All righty then, here's how it'll work. Post what you have. I'm not about to see a running argument in the OOC over a small, relatively minor section of the RP undone. Massage what you have, post it up, and if Heroes would like to rework anything when he gets the chance? Then I'll leave the rest to his discretion.
Period.
Igraine Member
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*looks over the posting from the past week or so* There have been innumerable opportunities to post these past few days, and not a one of us is psychic, knowing what will happen with this many players all the time. I have no idea who the "him" is you sent a PM to - Heroes? Crabby or... ? I didn't see an issue with anyone one-shotting anything, only people taking opportunities as they came to write what they could for their characters in a semi-timely manner.
However, if there was an issue between players (of which I know I, personally, was utterly unaware? And I can only assume Heroes was left equally at a loss?), why not bring it to us before this? We've been waiting on responses for that particular episode for some days now.
However, if there was an issue between players (of which I know I, personally, was utterly unaware? And I can only assume Heroes was left equally at a loss?), why not bring it to us before this? We've been waiting on responses for that particular episode for some days now.
Perhaps only a handful of times in this life, had Édouard known such deep, black waters of rage. But in that moment, as those incomparable grey eyes caught the flash of the brigand’s blade at Lightfoot’s back, he could not have said whether that cold, still pool threatened to drown him beneath its icy waters, for his failure to foresee this danger, or the soon-to-be-dead man who dared press a blade against -
”Merde!” In one deft movement, Édouard lifted the woman from his lap, depositing her gently into a seat and leaping to his feet. "Stay here, Madeleine - do not move from this spot!" The long, deep purple coat fell from his shoulders to the floor, revealing the slender stiletto daggers sheathed at his waist, and the pistol holstered at his shoulder.
He pulled the pistol swiftly, pressing its smooth grip into her hand. "Anyone not me comes up those stairs, and you shoot the bastard, you hear me? Anything happens to you, James will never forgive me. Luc will never forgive me."
'I'll never forgive me... ' The first pistol shot thundered as he bent to kiss the woman's worried brow swiftly. Soft lips brushed over those tiny furrows before he turned to the crowd below, the only emotion left to be found on his face was in that deep, determined frown and the firm set of his jaw.
By the second report of the captain’s pistol, those steel stilettos were already unsheathed. Édouard leapt to the railing, balancing there for a split second before stepping off, silent as death itself, into the furious storm of shouts, thrown chairs and pressing flesh below. Édouard landed easily on his feet and stood slowly, a preternatural calm, the eye of this mad storm as he moved across the floor, his eyes never leaving the chaos that swarmed around Lightfoot.
Not a single member of the Skate’s crew saw so much as a scratch as body and blade danced with a mesmerizing grace across the tavern floor, though the belligerent corsairs of the Feather were not near so fortunate. Hamstrung, blinded, bleeding - Édouard’s cold, silent rage found many warm, ready targets as he strode to the drunken captain, crimson spray and a chorus of surprised screams in his wake.
His head snapped to the left when the third pistol shot roared, the golden Nicolette breaking a man so thoroughly and skillfully with her bare hands he did not rise again, and then moving to the next with an inexorable efficiency that was sheer poetry. As gleefully as a Viking of old, the helmsman was smashing men and chairs with equal relish, broken men and broken wood falling to either side as the remainder of the Skate’s crew erupted throughout the Boar. But even in the chaos, those eyes still discerned a deadly order, spotted the mortal threat come from a shadowed corner.
Swift as a serpent, Édouard wrapped his arm about Lightfoot’s shoulders, his neck, both stilettos in one hand now as he snatched the taller man backward to his chest. Bearing the captain’s weight in a preternatural display of strength and uncommon grace, Édouard reached with his free hand for the perfectly-balanced throwing knife tucked into the top of his tall leather boots.
As if guided by the divine hand of the huntress Artemis herself, the blade sailed across the length of the tavern, burying itself in the neck of the most unfortunate First Mate of the Crimson Feather just as his own pistol exploded, the musket ball hurtling through the empty air where Captain Lightfoot’s head had been less than a second before.
Édouard spat his disgust to the filthy floor. He had little mercy for fools who lacked the foresight not to bring yet another pistol to a knife fight. He heaved Captain Lightfoot back to his feet, spinning the man around and snatching at the collar of his shirt, yanking the taller man’s face to his own, bending the brim of his lovely black velvet chapeau as he did.
