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9 yrs ago
Current You did good, McGregor. Made us proud.
4 likes
9 yrs ago
No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
2 likes
9 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.

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Akemi's head was cocked ever so slightly to the right while she looked at the man that had approached the table, requesting permission to sit. Not that he technically needed it; the seat was open, unclaimed, and nothing she was doing (nor anything her brother was doing) was actively barring him from making use of it. Perhaps this was an example of social dynamics? Unwritten rules demanding a certain explicit permission due to proximity? These were the difficult questions. Still, after a slight pause, she gestured permissively at the chair in question with one hand while taking a bite of her food with the other.

"It's open." She said simply, casting a sidelong look to her brother as if inquiring as to his opinion. "We arrived recently. Unfamiliarity is not surprising."
Angel Ferrara


Lux's mopey friend mentioned that he liked blueberries, eyes slightly downcast. Angel's face softened, teeth locked down on the corner of his bottom lip, and considered the amount of antioxidant-heavy smoothies he'd be making. It would almost be easier to just make the same for everybody and cut up some apple for Cyare, maybe just sprinkle some extra blend atop Kaia's...

"I," spoke the softie, "am on it, guys."

He disappeared through the door behind Kaia briefly and came out with a large portion of the food stores he and the blind mage had brought from the last town they visited, burning a path to the common room with the other mages in tow. To keep Kaia in the loop on his whereabouts at the head of the line, he would knock on the wood of a table they passed, or giggle quietly once or twice. The little things.

"Kaia, it's going to be your job to keep an ear out for Cyare. You need to fend her off if she starts getting uppity."

The Tactical Mage got a playful smile, with a rare lack of trepidation.

"I'll handle the dorky paladin."

Lux got a similar grin.


Cyare Staunton


"I do not get uppity." Cyare protested, sinking into a chair that afforded her a nearly perfect view of the entire room with a minimum of blind spots. The choice was intentional, but not entirely conscious; it spoke less of her opinion of those around her, and more of her habits. Or perhaps of her usual sort of company. Either way the habitual suspicion remained despite the fact that she felt relatively at ease. She fixed her eyes first on Angel, a stare somehow reminiscent of a glare without really requiring any truly emotive expressions, then on the shorter girl tasked with keeping her from 'getting uppity'. "Nor do I think that you could handle it if I did."

"Nevertheless, my help was declined, so I will stay here. Quietly. And wait patiently."


Text on a page or a picture in a book can't really convey power. The best wordsmith can't convey the way it feels, to grasp the enormity of a foe, to see the muscles rippling under its hide, witness its shadow all but blot out the sun, see the world illuminated almost exclusively by the red of its eyes. There's no way to convey the force of presence backing the animosity inside those crimson orbs. It's not conscious. It's a primal understanding, a knowledge that you are completely, utterly, impossibly outclassed by the towering nightmare of ebony, bone, and blood leering down at you. It's a split-second understanding in the face of the beast itself, something only someone else who's seen it will ever understand. But the words come back to you anyway.

Manticore. Riesen class Grimm. Venomous spines in the mane. Claws. Tail. Teeth. Low armor, highly tenacious. Many, many times the size of a hunter.

I swear to God, I'm having a word with whoever in the airship managed to miss something that big.


Still, with all encompassing terror comes adrenaline.

With adrenaline time seems to slow down.

And with that extra time fear turns into spite.

While the Manticore's paw came down, Ben's feet were already pushing off of the ground hard and sending him rocketing aside. The few percentage points dropping off his Aura gauge told him Deinamig had a hand in that, but the force got him out of harm's way without much time to spare. The paw came crashing down where he'd been only a few precious seconds before, but he didn't have time to think about that. No time for hindsight. Not if he was going to feed this fucking Grimm its own fucking teeth. Artorius and Lawnslot were back in his hands before the thought even finished crossing his mind, and before his foot ever connected with the roof again. He landed nimbly but he didn't stay still. Staying still was death. He was on the move. A single shotgun shell rocketed towards its face far above, something to distract it, while he darted away from its paws and got ready.

