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Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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In Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

BLUEJAY
Afterlife, Watson
A Dreadful Joint

Afterlife never honestly got the attention of Silvain because it was dreadfully tedious of a bar. And it had the ideal aesthetic—a morgue for the legends of Night City—but lacked the favour seen in other clubs and bars. There was only business and no excitement. Still, the client was waiting for her heavily edited braindance to be delivered. Silvain did not want to end up on the client's 'shit list' and be found lying in a ditch on the outskirts of town. Plus, it took unduly long to revise that BD for him to be a backstabber.

Making his way down the stairs and into the entrance of Afterlife, Silvain approaches the bouncer guarding the double doors. "Here to see a client that goes by 'Eddie.'"

"Another one?" the bouncer was surprised upon hearing the name but moved aside without hassle. "Go on down to the crypt and wait with the others."

Silvain made way inside the bar and instantly groaned at the soulless ambiance. So to fix that, he needed a goddamn drink. The bartender seemed friendly enough to take down orders and share a word or two. Then, she greeted him and asked for the order. A David Martinez with a dash of cinnamon to give it an extra kick. And after that, there wasn't much to do other than head on down to the crypt. It was your average meeting room with none of the exciting elements. Hell, it made him start missing the rest of Afterlife.

There were others in the room, just like the bouncer said earlier. But instead of engaging with them, Silvain went over to an empty spot on the long couch and sat down. He then pulled out his phone and sent a quick text over to Eddie's number before playing on it to avoid talking to the others. He took a sip of his drink on occasion without looking away from his phone. And there also was the sporadic chuckle upon reading something funny from one of his many social media accounts across the net.

arrived with the bd. waiting for you to explain the detes, ma'am.

In Discontinued → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Discontinued → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I might bring back Lucas then (I'm still debating on him still having metamorph or a different power entirely), if that's alright.
In Mao Mao's Test & Stash Zone → 2 yrs ago Forum: Test Forum
In Discontinued → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Mao Mao>

You were in the last one homie

oh my god. i just realized that lol (I'm a little embarrassed ngl)
man, its been three years already???
In Discontinued → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I will try to put something together because this totally reminds me of Chronicle and I love the film.
In Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot → 2 yrs ago Forum: Nation Roleplay

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Summer 1955
A Warm Welcome
Frontier Service Station, Welch (WV)
"Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein,
Schäfchen ruhn und Vögelein,
Garten und Wiese verstummt,
auch nicht ein Bienchen mehr summt..."

Emerson cherished his mother singing "Sleep, my little prince, fall asleep" even when her voice was not quite captivating. When he asked about it out of the blue, she told him that it was a prominent lullaby used throughout the German Empire during the Great War gifted by her dying grandmother, who encouraged her to flee to America as their home country was beginning to unravel. Even after Emerson got older, his mother still hummed the lullaby while preoccupied with chores around the house. It also bought her solace during the months of uncertainty in the wake of the failed coup in the nation's capital.

And now, the lullaby was etched into oblivion.

"...Luna mit silbernem Schein
gucket zum Fenster herein,
schlafe bei silbernem Schein,
schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein,
schlaf ein, schlaf ein!"

Gradually waking up from his unanticipated slumber, Emerson noticed his hands were bound against a metal pole of a large shelf. His attempts of breaking free only hurt with the rope rubbing against his skin. It wasn't that complicated to believe that the "kind" cashier did this to him. And considering that he came on to her too strong with the question, Emerson didn't hold any grudge against the cashier for protecting her brother—which seemed significant enough to harm someone. Suddenly, he heard the storefront door opening followed by an argument between two people. One of the voices was clearly the cashier's as the other was entirely unfamiliar to Emerson.

And then, in front of Emerson, the door slowly opened to reveal a much younger man still in his work uniform. It was clear the stranger worked for the nearby mining company since coal dust coated his uniform from head to toe. All of that dust made it nearly difficult for Emerson to notice the company patch on the miner's right shoulder confirming his assumption. It admittedly was intimidating to witness such a muscular man approaching but he didn't hide his concerned gaze—something that caught Emerson entirely off-guard. The miner got down on one knee and began untying the restraints while glancing at the head for any signs of injuries. "At least you aren't bleedin'. You alright?"

"Y-yes." Emerson responded as his hands were freed from the metal pole but still remained wary of the warm reception. It was how his family managed for so long.

The miner got up and then offered his hand to the now freed Emerson. "I wanna apologize for my sis and her... firm swing, Mr. Henzel."

"You know me?" Emerson asked directly. "Then, you must be Gilbert Hensley."

