Mega Birb

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

@Bombardier Rip that Ranger.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

Yep, because watching an arms deal go down isn't suspicious at all.
@Midnight Howl Speaking of which, I misspelled your name in the mention.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

Delvin Crawford

Deep in the toxic wasteland that was the world, a dust cloud was moving east at an abnormally fast pace. It was almost as if it had a mind of it's own, and in a way, it did. At the front of the dust devil was a raven on a chopper with a goal in mind. He'd caught wind of an abandoned hotel out in the waste, and knew well enough that places like that were constantly avoided, either because they had become monster nests or temporary havens for outlaws. This one, though, was a different story. This place had been picked clean by scavengers years ago, and was always over looked by newcomers to the trade. The experienced foragers, like the biker on his way there, had the knowledge that places like this always had more to offer. As the dilapidated building came into view, his left hand drifted to the shotgun stored on the gas tank. While unlikely that someone was there, the possibility existed.

Delvin Crawford, one of the more experienced scavengers in the world, pulled up to a crippled hotel and shut his bike off. Out of habit, he dropped the keys into a pocket on the inside of his vest and locked it with an audible click. The raven made his way to the back of the vehicle and opened the left saddlebag, withdrawing a somewhat bulky bag and slinging it over his shoulder. His kit for this type of work retrieved, the man took a few steps towards the main door of the building and looked up at the dusty and faded sign that identified it. He read what he could, a scratchy and muffled voice coming from behind the gas mask keeping him alive. "The Merlot... fancy name for a roach motel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere." Continuing his path into the complex, the avian was surprised to find the glass door intact. However, a simple jiggle of the handle shattered the entire thing. "It's amazing what a hundred years'll do... makes my job easy." Meriting himself a light chuckle, Delvin proceeded into the lobby.

A quick glance revealed more than a fair number of hidden gems to his keen eyes, and the raven set to work immediately. He withdrew a crowbar from his kit and held it in his left hand, ready for an inevitable use in a worn down structure. It didn't take him long to find what he was after, though; a television, one in working condition for that matter. "Sacha, I may have just solved all your problems with that geezer..." Mumbling to himself as he picked the electronic rectangle up off of the lounge's wall, he slowly made his way back to the waiting bike outside. Every few feet, he would stop and pick up the occasional nail, nut, or other pieces of metal. A quick melting and these were the most useful things in existence. Delvin passed through the entrance and walked the last couple feet to his bike. Finally setting the television down, he opened up the other saddlebag and withdrew a few bungee chords. Clipping them into some strategically placed rings on the back of the vehicle, the piece of technology was soon held firmly to the side of it. "Can I risk a double-dip..? Yeah." The raven, eager to find some more useful and/or valuable objects, dived back into the wreckage with glee.

Hours later, Delvin came out of the gold mine with an armful of scrap metal and several abandoned necklaces and rings. Tossing his loot into the right bag, he reclaimed his keys the pocket of his vest and took a seat on his chopper, starting the vehicle up and dropping his scav kit into the left bag. Picking up the kick stand and doing a quick turn around, the raven sped off in the direction from which he came. "Maybe you can keep this one from breaking, Sacha..." Kicking up another cloud of dust behind him, he signed. Another long drive back to New Earlton...

Another couple of hours passed before the bird noticed something strange. Two cars parked far from each other, one with a sniper on it. Beside the larger of the vehicles was several crates, likely full of some dangerous substance. Squinting for a moment and trying to make out faces, he could identify a few alligators armed to the teeth, what looked like a puma... and the sniper. While she had the gas mask on and most of her body was concealed by the jeep, the patterns of what fur he could see marked her as a snow leopard. And, given the low number of them in the city, he was willing to bet it was the Godmother herself behind the scope. Killing the engine and leaning back in his seat, Delvin watched the scene unfold before him. If someone saw him, well, it probably wouldn't be a huge problem. Arms deals like this happen all the time around New Earlton. And if a fire fight broke out, assistance could be given.

