I was going to wait for others to post before adding to it tonight.
HeySeuss Member
DJ Hot Carl
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9 yrs ago
Hot dogs are already cooked. Might as well just sear them to add flavor.
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9 yrs ago
I love it when I catch up on my posting.
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9 yrs ago
If you take college seriously, it opens doors. Harvard and Hopkins makes it easier, but you can do well anywhere.
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9 yrs ago
Prefer to brainstorm on Discord for that reason.
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9 yrs ago
Windows 10 is very much like a German prison camp guard, "Ah, I see you are tryink to escape work fifteen minutes early, Herr Colonel Hogan, here ist an update zat vill stall you!"
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Bio
Most Recent Posts
Yeah, I used to be a wall o' text guy, now I'm in favor of a shorter post that leaves open ends for interaction.
Go ahead, not a problem. Also, you can feel free to fast forward past a terrifying night where nothing actually happens to them. I wanted to just set the stage for the next day.
@carsgovroom
@carsgovroom
"No idea."
He was being honest. Tim started to stir, but Brian gave a curt shake of the head. His voice was still lowered, "Stay real still."
He wasn't sure what else to do in the situation. He had a handgun, but that was not an ideal weapon except it was easily carried. A shotgun, a rifle, something might have been better, but Macy didn't have one, end of story. His stayed in the holster under his shirt.
"Let's just stay real still."
It was already understood that neither he nor Tim were leaving the place tonight, not after that. Everyone was used to things happening after dark, but this was strange even by that measure. Usually it was whispers in the breeze or lights in the deeper woods. There were reports of 'acute Emergence' in some places, but Haye was not such a place. Those places tended to clear out fast. City block vacated, small town abandoned. People steered clear. There was a revival Puritan's distrust of the wild places and the deep woods. A village in 17th-century New England looked upon the untamed places with fear. 21st century Haye Township and a lot of other places across America were doing the same thing.
It was why Church was a popular thing, and not just for Sundays anymore. Brian got the feeling the pews would be packed after dawn tomorrow.
"What's the next move?" He would have told the nurse that Tim needed to be given xanax and knocked the hell out. That they'd have to spend a sleepless night hoping that whatever that was, it wasn't coming for them. If they were just sleep-deprived the next day, that was the best they can do.
It was ironic. In this situation, the locals would blame the three Emergents in the room, if they knew they were. But the Emergents were just as clueless as the others. They were thrust into this new world with powers that they could barely touch and didn't understand. They had a steeper hill to climb with society out to get them. They were just as likely to be messed with by the new things out there.
@carsgovroom
He was being honest. Tim started to stir, but Brian gave a curt shake of the head. His voice was still lowered, "Stay real still."
He wasn't sure what else to do in the situation. He had a handgun, but that was not an ideal weapon except it was easily carried. A shotgun, a rifle, something might have been better, but Macy didn't have one, end of story. His stayed in the holster under his shirt.
"Let's just stay real still."
It was already understood that neither he nor Tim were leaving the place tonight, not after that. Everyone was used to things happening after dark, but this was strange even by that measure. Usually it was whispers in the breeze or lights in the deeper woods. There were reports of 'acute Emergence' in some places, but Haye was not such a place. Those places tended to clear out fast. City block vacated, small town abandoned. People steered clear. There was a revival Puritan's distrust of the wild places and the deep woods. A village in 17th-century New England looked upon the untamed places with fear. 21st century Haye Township and a lot of other places across America were doing the same thing.
It was why Church was a popular thing, and not just for Sundays anymore. Brian got the feeling the pews would be packed after dawn tomorrow.
"What's the next move?" He would have told the nurse that Tim needed to be given xanax and knocked the hell out. That they'd have to spend a sleepless night hoping that whatever that was, it wasn't coming for them. If they were just sleep-deprived the next day, that was the best they can do.