Gilbert nodded. "That yellow truck isn't exactly concealed in a town like this, sir. Just like an elephant walking down main street. But even then, I was told you were coming down sometime this week."

Emerson accepted the offer and got up from the cold wooden floor with some assistance. He quickly noticed the cashier from a distance, staring at both men, before walking away to the other side of the service station. She was still uneased by the whole circumstance even if she did a poor job of hiding it. But there wasn't time to explore the tension. Gilbert began making his way to the back exit and reached for the door handle. He opened the door and then turned to the truck driver. "We ought to leave for the area now. Pinkertons will begin their evening patrols soon as the sun's down for the day. And trust me, they're a fucking headache to deal with."

Gilbert and Emerson made their way outside of the building and turned to notice two Pinkertons leaning against their assigned 1949 Ford Fordor, which was parked in front of the moving truck. It had the insignia of the private security and detective agency—a navy blue simplification of an unblinking human eye staring straight with the bottom left slightly cut off to look like a searchlight beam—standing out against the cream white paint job. There was an audible sigh coming from Gilbert as he immediately recognized one of the officers. That officer stopped leaning against the car and approached them with a wide grin on his face.

"'They're a fucking headache to deal with.' Come on, boy, that isn't a way to treat an officer of the law—especially around a stranger."

In Mao Mao's Test & Stash Zone → 2 yrs ago Forum: Test Forum

CAPTAIN AMERICA
SPRING 2022
A PRESIDENTIAL WELCOME
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON D.C.
Steven Rogers had never set foot inside the White House during his time as Captain America due to the war. Yet, a rumor quickly spread regarding plans for a grand ceremony to honor the heroes that fought against the Nazi regime. It was there that the newly appointed President Truman would've awarded them with the Medal of Honor. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, Steven was unable to attend the ceremony; but he found out that he was awarded the Purple Heart instead. That event took place seventy-seven years ago, and now he was invited to be introduced to the forty-sixth President of the United States. Steven was, of course, honored that the president wanted to see him.

But he was unable to shake the feeling that the visit was for an entirely different reason than what was told.

Many staff members in the White House stopped whatever they were doing and stared at Steven whenever he walked past them. Some were speechless and astonished, while others mumbled at their colleagues about him. It was frankly an awkward experience that he wanted nothing more to do, but it was impossible to avoid given his renewed notoriety. Eventually, Steven was escorted to the office of the president's personal secretary, located right next to the Oval Office. He saw the secretary standing by their desk when he entered the room. They greeted the guest of honor and then walked him over to the next room. The president looked up from the stack of papers on the Hoover desk and smiled delightfully.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Rogers." President Amelia Griffiths extended her hand out, waiting for the captain to accept it. Her handshake was unexpectedly firm for someone that presented feminine with her bright red skirt suit and the cream silk scarf wrapped around her neck. Not to mention that Steven caught a glimpse at her muscular arm, deducing that she frequently worked out. Then, she gently let go and gestured towards the chair positioned in front of the desk. Amelia maintained the same smile from earlier, with her voice smooth as silk, while making her way to the desk. "Please have a seat here. There's so much to talk about in such a short time."

Steven sat down on the chair and instantly noticed his shield leaning against the desk. Finally, it received a much-needed restoration after enduring years of usage on the frontline. Amelia saw his shoulders unknowingly relaxing in relief of seeing the shield again. She reached and carefully placed it on the desk, which was heavier than envisioned. "It is quite astonishing to be holding the authentic Mighty shield. And an incredible honor to be handing it back to you, of course."

"Mighty?" Steven wasn't able to contain his confusion at the nickname.

"Just a nickname for your shield." Amelia quickly clarified before disregarding the whole subject with a dismissive wave. "But I don't want to bore you with history. I wanna discuss something rather sensitive with you before the ceremony."

"I am listening, ma'am."

Amelia smiled. "I assume you've been briefed about the current crisis."

"Yes, I know enough about the vigilante issue." Steven nodded confidently.

"Well, there is another crisis underway. I take it that you haven't learned about the X-gene then?" Amelia asked with a tone that was heavily inclined towards nuisance rather than disappointment.

"No ma'am. I have not." Steven shook his head.

"How unfortunate." Amelia sighed and made a mental note to have a friendly chat with Director Fury later. She then began figuring out a way to explain what occurred to a man out of his time. Thankfully, she gathered a few pointers for her son and ultimately felt confident enough to answer. "To keep it simple, the mutant gene causes a person to abruptly receive unprecedented abilities during puberty. We learned of its existence a couple of years after your... "death." Some of these mutants created groups in the service of protecting mutantkind in general. One group in particular resorted to acts of terror to achieve a world under their rule while the other tried to protect the world as well as promote mutant rights."