@Midnight Howl@VKAllen

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

I'm gonna throw a post up in a moment. Just gotta write it.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

Aaron Fletcher

As Aaron was pulled into a taxi cab by Emma, he couldn't help but admire her for a moment. This was a determined girl, one that knew what she wanted and when she wanted it. And, for one reason or another, he was at the top of her list. He had no idea why, he was the kid that usually kept to himself and was only known because of who he was on DGO. That must've meant a lot, then, for him to end up heading to the house of the girl he'd fought alongside and had a crush on for the last year or so. Somewhere along the trip, he laid his hand over hers in some meek show of affection, and earned a knowing smirk from the driver. As the vehicle pulled up to Emma's residence, Aaron paid for the ride without hesitation. She had covered the movie and snacks after all, might as well return the favor.

The pair entered the house and made their way through the house, a simultaneous hint as to what was to happen soon and an offer on instant ramen was made. Unable to suppress a laugh at the suggested menu, the American had to stop on the stairs for a moment to calm himself. "Heh, it's alright, I'm still full from earlier. Thanks, though." He was soon enough led into her room, a space not much bigger than the bedrooms at the academy. Able to make himself comfortable quickly by sitting on the bed, he listened as the Irish girl explained her immediate plans. He could've sworn, there was a flirty undertone to that or something, and he was almost sure she was making a show of her movements. And the door to the bathroom left half open? She had a plan, alright.

Deciding to stand and look through the selection of manga, sliding the books and magazines back into place as he went. Unsurprisingly enough, every few covers featured a girl with an unrealistically large chest along with a fair few tentacles surrounding her in a threatening manner. "Welp, that's Japan for ya..." Shrugging off the images and taking out an older edition of an action comic, he sat back in his previous position and started to read through. The boy looked up as he heard Emma's voice come from the bathroom, speaking of her grandmother's conveniently timed and guaranteed absence for the night. Thinking for a moment, he called back, loud enough to be heard over the water. "If you don't mind me asking, how old is your grandma?" He waited for a response as he flipped the page, confused for a moment, and soon remembered that he would have to read the manga right-to-left for a coherent story.

---

Phantom Regality

Having ducked into an alley to avoid being minced by Rangers, Phantom Regality had no idea what to do next. As Moon Rider's placid attempt to regain control over the city apparently worked, he reemerged just in time to see the static-ridden face of Paper Moon appear over the city and give a more heartening speech. Put beside each other, it was clear which one could be called the better one. Opening up his messages and starting to write, he had his now near-dead thrall stand guard for him. For a piece of tissue paper, that unfortunate Assassin from earlier was a good shield.

To: Paper Moon
From: Phantom Regality
Subject: War, apparently?
I need to meet up with you somewhere, I get the feeling this level of insanity can probably be stopped if one side stands down. Don't get me wrong, I'd love the EXP, the only problem is that most of it'll come from Strykers.

The short message away, the Necromancer strolled out onto the street to find a large portion of the Black Guild gathering on the street. And for once, everyone didn't have a gun to someone else's head. The supporter almost thought he was dreaming for a minute.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

@Jedly Yeah, I'll have to take that offer up. I'll have a post up tomorrow, I have company over tonight.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

I legit don't even know what to do with Phantom at this point in the story.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

Alright, Delvin is a person now. I'll get an introductory post up tomorrow, I have company at the current moment.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

Delvin Crawford

Name:
Delvin Crawford

Gender:
Male

Species:
Australian Raven

Height:
5’7”

Weight:
113lbs.

Personality:
Overtly selfish and rarely on edge, Delvin understands and embraces the dog-eat-dog mentality that defines the world in this age. He has a notably weak moral compass and has no qualms about killing, though he actively avoids open conflict. He’s a bit of an alcoholic and is a noted kleptomaniac. He also has an addiction to nicotine and usually has at least a full pack of cigarettes on him at all times. It should be noted that he takes verbal flak extremely well. Delvin is also on the lookout for replacement parts for his chopper constantly, and will usually pay well for them.

