Status

Recent Statuses

7 mos ago
Current "You on the level? Why, for six bits, you'd be haning your mother on a meathook!"
7 mos ago
I am indeed alive, against all the best of advice! Happy belated New Year, and may this year be uneventful!
2 likes
2 yrs ago
"Funny how a melody, sounds like a memory."
2 yrs ago
Fuck. I made myself sad again. Stop it, you mean SOB. Stop. Thanks.
3 likes
2 yrs ago
I have become a TF2 character. I bought a real hat, and not just a six-pence! My inner 80-year old has escaped!
1 like

Bio

-The bio will be added once the profile user can be bothered to finish it. Right now he's probably busy doing nothing and stressed about more. Please come back later. Have a nice day.

Most Recent Posts

Richard Barker





"Oh Jesus Christ...now they're involved?"

The P.I. planted his face into the palm of his hand in a swift motion, as if this had been done many a times before. Things were truly, sadly and madly going to shits quicker than anyone would like, and it seemed the Richard Barker was in the middle of it. The Private Investigator took another swig of his drink, finding the courage - or stupidity - to ignore the imp making his whole world-view change in the blink of an eye, and focus on the white-robed man now taking the stage.

Old, white men, taking the stage clad in white...yeah, it sounded as bad as it was.

"Look here, buddy, two things; One, the KKK has no business rubbing their noses around the shit of New York like you're doing now, and two; What the hell are you talking about necromancers? I didn't know we were having a Bible-conference, talking about the Holy Jesus Christ raising the dead and..."

Another swig of the glass of whiskey brought, in some way or fashion, more sense into the brain of the P.I., who shook his head and stood up from his seat at the counter, before continuing.

"...in all seriousness, what in all that is holy and good, are you talking about? We're just a bunch of drunks, trying our damned best to get shit-faced and forget all the things we've done in ours life. Leave us alone, and I might not not knock your teeth out."
Richard Barker





A lowered, yet audible voice with a gurgling quality made itself known to Richard...somewhere around him - his Earth-bound senses refusing to tell him the voice's origin being in his own damned head - telling him how dreadful Hollywoodland must have been. The P.I. turned around on his seat, looking over his shoulder in search of the voice, though only finding the casual disturbance one would naturally find in a seedy establishment such as this.

Someone, a fancily dressed man - a dapper Sheik one might call him, just like one of those beloved idols from the silver screen or magazines - bursted out in annoyance about what Richard thought was "holy magic on this imp...", whatever that was supposed to be. Shaking his head, Richard slowly turned back towards the counter, unprepared for what he was about to witness.

"Sounds like someone's had a little too many glasses of giggle-juice. Anyway, can't fault you there, Pal. Hollywood, and California in general sounds too much like flim-flam to me. Still. those that chase that West Coast dream of fame, fortune and future, I hope they find out..."

Another blind swig of the whiskey had kept Richard busy from actually seeing the source of the voice. The source? An imp...

"...I think I'm behind the 8-ball...what the hell did I just drink?"
Don't you look at me and Richard. We're just here for the Canadian whiskey!
Richard Barker





31 cents. The barkeep had taken the blink of an eye to scrutinise the hardboiled, fedora-wearing man who'd just entered the establishment, remember the correct bottle of booze by memory, and finally hand it to him with eye and all. All that, and he only asked for 31 cents. If he'd been out of town, Richard might have begun asking questions.

Instead he pulled out his wallet, handed the barkeep the coins and gladly accepting the glass of whisky.

"Thanks, pal."

Smooth and strong, that's how the alcohol poured down his dry throat. A sense of warmth slowly spread through his chest. Certainty, something he'd failed to find in this accursed case of his. Strange how booze helped with that. Sure didn't help his marriage though.

Richard took the time to find a seat by the counter, taking off his fedora and placing it squarly in front of him as he calmly turned around. The strange gathering of people easily caught his attention...well, mostly people.

Scales, tiny flying fairies and...exactly how much had he been drinking?

Turning back and leaning over the counter, Richard did his best to silently get the attention of...well...someone. "Uhm...pardon my ignorance to your patrons, pal, but...what kind of bar is this? Something like a studio bar, akin to Hollywoodland or something? I've got to admit, I'm stumped, my wandering into the mist like that."
Richard Barker





"...Yeah, I get what you mean Kevin, but listen..."

Stacks of newspapers, a dozen plates and cups, and the pair of muddied gumshoes of the man sitting in a far too old office chair, littered the desk on which a telephone stood. The chord strung loosely from the desk to the reciever in the hands of a tense man, trying his best to calm down and do something by the book, which proved to be no easy feat all things considered. After all, unlike others Private Detective Richard Barker talked to these days, Kevin on the other side of the line knew how how the P.I. ticked and worked.

"...wait, so they have an alibi after all? And what might just that be?"