"What happened?"

"Both sides suffered casualties and went into hiding to seemingly recover. In recent years, they resurfaced with their isolationist policies abandoned. Now, they are preparing to make a move on an international scale." Amelia explained.

"And what have they done to warrant our country's concern, ma'am?" Steven asked almost innocently while Amelia clearly looked uneased. Thankfully, for the president, her personal secretary interrupted the conversation with something significant.

"Pardon the interruption, but Senator Kelly is here." The secretary stated while holding onto a clipboard on her up to her chest, waiting for a response before returning to her work.

"Bring her in." Amelia turned back to Steven and breathed a sigh of relief for Senator Kelly's arrival. "Perhaps she can better explain the situation to you."

"Good morning, madam president. It's always a privilege to meet." Senator Kelly greeted Amelia while walking past the secretary as Steven began getting up. The senator's eyes lit up in delight upon seeing the man himself in the flesh. She originally thought that the rumors of his return were dramatized until now, which left her quite bewildered at the sight. "And you must be Captain America, correct?"

Steven grinned at the question and extended his hand out to the senator. "I sure hope so, miss..."

"Oh, where are my manners?" The senator took his hand and shook it gently as if she was handling a delicate doll. "Caroline Kelly. My father would've cherished meeting you if he wasn't taken away for us too soon."

"I am sorry to hear that." Steven expressed sympathy at her loss, which she appreciated profoundly.

Amelia went over to Caroline and offered her a seat on the couch, ready to justify the senator's presence today. It wasn't to be the first senator to meet with Captain America before the others had their chance. No, it had everything to do with her father and his life's work before his tragic death at the hands of an assassin. "You came at an excellent time. I was about to tell the captain about the situation with the Brotherhood and the X-Men."

In all honestly, Caroline wasn't at all surprised to learn of the real reason behind her presence today. She knew that her father and his work were important to the country—something that he made sure to declare whenever possible. And there was so much information to sort through that it was still an ongoing matter despite being in office for a while. Regardless, Caroline had confidence that she could find what the president was looking for and expressed that to her. "Respectfully, my father was more of the expert on that matter. But I can happily share everything he gathered while in office. His paperwork isn't exactly the neatest but the information you're seeking will be there for sure."

Amelia valued the senator's quick response to the urgent and hasty request considering what her father did for a living as an essential senator for the country. "That would be much appreciated, especially if it can be fast-tracked by the day's end."

"Why the rush?" Steven asked another question, which was getting on Amelia's nerves at this point.

"I won't say much until after the ceremony, but learning about both groups is essential for the upcoming assignment." Amelia attempted to explain without giving too much away to the captain. Then, she took a quick glance at the grandfather clock and noticed it was near noon—only half an hour until the ceremony began. "Speak of the devil; the ceremony's about to start soon. Wait for me outside while I have a few words with the senator. Won't take long, I swear."

In Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

BLUEJAY
Lizzie's Bar, Watson
A Private Session (feat. @Ruby)

Braindance editing was something else entirely foreign for someone that partially studied the technology. It was not like modifying the mass-produced braindances for a clientele. So much information to digest all at once—sensations, sights, smells, sounds, and tastes. And working on pornographic material heightened those senses to the extreme. The pleasure of being loved in that fashion was incredibly addictive, even for an experienced sex worker. Fortunately, it didn't take much to get accustomed to the raw porno BDs from Jig-Jig Street and associates to the Mox.

Silvain Cellier De Roos was in the midst of your average one-night stand at a dingy motel room. An unfaithful husband tied to the messy bedroom while his mistress rummaged through a barrel bag for the right plaything from the client. When she pulled out the discipline and whipped the motel desk hard, the cheating spouse was instantly excited and eager for the night. And yet, he wasn't unable to stop thinking about his cherished and naive wife back home in Rancho Coronado. There was a sense of dread for violating the sacred vows made over a decade ago.

On the other hand, the mistress was furious with the man after learning of his married life two weeks ago. She wanted to tell his wife the truth and confront him about his infidelity. But he had the eddies to spare upon his "naughty lass." And it paid for the monthly rent at the megabuilding, not to mention enough to pay for groceries before the next paycheck. So, for now, she planned on taking out her anger on the bastard with the whip until she bled him dry of money. Only then will she act—even if it means losing a wealthy client.