It was ironic. In this situation, the locals would blame the three Emergents in the room, if they knew they were. But the Emergents were just as clueless as the others. They were thrust into this new world with powers that they could barely touch and didn't understand. They had a steeper hill to climb with society out to get them. They were just as likely to be messed with by the new things out there.
@carsgovroom
Saria did it right, she lured them out of screaming range. That was important, because they were trying to reduce witnesses. This was a hostage rescue, in his mind. The FBI training dictated that.
Marco didn't take the shot, though he had a weapon out, his pistol.
But that was where Morgen came into play; she had a long-range rifle. Aim-assist was a matter of network-enabled trajectory calculations that were constantly updated, with a reticle overlaid on his vision along with all the other data. Single shot, flechettes and he put three right into the stomach of the vampire; the idea wasn't to kill Mullen. Killing had to be done with a lot more firepower or some drastic action like removing a head. Stakes through the heart would neutralize long enough to allow for that, but eventually they'd come back up pissed. The followup was on the girl, a tranq from Marco's pistol.
This took the blood supply out. Marco was already springing forward on the power of nano-augmented muscle. That blood hit with a horrid, viscous splash onto the walkway and much of the vamp's power went with it. A vamp in this position would still be able to fight and deal with a human, but they'd heal quickly and become very hungry. Traditional hunters, not augmented, would not have very long to capitalize on this situation and the typical move was to stake.
Mullen was expecting that and was already turning himself sideways and trying to cover that vulnerability, snarling. He wasn't expecting augmentation. He wasn't expecting a fair fight. He wasn't expecting a very unfair fight with so much stacked against him, including his own expectations. The Eternal were too used to the ease of their victories. They were used to the same old.
Marco wasn't following the pattern. He wasn't aiming for his heart with a stake. Instead of trying to pry the vamper's hand off the girl's, he used finger-nail blades to sever the tendons and force a bloody release. The next move was to put his palm out and fire a blast from the other arm, the one with the shotgun, right into Mullen's torso to keep him healing. He wasn't taking chances here. Adrenaline was spiking and not all of it was synthetic combat drugs tailored to further heighten response times and the fight-or-flight.
He was extensively augmented for the purpose. Ripped to shreds, they had to put all that stuff into him, but he was making it count now. There was a whole strike team out there, but he didn't use them. They were already setting up for the next move.
Instead, he forced Mullen down in a struggle. The Eternal were strong, and the simulations he'd trained on against them reflected that, but he was still stronger. It didn't take long to get Mullen pinned to the ground or to put a foot through his sternum, with a blade extended that piled through the Eternal and into the concrete below. He began pounding the Eternal methodically with his pistol, made of alloys strong enough to take it. Relentless, precisely metered blows with the butt. Usually, the skin would bounce back a mortal's blow with a laugh. That happened when he fought for his fiance and her family. That didn't happen this time -- instead, it was blow after blow, pulping the flesh, but caught short of killing. Once the struggle stopped, Marco used a signal to reactivate Mullen's phone and text the other two. Asshole was lying, he had a phone.
"Help me bind him. ETA in two. They are moving fast." They had to keep Mullen alive; vampires in a coven could sometimes sense each other's life force and other things. It was entirely possible that Anna and Giorgio were aware that Richard was still alive but healing. That would be consistent with a traditional hunter attack. They'd come to help him tear apart the mortals that had the temerity to raise a hand to the Eternal. The retribution was often bloody and exaggerated, a display of superiority. It was no time to make them think that anything was different here, just another weak attempt by the prey to upset the natural order.
Also, bad tactical decision, he didn't want to just snuff Richard Mullen with no fanfare. There was no poetry in that. He wanted his revenge, so did everyone else in the hunt-kill team. The Vigil picked those that had lost, and they wanted to inflict the loss back.
The reports kept rolling in as the rest of the hunt-kill team updated with reports, Kramer handling all the network intel, the drone surveillance net and infiltrated systems. They had a damned good idea what was going on all over town.