”Quel idiot!” he hissed through bared teeth, “You drink your piss water, and then invite death!?” Grey eyes blinked away some unnamed emotion with a growl as Édouard shoved Lightfoot away, turning to disappear back into the press of battling flesh as he snarled over his shoulder. “You return my blade when that bastard is done dying on it, you hear me? If you are so drunk you forget, I shall not be pleased… “
”Merde!” In one deft movement, Édouard lifted the woman from his lap, depositing her gently into a seat and leaping to his feet. "Stay here, Madeleine - do not move from this spot!" The long, deep purple coat fell from his shoulders to the floor, revealing the slender stiletto daggers sheathed at his waist, and the pistol holstered at his shoulder.
He pulled the pistol swiftly, pressing its smooth grip into her hand. "Anyone not me comes up those stairs, and you shoot the bastard, you hear me? Anything happens to you, James will never forgive me. Luc will never forgive me."
'I'll never forgive me... ' The first pistol shot thundered as he bent to kiss the woman's worried brow swiftly. Soft lips brushed over those tiny furrows before he turned to the crowd below, the only emotion left to be found on his face was in that deep, determined frown and the firm set of his jaw.
By the second report of the captain’s pistol, those steel stilettos were already unsheathed. Édouard leapt to the railing, balancing there for a split second before stepping off, silent as death itself, into the furious storm of shouts, thrown chairs and pressing flesh below. Édouard landed easily on his feet and stood slowly, a preternatural calm, the eye of this mad storm as he moved across the floor, his eyes never leaving the chaos that swarmed around Lightfoot.
Not a single member of the Skate’s crew saw so much as a scratch as body and blade danced with a mesmerizing grace across the tavern floor, though the belligerent corsairs of the Feather were not near so fortunate. Hamstrung, blinded, bleeding - Édouard’s cold, silent rage found many warm, ready targets as he strode to the drunken captain, crimson spray and a chorus of surprised screams in his wake.
His head snapped to the left when the third pistol shot roared, the golden Nicolette breaking a man so thoroughly and skillfully with her bare hands he did not rise again, and then moving to the next with an inexorable efficiency that was sheer poetry. As gleefully as a Viking of old, the helmsman was smashing men and chairs with equal relish, broken men and broken wood falling to either side as the remainder of the Skate’s crew erupted throughout the Boar. But even in the chaos, those eyes still discerned a deadly order, spotted the mortal threat come from a shadowed corner.
Swift as a serpent, Édouard wrapped his arm about Lightfoot’s shoulders, his neck, both stilettos in one hand now as he snatched the taller man backward to his chest. Bearing the captain’s weight in a preternatural display of strength and uncommon grace, Édouard reached with his free hand for the perfectly-balanced throwing knife tucked into the top of his tall leather boots.
As if guided by the divine hand of the huntress Artemis herself, the blade sailed across the length of the tavern, burying itself in the neck of the most unfortunate First Mate of the Crimson Feather just as his own pistol exploded, the musket ball hurtling through the empty air where Captain Lightfoot’s head had been less than a second before.
Édouard spat his disgust to the filthy floor. He had little mercy for fools who lacked the foresight not to bring yet another pistol to a knife fight. He heaved Captain Lightfoot back to his feet, spinning the man around and snatching at the collar of his shirt, yanking the taller man’s face to his own, bending the brim of his lovely black velvet chapeau as he did.
”Quel idiot!” he hissed through bared teeth, “You drink your piss water, and then invite death!?” Grey eyes blinked away some unnamed emotion with a growl as Édouard shoved Lightfoot away, turning to disappear back into the press of battling flesh as he snarled over his shoulder. “You return my blade when that bastard is done dying on it, you hear me? If you are so drunk you forget, I shall not be pleased… “
That's wonderful RoadRash, that you'll be coming back and... holy shit >< Had no idea you were in a bike wreck, just SO glad you seem to be in a good place today, and either mended or well-on-the-way-to-mended.
Awesome post Idle, and glad you kicked the hell out of that writer's block
Awesome post Idle, and glad you kicked the hell out of that writer's block
Whenever you can, and however you like Idle, there's no burning rush hon.
'Adam? Who in the hell was - '
The werewolf reeled back painfully, amber eyes wide as the golem came chugging through like an inexorable freight train, a familiar face or two hanging on and gathered in his arms as he headed for the vault entrance that Isis was doing her erstwhile best to funnel them toward, desperately, like she was forming up a supernatural goddamn herd of cats.
She honestly didn't envy the goddess the job.
Veti wasn't even in the mood to appreciate the sublime appropriateness that the golem's name was "Adam." Of course his name was Adam.
