enough to spill off the nation they targeted would no doubt be almost impossible for anyone. But he wasn't just anyone, and he had the vodka and time to waste, so why not just ask them directly for information?
Just minutes later, and a whole lot of strings sent out, he jacked directly into one of their communication node and left a message. A short message pertaining to their mutual interests, and how to contact him.
He extinguished his cigar, standing up to get another bottle of water. So much more he didn't understand, so much more he needed to learn, so much more he needed to do.
Maxwell could wait. He could wait until they contacted him, or until it was time to destroy that organization.
Prototype 2
The aircraft she piloted was ridiculously small, only a meter longer than she was if she was to stretch her hands out above her head. The wing span was only twice that. For most, it would resemble a fat black shiny triangle. Perhaps precisely because of that it could bolt straight up to almost hypersonic speed in around ten seconds with the dual ion thrusters Maxwell designed. Of course, going at that speed would be impractical when trying to dogfight someone, or even in any sort of flying conditions that doesn't involve being at high altitudes. A sharp turn would literally tear both the pilot and the plane apart. Instead it had multiple verniers on it to maximize its maneuverability in the air. That also meant it had barely any weapons on board, but that was hardly a problem when it could literally outfly even a missile if threatened.
Prototype was in a prone position, her hands on two vertical control sticks in front of her. The cockpit did not have a glass canopy like most aircraft would at this time, simply because Maxwell was loathe to have a structural weakness in the design that could blow apart once it hit top speed. The lack of a canopy for vision was simply compensated by making the entire cockpit a screen taking feeds from outside the craft, making it seem like she was flying by herself with the company of several odd floating analog toggles and meters.
Its been a few hours now and she was trying hard not to go to standby mode.
Beep.
Almost immediately, she gripped the control sticks tighter, going into manual piloting. The aircraft slowed down, the verniers firing off in clusters, before finally coming to a dead stop further away from where Ned, the biker gang and the Champions were facing off. Hopefully the noise of them fighting, as well as them actually trying to concentrate on fighting each other would distract them from the noise of the aircraft.
"Boss."
"You're there? Good. Drop in further away and give Ned support fire."
"Okay."
She dropped off in the town itself, as the craft zoomed away to the skies. Prototype was clad in experimental white armor now, carrying a rifle that looked a little large for her. Her face was obscured by the helmet, though her vision remained clear due to the inside being a screen with a view to the outside. Technology Maxwell was really fond of.
Prototype sought out the high ground almost immediately. An obvious move, but for good reason. She crawled the last few meters towards a good vantage point on the roof, and aimed her rifle towards the group. All were perfectly visible, albeit far away. None was out of her range. Stabilizing her aim, she pointed the muzzle towards the group of Champions, and squeezed off several rounds.
"Engaging."
Writing this post is taking longer than I expected. ;w;
Not my sort of thing tbh
I guess you could say... you were let down by the song choice?
Well now. I should be posting by tonight.
I'm just gonna wait for those posts, before I write mine.
Telaivas Telamonius Turanis
“Of course. Such inventions are very interesting, but of course I have also come a long way in my own studies. We could share my competence in the magical sciences that you’ve yet to see firsthand when we exchange our learning in the eve.”
That... was not exactly the response she wanted from her. While she had started the conversation without any expectations, such a response was definitely not what she wanted. With such a lukewarm reaction and the casual dismissal of her creation, one she had toiled to make with her own hands, it was hard not to feel slighted. True, she did not hunt the deer and cure its hide for the leather, nor did she forge the caps herself, but crafting it into gloves, attaching the caps, and making sure everything fits was solely her work and hers alone. She filled a book, and gone through a few quills and ink wells writing solely about the gloves alone, in her efforts to actually make it work.
“I am sure you are excited to learn under Thornwell himself while you are here. As we all have been.”
"Why yes, there would be scarce any person who would miss such a chance after all." She had gone back to her usual mannerism, wearing that same light smile and gentle demeanour most know her for. "I do hope I'm worthy of such tutelage. It'd be dreadful should they find my skills lacking."
She laughed a little at that, crinkling the corners of her eyes slightly as she did so.
"Ah, but I do apologize, I did not mean to keep you to myself. I assume you have better to do than listen to me drivel on about myself." Giving a small curtsy, she continued. "Farewell for now."