Anna and Giorgio, on their way. Sheriff and Deputies too. The clock was ticking.
@vanq
Marco didn't take the shot, though he had a weapon out, his pistol.
But that was where Morgen came into play; she had a long-range rifle. Aim-assist was a matter of network-enabled trajectory calculations that were constantly updated, with a reticle overlaid on his vision along with all the other data. Single shot, flechettes and he put three right into the stomach of the vampire; the idea wasn't to kill Mullen. Killing had to be done with a lot more firepower or some drastic action like removing a head. Stakes through the heart would neutralize long enough to allow for that, but eventually they'd come back up pissed. The followup was on the girl, a tranq from Marco's pistol.
This took the blood supply out. Marco was already springing forward on the power of nano-augmented muscle. That blood hit with a horrid, viscous splash onto the walkway and much of the vamp's power went with it. A vamp in this position would still be able to fight and deal with a human, but they'd heal quickly and become very hungry. Traditional hunters, not augmented, would not have very long to capitalize on this situation and the typical move was to stake.
Mullen was expecting that and was already turning himself sideways and trying to cover that vulnerability, snarling. He wasn't expecting augmentation. He wasn't expecting a fair fight. He wasn't expecting a very unfair fight with so much stacked against him, including his own expectations. The Eternal were too used to the ease of their victories. They were used to the same old.
Marco wasn't following the pattern. He wasn't aiming for his heart with a stake. Instead of trying to pry the vamper's hand off the girl's, he used finger-nail blades to sever the tendons and force a bloody release. The next move was to put his palm out and fire a blast from the other arm, the one with the shotgun, right into Mullen's torso to keep him healing. He wasn't taking chances here. Adrenaline was spiking and not all of it was synthetic combat drugs tailored to further heighten response times and the fight-or-flight.
He was extensively augmented for the purpose. Ripped to shreds, they had to put all that stuff into him, but he was making it count now. There was a whole strike team out there, but he didn't use them. They were already setting up for the next move.
Instead, he forced Mullen down in a struggle. The Eternal were strong, and the simulations he'd trained on against them reflected that, but he was still stronger. It didn't take long to get Mullen pinned to the ground or to put a foot through his sternum, with a blade extended that piled through the Eternal and into the concrete below. He began pounding the Eternal methodically with his pistol, made of alloys strong enough to take it. Relentless, precisely metered blows with the butt. Usually, the skin would bounce back a mortal's blow with a laugh. That happened when he fought for his fiance and her family. That didn't happen this time -- instead, it was blow after blow, pulping the flesh, but caught short of killing. Once the struggle stopped, Marco used a signal to reactivate Mullen's phone and text the other two. Asshole was lying, he had a phone.
"Help me bind him. ETA in two. They are moving fast." They had to keep Mullen alive; vampires in a coven could sometimes sense each other's life force and other things. It was entirely possible that Anna and Giorgio were aware that Richard was still alive but healing. That would be consistent with a traditional hunter attack. They'd come to help him tear apart the mortals that had the temerity to raise a hand to the Eternal. The retribution was often bloody and exaggerated, a display of superiority. It was no time to make them think that anything was different here, just another weak attempt by the prey to upset the natural order.
Also, bad tactical decision, he didn't want to just snuff Richard Mullen with no fanfare. There was no poetry in that. He wanted his revenge, so did everyone else in the hunt-kill team. The Vigil picked those that had lost, and they wanted to inflict the loss back.
The reports kept rolling in as the rest of the hunt-kill team updated with reports, Kramer handling all the network intel, the drone surveillance net and infiltrated systems. They had a damned good idea what was going on all over town.
Anna and Giorgio, on their way. Sheriff and Deputies too. The clock was ticking.