History:
Born and raised in New Earlton, Delvin Crawford grew up watching gangs come and go like the wind. Few ever stayed around more than a year, and even less made it that long. But anyhow, he had something of a rough upbringing. Sure, he lived in one of the better parts of the city, but this is a place ridden with crime that corrupts even the best people. With a druggie of a mother and a paranoid father, the bird was largely forced to learn the city himself.

Soon enough, as it always does in an Anarchy, tragedy struck. One night in Delvin’s teens, his mother died of a heroin overdose, and his father quickly became a grim figure. For the few days the body remained, the patriarch of the Crawford family was busy making plans. Out of nowhere he left with the mother’s body, leaving a note and a handgun. The note simply read “Good luck, Delvin. If I don’t return, you’re in charge.”

He never did come back, and the years started to pass in a blur. Soon enough, Delvin Crawford was in his late twenties and running with a small gang that lacked any real authority. The two things running for them was the complete domination of a small strip of road and a skilled mechanic that could make anything into a vehicle. Then, as a coup was staged within the group to seize power, the lone raven among them had a sort of midlife crisis, in which he turned on his brothers and eliminated them all within the hour. All except the mechanic, his one actual friend. Handing over all the crowns he had saved up, the avian requested the mechanical secrets his friend had.

Months of lessons later, the two parted peacefully. A handmade bike under him, Delvin had a world to scavenge and payment to accept. For the moment, he was content putting his keen eye to work searching for the gems that rodents overlooked constantly. Though like any living being, he grew restless. Now, he turns to the Hole and occasionally the Hawthornes for work, glad for all the odd jobs that never get talked about afterwards.

Equipment:
-Motorcycle, armored to survive gunfire and blunt weaponry, and stabilized for combat. Keys are always on Delvin’s person in a zippered and locked pocket.
-Gasmask, fitted for avians. Always kept on his person, along with at least three spare filters.
-One steel lighter, kept on a chain around his neck.
-1887 Mare’s Leg. A light, lever-action sawed-off shotgun, ideal for close quarters combat and flip cocking. Kept in a holster on his bike.
-Jericho 941. A powerful yet concealable semi-automatic handgun, stored in a holster on Delvin’s right leg.
-One knuckle knife. A long knife with brass knuckles built into the handle, ideal for most situations. Usually kept next to his handgun in a sheath.
-A seemingly bottomless pack of menthol shorts, kept in his bike’s saddle bags.
-Vehicle repair kit, complete with a blowtorch, three different wrenches, a flat head screwdriver, and wire cutters. Stored in the bike’s saddle bags.
-Scavenger’s kit, complete with a breaching tool, bolt cutters, and a crowbar. Stored in the bike’s saddle bags.

Other:
-Delvin hasn’t mastered any fancy kinds of martial arts, but he can handle himself well in a fist fight.
-On any given day, he’ll usually wear a gray t-shirt and black jeans, along with a signature vest with who knows how many patches on it. The most notable of said patches is a “1%-er” patch on his shoulder. He’s also owns a pair of blacked-out goggles.
-He’s surprisingly tough and his mind is always at work, although he’s somewhat limited when it comes to mobility. That said, he can run just as well as the next guy, he just isn’t suited for climbing quickly.

Emily King

Name:
Emily King

Gender:
Female

Species:
Shortfin Mako

Age:
22

Height:
5’8”

Weight:
128lbs.

Personality:
Young, spunky, and sadistic, Emily King is ready to take the world head on and take out anyone in her path. She’s aggressive and cannot be stopped by traditional means. Long story short, she’ll fight until she draws her last breath, and will do so with glee. It should be noted that she’s a psychopath with a bloodlust and is prone to violent mood swings, ranging from bliss to rage in mere seconds with little warning. That said, she's considered to be mentally unhinged. Ironically, she’s a slight pyromaniac. She also approaches sexual encounters with little concern, since she doesn’t place much value on that level of intimacy. Deep down, though, she has a fear of serious relationships and the damage she could inadvertently cause to one. Aside from that, she doesn’t fear much, and is a great gunman as a result. If she wakes up before noon, that is.

