<Snipped quote by Terminal>
Please let this mean we get another Luca. The more the merrier.
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new leg today. I AM TERMINATOR REBORN
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Only @mdk still needs to post, and I suspect they were mainly waiting for Donny to act.
Indeed. It is now done.
@Holmishire
Ariett's chucked backpack registered on some level of Luca's mind, though it was only a glancing contact and it didn't really slow him down. He hardly would have taken note at all, but for the soft-scream that accompanied it. Damn it, he thought. That's his fault, too!
It wasn't. If Luca had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that Donny had only acted to protect himself, and by association the rest of the occupants of the vehicle. If it hadn't been for Donny, they all might be dead. Luca wasn't thinking clearly, so he didn't think any of these things. Instead, he thought grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr or something along those lines. In the vastly-superior future civilization from which Luca came, great thinkers, psychologists, brain-wave scientists and the like had termed these sorts of thoughts "freaking the fuck out." Such a concept, alien though it may have seemed to the primitives in the modern era, described Luca's mental state perfectly. He charged on.
@platinumskink
Amelie had a bit more luck slowing the wild idiot's progress, but only a little. His sprint turned abruptly to the left, so that, without losing momentum or balance, he was suddenly running towards (and punching blindly at) a wall. He stopped short of actually striking said wall, bewildered. How in the hell...... THIS IS HIS FAULT TOO! GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...... Luca wheeled back around and ran at Donny anew.
@Doc Doctor
From this new angle of approach, Luca could actually see the glint of the garrote wire a little better than when he was running head-on. Not that he recognized it as a garrote wire, per se -- more of a grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. A dangerous grrrrrr to be sure, but still just a grrrrrrrrrrr. He launched himself at the hitman and threw a mighty punch.
In the end, it was his own error that spared him from the wire. He ought to have known better than to initiate a leap in hazardous gravity conditions. His momentum carried him over the red-headed object of his rage, and face-first into the twisted roof of the blown-out Royce. He ricocheted off it with a metallic clunk, made louder by his own metal componentry, and settled into a nearly-stationary zero-g hover. As luck would have it, this all occurred right over the hitman's prone and ready position.
Luca took another swing. He was too far away to reach. He took a second airborne swing just to confirm that he was out of range, then he tried (and failed) to swim his way over through the atmosphere. When at last it was clear that his efforts to inflict pain on the ginger were entirely futile, he let his arms drop. They floated instead, at awkward angles, but this was normal to Luca. "Dude, please stop killing everybody we meet." His voice was remarkably calm -- perhaps that whack on the head had done him some good. In his mind, some of the muted growling had dulled, and a new thought filled in the absence: be cool, be cool, be cool or he will cut you in half with his pinky.
Ariett's chucked backpack registered on some level of Luca's mind, though it was only a glancing contact and it didn't really slow him down. He hardly would have taken note at all, but for the soft-scream that accompanied it. Damn it, he thought. That's his fault, too!
It wasn't. If Luca had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that Donny had only acted to protect himself, and by association the rest of the occupants of the vehicle. If it hadn't been for Donny, they all might be dead. Luca wasn't thinking clearly, so he didn't think any of these things. Instead, he thought grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr or something along those lines. In the vastly-superior future civilization from which Luca came, great thinkers, psychologists, brain-wave scientists and the like had termed these sorts of thoughts "freaking the fuck out." Such a concept, alien though it may have seemed to the primitives in the modern era, described Luca's mental state perfectly. He charged on.
@platinumskink
Amelie had a bit more luck slowing the wild idiot's progress, but only a little. His sprint turned abruptly to the left, so that, without losing momentum or balance, he was suddenly running towards (and punching blindly at) a wall. He stopped short of actually striking said wall, bewildered. How in the hell...... THIS IS HIS FAULT TOO! GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...... Luca wheeled back around and ran at Donny anew.
@Doc Doctor
From this new angle of approach, Luca could actually see the glint of the garrote wire a little better than when he was running head-on. Not that he recognized it as a garrote wire, per se -- more of a grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. A dangerous grrrrrr to be sure, but still just a grrrrrrrrrrr. He launched himself at the hitman and threw a mighty punch.