Knowing this wasn't the time to hold back, he triggered the release of his second battery and watched the Aura gauge on his BaSTEELs rocket up to three hundred percent. More than enough to keep Deinamig going, and himself safe. Especially with the way he was moving. Part of what made the Manticore deadly was its size, yes, but it existed on a scale that was by the very nature of its existence disassociated with the one Ben existed on. Ben was tiny in comparison. The Manticore's efforts to crush him were like trying to swat a fly. Easy when it stops moving, or when you know where it'll be, but when it's in motion? When it's moving too fast and too erratically for you to track?

Good fucking luck.

"Well, we've got a party on the roof!" Ben said into the radio with a tone that was a little too cheerful to actually convey the frenetic pulse beating through every fiber of his being, training paired with centuries-old instinct to keep him alive. Slipping some Fire Dust rounds into Lawnslot made him stop talking a second, just long enough to aim and fire a few times at its eyes and reverse direction as soon as it looked like it might have worked out a pattern to his movements. "Jack, you guys gotta get the survivors out now. Know I told you I'd try and back you up, but I'm gonna need backup. Manticore up here."

Would've been nice to be able to get a message to ASL, but that wasn't happening. Earpieces were ten lien at Good Buy, and by God he was going to buy four of the fucking things when they were done here. There was no 'if'. There was no question as to whether or not he was walking away, as to whether or not he would win, as to whether or not this was the day that Manticore died. He was Benjamin Lloyd. He was part of Bastille. He was the captain. He was immovable, insurmountable, and invincible. He wouldn't let Lauren lose here. He wouldn't let Sangue lose here. He wouldn't let Amy, either. So neither would he.

Anything else'd be hypocritical.

Deinamig fueled his legs, keeping him one step ahead, while his eyes tracked the massive beast's movements. It couldn't get the drop on him, it was too big for that. Any attack'd be telegraphed a mile in advance. And when it was, he'd be getting out of the way. His tonfa combined with a series of quick, mechanical clicks leaving him with Caletfwlch held in both hands. That Manticore had one blind spot. Its underbelly had no armor, and no way for it to attack him. Once he saw an opening, that's where he'd be going.

Time to prove, once and for all, that Bastille wasn't second best to anyone.
"This is fascinating."

Three little words, but they served to sum up the complicated mix of feelings swelling within the nineteen year old pilot's chest. Londo Bell's London base, all things considered, wasn't too far out of the ordinary for a military establishment of similar size. Housing and recreational facilities, dining facilities, training facilities, all were held under a single roof. Rather spaciously, at that. All of these things were familiar, very similar in many ways to the Newtype labs she was accustomed to. Some differences, obviously, as the two didn't actually share construction schematics. But the similarities were there. The real difference was in the atmosphere. People were everywhere. Not scientists, not overseers, not handlers, just people. Normal people. Pilots, officers, support staff. People.

Akemi Tschida couldn't really help but try and keep as many of them as possible in her line of sight, watching their doings with great interest. The dining hall (she thought that was the term, she'd never been in one before) was a hub of social activity, and she was eager to observe as much of it as possible. Not, however, to the exclusion of the plate of 'fish and chips' in front of her; an attribute also under the heading of 'fascinating'. Small, curious bites got gradually bigger as the female half of the twins concluded that she did like the food on her plate. "This is good, Akimi. Try yours."

Blue eyes panned across the area.

"Do you think they get to come here every day?"
The Newtype Twins

Akemi Tschida


Never know, we might get another person eventually. But four'll be a decent start.
Awesome, glad we're good to go.
The Newtype Twins

Akemi Tschida


Grunt suits are one of the best parts of Gundam. And yeah, the Javelin's almost if not Victory era if I remember right. We really wanted to use some of the other Titans Test Team suits, buuuut...

The TTT had a bad habit of sticking a Gundam head on and attaching Gundam to the label, even if it's not really a Gundam.
Jestas are fucking cool. I think Crim'd have killed to be able to use a Javelin, but that's late, late UC. We liked the Gaplant for the baseline specs. Pretty damn good, and they fit really well with the characters we wanted to make.
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