@vanq
Masef couldn't put his finger on his instincts, but he never could and stopped bothering after a while. He knew that something was amiss; he also heard, down the Pilgrim Road, the word of a ranger's last stand. There were no other rangers of renown around here, this far south in Vendland. When the old Harold, Harold the Grey, was king, Brand served legendarily and with distinction when the throne called. He took an honored retirement with the respect, eschewing titles and grants, preferring the humble life. Harold the Green, his son, became Bloody Harold.
Nonetheless, Masef held against hope that Brand was not the ranger that made the terrible stand that the merchants took down the road some ways. And yet, he steeled himself, even as he spurred himself onward. One day, his inner voice didn't advise, it compelled. Get up there. It perhaps had something to do with promises spoken on his departure, but it suddenly kicked in. And then, eventually, he came across a Vendish merchant, relieved to be leaving the country and explaining that he was gone for good. Too much blood, too much killing. Even a man like Brand couldn't hold against that grim tide.
Others filtered in and they seemed to be the family, and one man that had to be Loden was looking in his direction, but it was Joren Muttle that nudged him, "In back," he murmured.
Masef gave a quick nod and paid up for another drink, "Thank you, another dreenk please. Ees goot." He thickened the accent and looked lost, "Wheech way to pees?"
But he hadn't taken a sip of the first. He'd learned something of the intrigues of the Great Whore, Daramalsh, or at least how to keep a low profile in public. The place was a den of rogues, and it was easy to get killed. You learned to blend in such places. What he never would have believed was that Bosfyrd could feel like that. He could feel the eyes on the strangers and the locals alike, an unsettling feeling that palled the room's normally-boisterous crowd. This place was a rabbit, huddling in fear. The mood seeped right into his bones.
He made his way out to the piss-spot outside and handled that part of it. On the way out, he scoped the way to the office door and used the route he planned out in his mind to get in there without a fuss or much of a stir.
It was Varrick. Not his favorite brother, but one couldn't choose family, even in a family as unorthodox as Brand's. He let his hand slip off the kindjal, because he'd walked in half expecting a trap. Qazar was practically shouting FOOL! in his skull, but there was a limit to suspicion.
"Peace, Brother," he reached out to handclasp. It wasn't in them to embrace.
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
Nonetheless, Masef held against hope that Brand was not the ranger that made the terrible stand that the merchants took down the road some ways. And yet, he steeled himself, even as he spurred himself onward. One day, his inner voice didn't advise, it compelled. Get up there. It perhaps had something to do with promises spoken on his departure, but it suddenly kicked in. And then, eventually, he came across a Vendish merchant, relieved to be leaving the country and explaining that he was gone for good. Too much blood, too much killing. Even a man like Brand couldn't hold against that grim tide.
Others filtered in and they seemed to be the family, and one man that had to be Loden was looking in his direction, but it was Joren Muttle that nudged him, "In back," he murmured.
Masef gave a quick nod and paid up for another drink, "Thank you, another dreenk please. Ees goot." He thickened the accent and looked lost, "Wheech way to pees?"
But he hadn't taken a sip of the first. He'd learned something of the intrigues of the Great Whore, Daramalsh, or at least how to keep a low profile in public. The place was a den of rogues, and it was easy to get killed. You learned to blend in such places. What he never would have believed was that Bosfyrd could feel like that. He could feel the eyes on the strangers and the locals alike, an unsettling feeling that palled the room's normally-boisterous crowd. This place was a rabbit, huddling in fear. The mood seeped right into his bones.
He made his way out to the piss-spot outside and handled that part of it. On the way out, he scoped the way to the office door and used the route he planned out in his mind to get in there without a fuss or much of a stir.
It was Varrick. Not his favorite brother, but one couldn't choose family, even in a family as unorthodox as Brand's. He let his hand slip off the kindjal, because he'd walked in half expecting a trap. Qazar was practically shouting FOOL! in his skull, but there was a limit to suspicion.
"Peace, Brother," he reached out to handclasp. It wasn't in them to embrace.