Those were some of the sensations that Silvain underwent constantly whenever he was working for the Mox. And while fascinating to listen to and analyze for days, most customers weren't psychologists nor wanted to be reminded of relationship troubles. That's why braindance editors are sought after—to maintain the illusion of bliss. Or to preserve the heinous deeds upon others for the extreme braindances that sickos treasure. For Silvain, it was just another day of dealing with raw materials for a decent wage.

It took a few to remove all of the "unpleasant thoughts" and enhance certain ones in the memory. But before Silvain could've finished it, a familiar voice called out his name and followed by loud banging on the metal double door. He carefully exited out of the memory, making sure to save his progress, and took off the BD Wreath. And with enough time for Marina Galanili, Silvain's only confidante in the Mox, to make her presence known. Her polished olive skin and brown formal french braided hair (with hints of light caramel) definitely signaled that she was ready for her shift.

Marina leaned on the desk with a sarcastic smirk. "Did I barge in at the right moment?"

"Just your standard religious roleplay between some troubled souls." Silvain sarcastically remarked as he made his way towards the desk, looking for his pack of smokes. "But I'm guessing you didn't come all this way to learn that."

Marina reached into her pockets and pulled out a sterling silver lighter, placing it in front of him. "There's a customer that requested you in one of the private lounges."

"Didn't you tell them that I was unavailable?" Silvain asked right when he found the pack and pulled out two cigarettes. Marina took one of them and lit it relatively fast with the lighter.

"He's apparently a big tipper. Has eddies that we can't afford to turn away." Marina replied while fetching the ashtray for the other side of the desk before taking a puff of the cigarette. "Susie Q would've interrupted your session herself if I wasn't around the dressing room."

Silvain took his time with the other cigarette to prepare himself for his other job. He sighed and then stubbed the cigarette against the ashtray. "Alright, I will entertain him. Is it alright if I freshen up with your things?"

"Of course, dear." Marina smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Just make sure that everything's back in its place when you're done."

Silvain smiled back and made his way out of that dimmed basement. The brightening lights for the dressing room caught him off-guard initially. But he made his way to Marina's corner of the makeup stand. Getting freshened up didn't take too long for Silvain since he wasn't doing anything intense today. Just a spray (or two) of fancy Italian perfume and adjustments to his hair to look somewhat messy was enough to get the customer's full attention. And when he was almost done, he received a text from Marina:

oh one more thing. customer's name is eddie.
make us rich love! c:

It didn’t take long to get to the lounge from the dressing room given how close they were to each other. Silvain didn’t know much about the customer other than his name and wealth, but he still took some time to prepare. Even known he handled wealthy intoxicated customers before, they were easily satisfied and willing to give out big tips if given a good enough performance. At the door, he made sure to correct any obvious imperfections before making his grand entrance to impress the client.

Upon entering the private room, Silvain instantly noticed the customer was a white blonde woman dressed up like a suit. The way she was waiting for him to show made Silvain uncomfortable, which was impressive given the kind of shit he was used to by now. Still, he managed to keep his cool in front of the customer. It didn’t help that she was just staring at him without saying or doing anything. So, it was clear that Silvain had to be the one to break the ice. And that was what he did while getting ready to stand his ground—with force if required.

“Umm, hi there… Think you might be in the wrong room.” Silvain rubbed the back of his neck while maintaining a rather awkward smile. “I can have someone help you out, miss…”

Eddie found herself smiling at the young man's discomfort, the kind of smile that rose like the morning star across the plain of her smooth and undecorated pale lips, giving them a warmth they just wouldn't have had otherwise. There were times that Eddie genuinely forgot that her appearance could unsettle and intimidate; especially wearing a dark grey pants suit with simple matching button-up blouse that hugged every curve she had, a dim 'sheen' to the bleeding edge material. A useful tool for the jobs she had spent her life working at, but not something she spent time reveling in. When those lips parted and the smile rolled off her lips, the tone that followed it was just as warm.

"I thought the point of Lizzie's was that you didn't have to be too nervous about who you met in a private booth?" She didn't await the answer, it was just a curiosity; Night City wasn't her city. Prague and Vienna were more her style. Brows raised as her eyes widened from their steely gaze of before, softening the features on her face as she went from an overly comfortable lean back in the booth's seat to scootching forward, sitting taller and leaning just ever-so forward as she took a quick and hard sip of the synth-Scotch before continuing, "My name is 'Eddie', although it isn't really, but as far as Night City is concerned...yeah, I'm Eddie. I'm the new resident Fixer at Afterlife along with Dino Dinovic, if you've ever heard of him?"