And of course even banged up and beaten to hell, dropped on top of a werewolf flesh mattress from about a hundred feet up or so - and God only knew what the hell had happened before he decided to scale the anubus for whatever the hell passes for "reason" in the mind of the demonspawn - Nestor was still the most delightfully crazy bastard she'd ever known. Big grin firmly planted on that worn face, and the detonator in hand, Veti couldn't help but file this moment away in her head to share with Max when they saw him again.
Max. Thadd. The werewolf's impossible grin widened when yet another explosion ripped through the air, all the demonspawn's making, as she held out a now-dusty, red-furred and muscular arm for him to grab onto. The way that right arm was hanging from his shoulder didn't look quite... right.
"What?" Snappy response and bubblegum pink attitude and all, cutting through the cacophony of destruction raining down on their heads - and Veti STILL wanted to snatch Daisy off poor Artie's suspiciously too-bloody back, and hug her tightly, and make sure the Reaper was really all right. "Why is everyone shouting? It is too hot for that shit!"
Ugh. Fucking teenagers. They even conflicted the shit out of the adults who love them. Veti bit back the sudden, inexplicable urge to tell Daisy to watch her damn language, shrugging her enormous, broad shoulders in a gesture parental/grown adult figures throughout the ages would have long-recognized, understood and commiserated with. Instead, she just lifted one thick, muscular arm and pointed toward the vault entrance before lumbering with Nestor into its confines after Semyon. Something about these man-sized scarab Guardians screamed "keep at range," and she trusted her instincts - and the Wight's judgment - enough to draw the Desert Eagle again as they retreated, ready to shatter a carapace or two. Or a dozen. At least. No sense in limiting oneself after all.
Crabmeat said
I'm sure it's just puppy fat
D: It's not puppy fat! Veti's just... Fluffy... >.>
Nyah, Wordsmith pretty much nailed it, she really is about 30 stone in werewolf form, eight feet tall and sheer muscle. Why? Psh... Magic!
And sorry Hellis, you just gotta be quicker! XD But if you really are about to post something though? Just mention it in the OOC maybe, for a bit of coordination?
Good morning Lillian, and to Andastra too! Looking forward to hearing more from both of you, as always. And Lil, I'd offer you coffee but I think we both suspect yours is better, and we know that Heroes' definitely is, but still, the offer's there nonetheless. May the busy get less-so soon enough, hon.
Well try to enjoy your work the next couple days, and with photographing happy little kids, maybe it won't be quite so bad? Not a problem, things will all be taken care of Dot. ;)
From the shadow-lined edge of the alleyway, Édouard smirked as he watched the little tableau play out across the cramped, filthy street before the Black Boar. The golden-haired woman was unspeakably graceful, a delight to watch, as she made short shrift of the smiling man's attempt at something that might have otherwise resembled chivalry -
- If, of course, the smiling man's grin weren't so strangely reminiscent of the angry, open-mouthed invitation of a viper. Such fun, these two - but Édouard had business within.
Édouard took his chance, pushing off the wall swiftly, his lithe body darting across the street, slipping past them with nary a breeze to mark his passage - though he did tip the brim of his hat to the lady, whether she noted or not (and he rather hoped she didn't - he didn't have near the muscle mass of the smiling man, and that move she did on him definitely looked like it hurt) - into the loud, bustling interior of the Black Boar.
A mass of long, black, braided hair fell down his back, tied from his face by a simple leather thong, all barely kept in place by a jaunty black velvet, wide-brimmed hat, a long ostrich feather bouncing with every purposeful stride of those high, black boots on the inn's floor. The brim fell easily over his eyes, though nothing of the eternal smirk in that sun-browned face was lost to its shadows. A deep purple jacket covered the ivory shirt beneath, falling to mid-thigh of the fine ebony pants.
And though Édouard might seem the very epitome of a dandy, the regulars of the Black Boar knew enough to move away swiftly from the path of the slender man, as quick with those blades of his, to skewer an eye or remove a finger, as he was to laughter and drink. But tonight? Tonight Édouard had other pursuits in mind, and his steps took him directly to the woman who was the beginning and ending of all of them.
"Madeleine... " His hand slipped lightly about her small, corseted waist where she stood, speaking with the Black Boar's proprietor behind his bar. His lips nibbled hungrily at the tender, mahogany-colored skin of her neck, the edges of her curled ebony tendrils tickled his nose, scented - even here in this rank place - of exotic fruits and cinnamon.
She turned to him in turn, those large, midnight eyes searching his face for a moment before she kissed him softly. "You're late," she whispered, her own Creole accent as warm and thick as his patois.