@Naril@POOHEAD189@Gunther@NickTrano@AirBender@HeySeuss
Well, so long as people are good with no posting order, sure. But as a precaution, let's not jump ahead too far and if someone asks for a day's pause so they can finish a post off, please honor that.
<Snipped quote by HeySeuss>
Sounds great. Would work well with my character, at least, who is decidedly non-traditional. What did you have in mind specifically?
Death Eagles chapter. They have an interesting chapter history, if one chooses to believe the wiki sources.
Hello, per the other interest check, I was exploring the possibility of a member of the Deathwatch from one of the chapters not traditionally associated with the Inquisition or the Deathwatch, with the attendant political baggage. I was reading up a bit and Ordo Xenos inquisitors from the more radical factions apparently favor arrangements with these chapters; in essence, the Inquisitor is covering their back with a Space Marine and the Space Marines are covering their backs with political favors from an Inquisitor.
I have a lot of chapters in mind, all of them non-traditional and with baggage and secrets, as I think that the chapter's political machinations, insofar as they exist, need to be tossed in the pot here.
I have a lot of chapters in mind, all of them non-traditional and with baggage and secrets, as I think that the chapter's political machinations, insofar as they exist, need to be tossed in the pot here.
Dukewater, Illinois could be any town anywhere in America. It was the prosperous American dream, far enough away from Chicago to not inherit the city's violence, but close enough for a commute up 57 and into the city for people that could afford it. Prosperous, middle class, and wedded to a vision of bygone days in white picket fence prosperity.
Marco could remember prom, a lifetime ago now. This place was still doing them in high school gymnasiums, avoiding the expense of booking a local hotel. Hotels had more security. As he moved along the footpath through the park adjacent to Dukewater High (home of the Dukes) he noted the incoming messages as they pinged on one side of his vision.
For others, learning to use the mental communication was a steeper learning curve than Marco. He was maimed so badly that it was the only communication he had for some time, that first vital link with his father, who underwent the surgery in order to communicate directly with his flesh-imprisoned, Mai,Ed son. Somewhere back at Prime, the Doctor was watching the operation and biting nails, wondering about his flesh and blood out there in the field. They'd killed a thrall, but this was a trio of vampires and a bunch of thralls.
He wasn't alone in his evening stroll, he was arm in arm with the last member of the strike team, pretending that they were normal people. They'd already done a lot of recon, a week's worth of sneaking around, inserting virii into systems and otherwise subverting all the relevant electronics in town. Mullen had a very familiar modus. Marco's sense of deja vu threatened to overcome, along with a subtle flush of stabilizing anti-anxiety meds into his system and compensatory drugs of other types. It felt like control was something he gave up a long time ago, trapped in this metal nightmare of a body. Living this nightmare of a life where his fiance was dead and he was consumed in this fucked-up shadow war. He was faster, sure, stronger, sure. But nothing felt natural anymore, most of all himself. Almost everything on him of use, hands, feet, lets, arms, ears, eyes...all rebuilt. All chrome.
On the side of the school, a door opened, allowing a glance into the neon-lit interior. It was a couple of chaperones taking a nip from a flask and smoking joints. They were taking their refuge from the boom of the bass and the awkward slow-dancing. They had no idea what was going on here.
Not Mullen.
Bad choice of words. That was what the girl was, but Saria never seemed comfortable with the plan of letting Mullen do his thing. They'd get him when his guard was down.
Mullen's coven was taking it easy tonight, but that would change fast. If the girl was bait for Mullen, then Mullen was bait for the others, Anna Smith and Giorgio Ordelaffi. Giorgio was dangerous because he was old. But Anna was dangerous because she was smart. She was the one that devised an entire series of horror/romance novels designed to groom young girls into willing victims for others. She was a celebrity in the Eternal's world.
"Do you think you can steer him toward us?" he muttered to Saria. "We need to do this fast and get the girl the fuck away from that thing."