She imagined he had. Everyone knew Dino, that was the main reason V had left the main Fixer spot of Afterlife to him. At first Eddie considered the stand-offish nature of Silvain might be misplaced, but then Eddie recalled just how dangerous she was, and in all the ways she was. She had allowed herself to be 'weaponized' as Eddie, Night City Fixer, and with that came a certain required understanding people wouldn't always love being in a room alone with you.

It didn't seem to affect her.

"I need a Brain Dance edited. It needs to be seamless and able to fool AI. I reached out to the woman who used to inhabit the basement you do now, Judy, and she mentioned I should check with the new 'basement dweller' of Lizzie's. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I need someone without any corporate ties for this. If you can pull it off, we'll have further business to discuss...as for payment, well, there's a reason they call me 'Eddie.'"

Silvain chuckled at her request while concealing his skepticism of the newest fixer at Night City. It wasn’t the first time that he heard of fresh fixers that either end fading into nothingness or disappointing the wrong person. But he was concerned about how she managed to obtain so much information on the previous editor. There was a moment that Silvain considered just calling over the other Moxes to deal with ‘Eddie.’ And yet, he was too curious about the offer to let her go.

“You make it sound so simple. I need more dets than that.”

"Nothing about Night City is simple, except the brutality of it."

She stood slowly, as not to alarm the man, the grey-blue eyes of the Fixer never leaving his own as she made her way casually around the small table, toward the door, and inches from him. The tone remained constant, and only the volume of her voice lowering. "Sorry, Silvain, but with the amount of eddies attached to this and the risk on all sides it has to be like this: in or out, right now, right here. Take the job, you'll get your details. Don't, and I walk out and you never have to worry about meeting me in closed quarters again. You decide."

The only difference in her eyes, this time, was the look of true sorrow she wasn't afraid to show him.

Silvain looked away for the woman and then, without any hesitation, responded. “I suppose there isn’t any law nor restraint in ‘this seething cauldron of vice and depravity’ of a city… Okay, when’s the deadline?”

Her answer was a simple, small, rueful smile. The implication? Now.

“And the price?” Silvain asked directly without the bullshit. “Tricking a corpo AI with an edited BD isn’t as easy as you think. Not to mention the lack of info makes my job a lot more demanding.”

They were so close, now, that the very break of rhythm in her breathing was audible to Silvain as he mentioned not knowing what it took to trick an AI. Her eyes lifted up in quiet calculation, to the left for a heartbeat before rolling to the right, and once again falling right back down to center on his gaze, "Twenty-thousand. Half upfront, half upon completion. More for later jobs if it works out."

Eddie knew it was a big number for a BD edit, even a demanding one. Trauma Team Gold was 18,000eb for a year's coverage, without the corporate discount. If the job went south, if it came back to Silvain's door, he'd need more than Trauma Team Gold to save his skin. Fair price. And she imagined 'Lizzie' would want her cut, given it was her basement.

"If you're interested in future jobs, anyway," a slight rise in the pitch of her voice, as she considered the reality that the jobs she offered might get too hot for Silvain, and he might decline, even where no other Merc in the city would. "A runner will deliver the BD and have all the details you could want. Thanks for the time, stay safe."

Her hand reached past him, the door opened, and she walked out. Something about the bar gave her the creeps.

Silvain made his way over to the couch and took a seat in order to process everything that just happened. It wasn’t anything like he dealt with before since moving to Night City. Hell, even his previous occupations were never as tense. There wasn’t much he could’ve done now except wait for the runner to arrive whenever. But first, he needed to calm down with a few inhales of that delightful happy puffs—a drug that provided instant tranquility and delight (thus the play on words of happy pills). All he needed to do was simply get the inhaler from his jacket pocket and then get ready to breathe in the wonder drug.

In Mao Mao's Test & Stash Zone → 2 yrs ago Forum: Test Forum

BLUEJAY
AFTERLIFE, WATSON
THE PREP // PT. 1

Silvain listened to the heist that was crafted and conceived by no one else than the mysterious 'Eddie.' It was an ambitious and daring venture to go after Militech for their prized possession: a motherfucking Militech Behemoth. And then, his interest peaked upon hearing that the heist needed a netrunner to monitor the target. Doing a simple hack and dash job in the comforts of your own station always sounded delightful. Yet, so was stealing from Militech in-person to fuck them over some more. However, after listening to 'Eddie' talk about the warehouse, there wasn't any mention of the braindance formulated with real sweat and tears. So, Silvain did indeed have a question of his own.

"What about the BD, hon?" Silvain tossed over the braindance case to the tablet in a disrespectful manner. To say that he seemed annoyed was an understatement. "I am hoping that my artistic passive wasn't wasted for nothing. It costs eddies after all, 'Eddie.'"

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