"I was... delayed. A certain unexpected matter arose, unwound and undid my plans without the least warning, at the very last second, cut deeply into my time. Truly embarrassing, if I may be frank - but why you should stand here so coy, enjoying my discomfort when I know damn well you witnessed all... "
"Because you are so rarely undone yourself, my dear Édouard - 'twas a treat to watch, a sight I might savor to my dying day truth be told."
"You are cruel, Madeleine."
"I am honest."
"'Tis half your charm."
"That isn't even the half of it, and you damn well know it."
Édouard laughed, grinning widely as he swung the young woman around, pulling her toward the thick timber stairs leading to the mezzanine above the gaming tables, choosing the shadow-lined edge closest to the rail, a truly perfect vantage above the raucous goings-on of the Black Boar. Madeleine had a moment to wave to the bartender far below, before Édouard pulled the lovely, lush woman to his lap, one hand slipping to the swell of her generous bottom.
Madeleine leaned into his embrace, wrapping one arm across his shoulders as she lay her lips against his ear, nibbling softly. "He has a whole gold piece now, you know," she said in thick, island-accented French. "I thought he might explode with happiness, the sweet boy. I thought the reale was a bit much, but that... ?"
"I saw," Édouard replied in French as well with a sigh, "I wasn't so distracted to miss that, Madeleine."
"I couldn't let him keep it."
"Of course you couldn't. Far too much for a child his age, but... I can find him a tutor, before I leave. Astronomy. Would you do this for me, Madeleine?"
"Astronomy? What in the world are you - "
"Yes. Astronomy. Constellations and the stars in the heavens... Even the Home Star... "
"The Home Star?" Madeleine giggled softly into his neck, and that sound finally broke the smirk on Édouard's face, his whole body stiffening suddenly.
"Oh sweetness," she said quickly, cradling the young man's smooth, beardless face in her hand as she turned his eyes to hers, sensing his sudden distress. "Forgive me, I never meant to be cruel... I just... No, no, don't look like that... " As the bartender set the tankards of grog at their table and retreated back down the stairs, Madeleine kissed Édouard's face, loving small pecks until that smile finally began to return.
"Will you do that for me, Madeleine?" he asked, looking up into her face once more. "Luc should learn to use the sextant and the compass, to chart and navigate and learn astronomy, to follow the course of the skies. If he doesn't follow in his Papa's footsteps and run the Parakeet, perhaps one day he'll pilot a merchant ship then. Good work. Honest work as an educated free man... "
Madeleine studied the young man's face earnestly, for several long moments, before laying her lovely head against his shoulder, cradled against his neck. "Work someday, to keep a woman as precious and lovely as his dear Maman, in silks and jewels and every least thing she could ever wish for and deserve." Édouard whispered into the soft, matchless darkness of her hair, wrapping his arms about the young woman tightly before releasing her, and reaching with one hand for the tankard of grog.
"He should know, one day - " Madeleine began swiftly as Édouard took one deep drink, and then set the tankard back down with a resounding "no" back to the table.
"What should he know, Madeleine?" the young man asked, with a furious shake of his head. "That the world is an evil, beastly place, full of malice and every manner of ugliness? Oh, have no fear, he'll learn that lesson well enough in time. It's unavoidable, you know."
"But for now? For now it's enough that he knows what every little boy should: that his Maman and his Papa love him dearly; that he is the most brilliant, sweet boy ever walked the Earth. That is enough, Madeleine. Let it be."
Édouard sat back in his chair, pulling the beautiful woman a little closer to him with one arm, the other tipping the brim of his hat back as his grey-eyed gaze fell over the assembled masses below, lighting solely on one laughing, drinking figure below.
He had business here this night, after all.
- If, of course, the smiling man's grin weren't so strangely reminiscent of the angry, open-mouthed invitation of a viper. Such fun, these two - but Édouard had business within.
Édouard took his chance, pushing off the wall swiftly, his lithe body darting across the street, slipping past them with nary a breeze to mark his passage - though he did tip the brim of his hat to the lady, whether she noted or not (and he rather hoped she didn't - he didn't have near the muscle mass of the smiling man, and that move she did on him definitely looked like it hurt) - into the loud, bustling interior of the Black Boar.
A mass of long, black, braided hair fell down his back, tied from his face by a simple leather thong, all barely kept in place by a jaunty black velvet, wide-brimmed hat, a long ostrich feather bouncing with every purposeful stride of those high, black boots on the inn's floor. The brim fell easily over his eyes, though nothing of the eternal smirk in that sun-browned face was lost to its shadows. A deep purple jacket covered the ivory shirt beneath, falling to mid-thigh of the fine ebony pants.