In the end, it was his own error that spared him from the wire. He ought to have known better than to initiate a leap in hazardous gravity conditions. His momentum carried him over the red-headed object of his rage, and face-first into the twisted roof of the blown-out Royce. He ricocheted off it with a metallic clunk, made louder by his own metal componentry, and settled into a nearly-stationary zero-g hover. As luck would have it, this all occurred right over the hitman's prone and ready position.
Luca took another swing. He was too far away to reach. He took a second airborne swing just to confirm that he was out of range, then he tried (and failed) to swim his way over through the atmosphere. When at last it was clear that his efforts to inflict pain on the ginger were entirely futile, he let his arms drop. They floated instead, at awkward angles, but this was normal to Luca. "Dude, please stop killing everybody we meet." His voice was remarkably calm -- perhaps that whack on the head had done him some good. In his mind, some of the muted growling had dulled, and a new thought filled in the absence: be cool, be cool, be cool or he will cut you in half with his pinky.
I mean I'm all for people doing whatever they like -- perhaps next round we ought to consider more god-like characters among the rest of us? Or not.
Luca has responded, ah... poorly, to the latest outburst. He doesn't really get what's happening, try not to hate him, lol.
Edit: also, I didn't tag anybody in the post, because waaaaaaaay back when I was really RPing we didn't have that feature yet. Apologies for poor manners, I'll try to remember next time.
Edit: also, I didn't tag anybody in the post, because waaaaaaaay back when I was really RPing we didn't have that feature yet. Apologies for poor manners, I'll try to remember next time.
Luca landed safely and rolled a bit. When he got to his feet he had a good look at the metallic remains in the road and instinctively tried to categorize the reaction which had created them. Flash-freezing was more likely than deposition in atmosphere, but the spiked pattern made no sense for liquid expansion, so some kind of..... Right, the girl. He stepped around them carefully, mindful of what he didn't understand, and made his way towards her. "Hey, are you alright? Miss......" But she was already moving away. Rude.
Now that things had calmed down a bit, Luca was thinking a little more clearly. A little, at least -- he seemed to forget for a moment that he had moments ago lunged at one of the armored goons in an effort to kill it, but that could easily be chalked up to classic adolescent lack-of-self-awareness. He remembered Donny firing his gun and killing all those people. Donny started all this. He'd joined in, just like the others, but it was Donny's fault. Now, someone was standing up to him, and Luca felt empowered to join in. He mustered all his confidence.
"Yeah!" he said bravely.
The effect was negligible at best. Moments later, after a supremely intimidating rejoinder, Donny chucked a grenade into the next vehicle to arrive at the scene. Luca stood and watched dumbly as his comrades took cover. The shockwave was harmless to a clockwork of his caliber, or at least, harmless to his ear structures. He fell onto his rear, as much from shock as from the blast -- chance had placed him at a more-or-less safe distance -- and suffered only a few scratches from debris.
Luca did look at the damage, both to his person and to the vehicle and its occupants, but it was all surreal and horrifying and he didn't fully process any of it. Instead, he found his feet, growled in rage, and charged at Donny. An observer would have found it a comical mismatch -- Luca was after all small, scrawny-looking, and wholly unarmed; whereas Donny was, well, Donny. Nevertheless, Luca charged at him, flailing his arms in motions that vaguely resembled punches. Murderer.
"Stop killing everyone!" Luca screamed.
Turning to Donny, Ariett made a patting gesture in the air, followed by hands clasped momentarily in mock prayer—roughly translated, the meaning was please don't shoot anyone. She didn't really know what ticked him off last time, and she was hoping to figure out their intentions before bullets started to fly this time around.
"Technically we—or rather, he—shot first."
Ariett then faced the newcomers and spoke up so as to be heard over the loud humming emanating from the orb transfixed above the street. "Are these men yours? If so, I'd like to point out we're still armed, and the police are on their way. I assure you, we aren't worth the trouble."
Now that things had calmed down a bit, Luca was thinking a little more clearly. A little, at least -- he seemed to forget for a moment that he had moments ago lunged at one of the armored goons in an effort to kill it, but that could easily be chalked up to classic adolescent lack-of-self-awareness. He remembered Donny firing his gun and killing all those people. Donny started all this. He'd joined in, just like the others, but it was Donny's fault. Now, someone was standing up to him, and Luca felt empowered to join in. He mustered all his confidence.