With that, Telaivas wandered off though the hall, tailed by Frua and Ser Aivas. She stayed long enough so as not to be considered rude, meeting other less significant people, and then made for her quarters, taking determined strides once she was certain no one could see.
Her pent up emotions exploded almost immediately after she stepped through the door to her room and locked it behind her, locking Ser Aivas out in the process. "That stupid stuck up dumb HARLOT!"
Frua moved as if to say something, before a backhanded fist slammed into her face, sending her reeling backwards. She barely had enough time to recover before Telaivas threw another punch at her, catching her in the ribs. Collapsing, she made no effort to defend herself, as the princess started kicking her, venting her rage at her servant. It did not last too long however, for soon Telaivas collapsed on top of Frua, exhausted but still fuming. Wordlessly Frua wrapped her arms around her, sitting up as she did so. Breathing heavily, Telaivas leaned on her maid, muttering curses under her breath.
"Ah wait, that's right. Frua," she spoke, smiling broadly. "You can speak now."
"That fucking hurts you bitch. Going on a tantrum because some tart won't give you the time of day? Bloody kill yourself why don't you? Save me the pain of another beating because you can't handle some pompous arse."
It made for a strange scene, for Frua's neutral expression or inflection barely changed during her rather scathing speech. Stranger still was Telaivas' reaction, or lack thereof, for her grin never left her face during that tirade, nor did she seem fazed by her own servant badmouthing her to her face.
"About that last part," she stretched out a hand towards the ceiling, glancing at the glove she wore. "I may already have a plan for that."
“Of course. Such inventions are very interesting, but of course I have also come a long way in my own studies. We could share my competence in the magical sciences that you’ve yet to see firsthand when we exchange our learning in the eve.”
That... was not exactly the response she wanted from her. While she had started the conversation without any expectations, such a response was definitely not what she wanted. With such a lukewarm reaction and the casual dismissal of her creation, one she had toiled to make with her own hands, it was hard not to feel slighted. True, she did not hunt the deer and cure its hide for the leather, nor did she forge the caps herself, but crafting it into gloves, attaching the caps, and making sure everything fits was solely her work and hers alone. She filled a book, and gone through a few quills and ink wells writing solely about the gloves alone, in her efforts to actually make it work.
“I am sure you are excited to learn under Thornwell himself while you are here. As we all have been.”
"Why yes, there would be scarce any person who would miss such a chance after all." She had gone back to her usual mannerism, wearing that same light smile and gentle demeanour most know her for. "I do hope I'm worthy of such tutelage. It'd be dreadful should they find my skills lacking."
She laughed a little at that, crinkling the corners of her eyes slightly as she did so.
"Ah, but I do apologize, I did not mean to keep you to myself. I assume you have better to do than listen to me drivel on about myself." Giving a small curtsy, she continued. "Farewell for now."
With that, Telaivas wandered off though the hall, tailed by Frua and Ser Aivas. She stayed long enough so as not to be considered rude, meeting other less significant people, and then made for her quarters, taking determined strides once she was certain no one could see.
Her pent up emotions exploded almost immediately after she stepped through the door to her room and locked it behind her, locking Ser Aivas out in the process. "That stupid stuck up dumb HARLOT!"
Frua moved as if to say something, before a backhanded fist slammed into her face, sending her reeling backwards. She barely had enough time to recover before Telaivas threw another punch at her, catching her in the ribs. Collapsing, she made no effort to defend herself, as the princess started kicking her, venting her rage at her servant. It did not last too long however, for soon Telaivas collapsed on top of Frua, exhausted but still fuming. Wordlessly Frua wrapped her arms around her, sitting up as she did so. Breathing heavily, Telaivas leaned on her maid, muttering curses under her breath.
"Ah wait, that's right. Frua," she spoke, smiling broadly. "You can speak now."
"That fucking hurts you bitch. Going on a tantrum because some tart won't give you the time of day? Bloody kill yourself why don't you? Save me the pain of another beating because you can't handle some pompous arse."
It made for a strange scene, for Frua's neutral expression or inflection barely changed during her rather scathing speech. Stranger still was Telaivas' reaction, or lack thereof, for her grin never left her face during that tirade, nor did she seem fazed by her own servant badmouthing her to her face.
"About that last part," she stretched out a hand towards the ceiling, glancing at the glove she wore. "I may already have a plan for that."
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