And though Édouard might seem the very epitome of a dandy, the regulars of the Black Boar knew enough to move away swiftly from the path of the slender man, as quick with those blades of his, to skewer an eye or remove a finger, as he was to laughter and drink. But tonight? Tonight Édouard had other pursuits in mind, and his steps took him directly to the woman who was the beginning and ending of all of them.
"Madeleine... " His hand slipped lightly about her small, corseted waist where she stood, speaking with the Black Boar's proprietor behind his bar. His lips nibbled hungrily at the tender, mahogany-colored skin of her neck, the edges of her curled ebony tendrils tickled his nose, scented - even here in this rank place - of exotic fruits and cinnamon.
She turned to him in turn, those large, midnight eyes searching his face for a moment before she kissed him softly. "You're late," she whispered, her own Creole accent as warm and thick as his patois.
"I was... delayed. A certain unexpected matter arose, unwound and undid my plans without the least warning, at the very last second, cut deeply into my time. Truly embarrassing, if I may be frank - but why you should stand here so coy, enjoying my discomfort when I know damn well you witnessed all... "
"Because you are so rarely undone yourself, my dear Édouard - 'twas a treat to watch, a sight I might savor to my dying day truth be told."
"You are cruel, Madeleine."
"I am honest."
"'Tis half your charm."
"That isn't even the half of it, and you damn well know it."
Édouard laughed, grinning widely as he swung the young woman around, pulling her toward the thick timber stairs leading to the mezzanine above the gaming tables, choosing the shadow-lined edge closest to the rail, a truly perfect vantage above the raucous goings-on of the Black Boar. Madeleine had a moment to wave to the bartender far below, before Édouard pulled the lovely, lush woman to his lap, one hand slipping to the swell of her generous bottom.
Madeleine leaned into his embrace, wrapping one arm across his shoulders as she lay her lips against his ear, nibbling softly. "He has a whole gold piece now, you know," she said in thick, island-accented French. "I thought he might explode with happiness, the sweet boy. I thought the reale was a bit much, but that... ?"
"I saw," Édouard replied in French as well with a sigh, "I wasn't so distracted to miss that, Madeleine."
"I couldn't let him keep it."
"Of course you couldn't. Far too much for a child his age, but... I can find him a tutor, before I leave. Astronomy. Would you do this for me, Madeleine?"
"Astronomy? What in the world are you - "
"Yes. Astronomy. Constellations and the stars in the heavens... Even the Home Star... "
"The Home Star?" Madeleine giggled softly into his neck, and that sound finally broke the smirk on Édouard's face, his whole body stiffening suddenly.
"Oh sweetness," she said quickly, cradling the young man's smooth, beardless face in her hand as she turned his eyes to hers, sensing his sudden distress. "Forgive me, I never meant to be cruel... I just... No, no, don't look like that... " As the bartender set the tankards of grog at their table and retreated back down the stairs, Madeleine kissed Édouard's face, loving small pecks until that smile finally began to return.
"Will you do that for me, Madeleine?" he asked, looking up into her face once more. "Luc should learn to use the sextant and the compass, to chart and navigate and learn astronomy, to follow the course of the skies. If he doesn't follow in his Papa's footsteps and run the Parakeet, perhaps one day he'll pilot a merchant ship then. Good work. Honest work as an educated free man... "
Madeleine studied the young man's face earnestly, for several long moments, before laying her lovely head against his shoulder, cradled against his neck. "Work someday, to keep a woman as precious and lovely as his dear Maman, in silks and jewels and every least thing she could ever wish for and deserve." Édouard whispered into the soft, matchless darkness of her hair, wrapping his arms about the young woman tightly before releasing her, and reaching with one hand for the tankard of grog.
"He should know, one day - " Madeleine began swiftly as Édouard took one deep drink, and then set the tankard back down with a resounding "no" back to the table.
"What should he know, Madeleine?" the young man asked, with a furious shake of his head. "That the world is an evil, beastly place, full of malice and every manner of ugliness? Oh, have no fear, he'll learn that lesson well enough in time. It's unavoidable, you know."
"But for now? For now it's enough that he knows what every little boy should: that his Maman and his Papa love him dearly; that he is the most brilliant, sweet boy ever walked the Earth. That is enough, Madeleine. Let it be."
Édouard sat back in his chair, pulling the beautiful woman a little closer to him with one arm, the other tipping the brim of his hat back as his grey-eyed gaze fell over the assembled masses below, lighting solely on one laughing, drinking figure below.
He had business here this night, after all.
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