"Yeah!" he said bravely.
The effect was negligible at best. Moments later, after a supremely intimidating rejoinder, Donny chucked a grenade into the next vehicle to arrive at the scene. Luca stood and watched dumbly as his comrades took cover. The shockwave was harmless to a clockwork of his caliber, or at least, harmless to his ear structures. He fell onto his rear, as much from shock as from the blast -- chance had placed him at a more-or-less safe distance -- and suffered only a few scratches from debris.
Luca did look at the damage, both to his person and to the vehicle and its occupants, but it was all surreal and horrifying and he didn't fully process any of it. Instead, he found his feet, growled in rage, and charged at Donny. An observer would have found it a comical mismatch -- Luca was after all small, scrawny-looking, and wholly unarmed; whereas Donny was, well, Donny. Nevertheless, Luca charged at him, flailing his arms in motions that vaguely resembled punches. Murderer.
"Stop killing everyone!" Luca screamed.
May I assume a successful landing, @Terminal?
‘FLYING BOY! CURL INTO A BALL!’
Luca did as he was told -- an instinct drilled into him during various zero-G recovery drills. Truthfully, floating weightless was not a large ordeal for the boy -- these things happened. It was strange, but not unheard of, for it to happen so abruptly, though his primary schooling had rather emphatically insisted that well failures could occur at any time, in any number of surprising ways. They were perhaps over-cautious; but nevertheless the instincts were there, and Luca was calm. In the moments he floated, he had time to survey the battlefield and consider all the strangeness that had befallen him since waking. The moments were fleeting, but he saw the metallic explosion -- and a stricken compatriot -- and of course the plate-clad combatants struggling over the arrow. And Donny, maybe the strangest aspect of the whole scene to Luca. Nothing was so strange as a man who would murder three people (or six? Five? What was the tally, and how many were real?) for the crime of standing in the road. Of all the chaotic elements, Donny was the one that made Luca shudder.
He shuddered while curling into a ball, though. Were he to land, he intended first to see to the comrade with the spike through her backpack. She seemed rather poorly off.
Or, alternatively: Should I just hold every error you make in reserve, and tactically deploy them whenever I personally see fit in order to obfuscate the narrative and create ambiguity where it is most inconvenient? The rule-of-two would still be in effect.
I mean......
Well for instance -- when we had that minor slip-up where Fortune went after the three thugs after Donny had already killed the three thugs, and then POOF, they're all alive again -- THAT is the sort of universe-alteration I anticipated when we started. Replication of spelling errors when it's just for the sake of noting the error seems like more work for everybody, not least of which, YOU! But if that is part of the point, then it's totally valid.
I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not attached to it. There are cases where it makes a LOT of sense, and there are times when it just feels it's taking longer to play. So I'd probably vote for a more selective reproduction of errors.
Luca could feel that something was wrong. It wasn't just the vertigo he suddenly experienced, though that would certainly have been a serious cause for concern under other conditions. In this case, the 'wrongness' that frightened him most was that his fingers were losing grip. Perhaps those two conditions were related.
He was going to lose this tug-of-war, but as his opponent yelled a threat in his face, Luca realized he had an alternative to winning. He squirmed until the knight raised up for another blow to the face, then pulled with all his strength, hard enough to entice the knight into doing the same. Then, abruptly, Luca released his grip. The knight lost balance and tumbled backwards, with the device clutched in one flailing hand. Luca immediately scrambled up and lunged for the knight, who now lay on his back, stunned for just the briefest of instants. Luca reached out and grabbed at the arrow -- but not the one he had been wrestling for. Instead, he reached towards the arrow lodged in the knight's visor. He meant to drive it down with the full force of his body.
He was going to lose this tug-of-war, but as his opponent yelled a threat in his face, Luca realized he had an alternative to winning. He squirmed until the knight raised up for another blow to the face, then pulled with all his strength, hard enough to entice the knight into doing the same. Then, abruptly, Luca released his grip. The knight lost balance and tumbled backwards, with the device clutched in one flailing hand. Luca immediately scrambled up and lunged for the knight, who now lay on his back, stunned for just the briefest of instants. Luca reached out and grabbed at the arrow -- but not the one he had been wrestling for. Instead, he reached towards the arrow lodged in the knight's visor. He meant to drive it down with the full force of his body.
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