Biography:
From the earliest she could remember, Emily King had two mothers. One, being the biological parent, was a fellow shark. The other was an orange tabby cat. In all reality, a pretty typical family. Everyone had a love for what they did, and they got by well enough. A home in the slums of New Earlton, while not a great place to raise children, was a great place to raise a survivor. And that’s exactly what the Kings did. Unfortunately, both parents never really had a method of teaching Emily right from wrong. Sure, she got the jist of it, don’t steal and be nice, but this is New Earlton we’re talking about.

Fast forward into Emily’s early teens, she already was starting to present a cruel streak. When a thief broke into the apartment while her parents were out for dinner, the girl’s inner sadist manifested. The poor bastard didn’t expect a little kid to be armed to the teeth. Literally. The hound screamed in agony as his leg was bitten into, followed by a handful of sharp claws tearing through the muscles of his opposite calf. Immobilized and unable to draw a weapon, he was horrified. The girl stood and licked the blood from her teeth, then smiled brightly. For a moment, one could almost see her eyes turn red. She could end it there, go for the throat and put the crippled dog out of his misery. But no, this was the perfect opportunity…

For the sake of the more squeamish readers, part of the living room wall had a new coat of red paint by the end of the night.

When her mothers got home, they were shocked at the sight. A bloodied and broken Doberman on the floor, and Emily casually laying on the couch, slurping up some ramen noodles out of a cup. She acted as if nothing had gone out of the ordinary, explaining what happened like one would the process for making peanut-butter toast. The moment they could, the family got to a psychologist’s office to have their daughter’s thought process examined. Around a week later, the girl was declared mentally unstable and dangerous. She was allowed to stay at home, given the city they lived in, and continued life as usual. She had, however, acquired something of a taste for blood.

When she turned eighteen, she bid her parents farewell and packed up a couple mementoes from her younger years, and left the nest. She quickly found her way to the other side of town and moved into the Hole, always able to pay a few month’s rent at a time. She’s lived above the bar ever since. Now, finally able to live life her way, Emily took to doing odd jobs for all sorts of people. A fair few of these involved torturing some poor bastard for information or over a grudge, but the mako was happy to let her inner sadist out for a couple hours. As long as she got paid to do it, she would. And then someone tried to screw her out of payment. The rat – literally a rat – soon ended up with the shark in a locked room, bound to a wall. Hours of one-sided conversation and concussions later, the rodent died to a gasoline-and-flesh fueled fire. Some say it’s the most painful way to die. Others say it can’t be worse than being shot a few times. These ‘others’ have obviously never met Emily King.

She's also eaten someone, but that's a story for another time.

Equipment:
-Ripper. A standard Micro-Uzi, with an extended magazine and a spring suppressor. This bullet hose is usually kept on Emily’s person inside her hoodie.
-Beretta m9. All standard, just with a chrome job. Typically kept in a holster on Emily’s left hip.
-Kusari-fundo. This simple Japanese weapon consists of nothing more than a long chain, weighted with several padlocks on one end. Blunt trauma at its finest. It’s usually kept in a curled up state on Emily’s right leg.
-Messenger bag. Storage for any “finds” made wandering the city. And more than a few instruments of torture that are kept on hand.
-Flip phone. Old enough to where it’s a royal pain in the ass to trace, but still functional.
-Two water bottles, always kept full and in the messenger bag.
-Gasmask, fitted for sharks. Kept in the messenger bag with two spare filters.

Other:
-Emily can occasionally be seen mixing blood into her drinks, or outright drinking it if it’s available.
-She keeps in contact with her parents, calling to chat at least once a week.
-Her wardrobe mostly consists of blue tube-tops, black jeans and dark-blue zip-up hoodies.
-While not the toughest fighter, she can hold her own quite well and is very quick on her feet. She’s also notably acrobatic.
-Favorite color is matte blue.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

@Lonewolf685 Let's be real here.