@vanq
Marco could remember prom, a lifetime ago now. This place was still doing them in high school gymnasiums, avoiding the expense of booking a local hotel. Hotels had more security. As he moved along the footpath through the park adjacent to Dukewater High (home of the Dukes) he noted the incoming messages as they pinged on one side of his vision.
* Alpha target still in the dance.
Roger. Maintain visual, do not break cover. What else is going on?
* Awkward teenage slow-dancing. Chaperones trying to force the distance. Well, one chaperone is letting herself get groped by a tight end.
* Units on the move, looks like they took that drug shipment bait.
* Will that get them high?
* Well, it'll get them hard. Dunno about high. I thought Deputy Trenton could use some dick drugs.
On mission, here. Virus inserted?
* Yes. Waiting command for activation.
* Eliminate deputies [Y/N?] N
Use minimum necessary disruption. We are holding. How many deputies are heading to do that drug bust?
* Good news is, all of them. Bad news is that if we don't do this fast, they'll be running around here with all that military surplus gear they're strapping on. Someone might get hurt.
Roger. Maintain visual, do not break cover. What else is going on?
* Awkward teenage slow-dancing. Chaperones trying to force the distance. Well, one chaperone is letting herself get groped by a tight end.
* Units on the move, looks like they took that drug shipment bait.
* Will that get them high?
* Well, it'll get them hard. Dunno about high. I thought Deputy Trenton could use some dick drugs.
On mission, here. Virus inserted?
* Yes. Waiting command for activation.
* Eliminate deputies [Y/N?] N
Use minimum necessary disruption. We are holding. How many deputies are heading to do that drug bust?
* Good news is, all of them. Bad news is that if we don't do this fast, they'll be running around here with all that military surplus gear they're strapping on. Someone might get hurt.
For others, learning to use the mental communication was a steeper learning curve than Marco. He was maimed so badly that it was the only communication he had for some time, that first vital link with his father, who underwent the surgery in order to communicate directly with his flesh-imprisoned, Mai,Ed son. Somewhere back at Prime, the Doctor was watching the operation and biting nails, wondering about his flesh and blood out there in the field. They'd killed a thrall, but this was a trio of vampires and a bunch of thralls.
He wasn't alone in his evening stroll, he was arm in arm with the last member of the strike team, pretending that they were normal people. They'd already done a lot of recon, a week's worth of sneaking around, inserting virii into systems and otherwise subverting all the relevant electronics in town. Mullen had a very familiar modus. Marco's sense of deja vu threatened to overcome, along with a subtle flush of stabilizing anti-anxiety meds into his system and compensatory drugs of other types. It felt like control was something he gave up a long time ago, trapped in this metal nightmare of a body. Living this nightmare of a life where his fiance was dead and he was consumed in this fucked-up shadow war. He was faster, sure, stronger, sure. But nothing felt natural anymore, most of all himself. Almost everything on him of use, hands, feet, lets, arms, ears, eyes...all rebuilt. All chrome.
On the side of the school, a door opened, allowing a glance into the neon-lit interior. It was a couple of chaperones taking a nip from a flask and smoking joints. They were taking their refuge from the boom of the bass and the awkward slow-dancing. They had no idea what was going on here.
Not Mullen.
* Alpha target en route. He's bringing the bait along.
Bad choice of words. That was what the girl was, but Saria never seemed comfortable with the plan of letting Mullen do his thing. They'd get him when his guard was down.
Roger that. Positions. I want location updates on Giorgio and Anna.
Mullen's coven was taking it easy tonight, but that would change fast. If the girl was bait for Mullen, then Mullen was bait for the others, Anna Smith and Giorgio Ordelaffi. Giorgio was dangerous because he was old. But Anna was dangerous because she was smart. She was the one that devised an entire series of horror/romance novels designed to groom young girls into willing victims for others. She was a celebrity in the Eternal's world.
"Do you think you can steer him toward us?" he muttered to Saria. "We need to do this fast and get the girl the fuck away from that thing."
@vanq
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