A document cabinet stood in the corner of the small office, itself placed in the corner of a less-than pleasent-looking office building in downtown New York City. Like the office itself had its secrets, so did the cabinet. The phone still tightly trapped between the detective's ear and shoulder, the cabinet was opened and a bottle pulled out, though its contents was as dissapointing as Richard's. Even a stern shake of it yielded only the bare buttom of his glass, much to his annoyance. The conversation didn't help.

"Jesus Christ...I know they're lying, Kevin, I just know!...no, thanks Glasses. I owe you one. Take care, and don't let Hoover bite you in the ass. Night..."

So the Order, well more specifically the two heads of the Hermetic Order has alibis on the disappearance of a certain member. Well...shit. this was more rotten than he'd guessed, even for all the brain-twisters he'd seen since that incident with a haunted house in Boston...or was it Arkham...He couldn't remember, and frankly tonight he didn't give to shits.

He really needed some giggle juice.

Richard put down the reciever and stared at the glass in his hand, contemplating whether this was enough for him to go to sleep without dreaming of Her...or even HIM. Probably not, nothing could get that old Mr. Corbitt out of his head anytime soon. Believe him, he'd really tried. So with a swift swig of the glass and an even swifter departure from his office, Richard Barker found himself out on the streets of New York, looking for the next best Gin Joint in the city.

Well...somehow he found one, though it certainly wasn't Kansas anymore.

A fog enveloped Richard after a couple of blocks, though the seasoned New Yorker wasn't phased by it. Growing up in the city told him these things tended to happen on nights like these, and the bare minimum of alcohol didn't make him question it. So when he found himself in front of a rather rustic-looking fascade of a tavern, he only asked two questions: "Does this look like a place run by O'Bannion, and do they sell JP Wiser'S?

Only his entrance into the Nameless Tavern would answer those questions and quence his thirts.




The change of atmosphere phased Richard briefly, with the lack of outside noise giving him second thought stepping into the tavern. Having just left a semi-busy street with cars, trams and whatever New York had to offer of its bountyful clientell of drunks, whores, cops and thugs, the inside was...calm. Too calm. Richard stood out like a sore thumb in the rustic tavern, looking more like a brown pub in merry ol' England rather than a New York speakeasy...then again, who was Richard to start asking questions?

The P.I. took a few cautionary steps inside, his detective gaze never ceasing to inspect the interiours and people seated around, while he himself made his own strides towards the counter...refraining from commenting on the rather odd fellows already inhabiting the joint. This was New York after all. If you wanted to find the freaks and odd Joes of the world, this was the place.

"Pardon me, buddy, but got any good ol' whiskey rye back there? Make it on ice, and don't worry. I don't work for the Feds..."

First time poster here, though my character will certainly not be. Give me a little time, and I'll jump into the fray as well ;) Will be good practice after a long hiatus!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Alexander Polawski
Location: The General's Office -> On the way to Medical
Skills: N/A
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


Seconds became days and weeks, even months and years for Alexander as Aeron accepted his need to talk, prompted by those four simple words; "Then let us talk." Alexander took a deep breath, filling his lungs with much air to carry him through this insurmountable mission he had just set himself out on - to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth, which he'd been told many times by Freedman, would allow him to pass through that painful obstacle and finally move on. And so he needed as much air as he could, before he started telling Aeron about…

A knock interrupted Alexander from uttering a single coherent word, making him hold his breath in suspense, the knock taking him by complete surprise. Who was it? Before he knew it, Doc Michael entered Aeron's office, paying Alexander little attention. His presence was probably not an issue to the doctor, after all they both knew about Aeron and what was killing him from the inside. His presence only disheartened the old veteran though. From the sound of what little conversation he and Aeron had, things were only growing worse.

And he couldn't help but feel an immense pride in seeing Aeron outright refuse the wheelchair, yet a bottomless sorrow knowing where this was going. Even in the face of Death, The Dragon stood tall and strong as example for his men. This time however, Death would be the last one standing.

The entire interaction was brief, allowing Alexander to remain with Aeron alone as he was asked to follow him for the walk. Alexander, having forgotten to breath throughout the conversation, let out a long breath and taking in another deep one, before nodding woefully to him. He got up on his foot and prostethic, approached his old friend and gave him a disheartened smile. "To the end of the World, General. Come on, Aeron, grab my arm if you need."

Holding out his arm for Aeron to grab onto as support, Alexander pushed aside his own troubles for the time being. His need for confession could wait, when Aeron needed him the most. And in that sense, Alexander felt happier, knowing he was still of use, if only for an old man fighting a losing war against cancer. With or without helping Aeron, Alexander would open the door for him and follow him out into the hallway, then outside into the streets and the hospital. "I have to give it to you. You're one stubborn old bastard, with all due respect. Glad to be by your side, old friend."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Nigel Cooper
Location: Bus -> Gaskins Still
Skills: N/A
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


With Nigel's proposal for resiprocal training in the art of war being accepted by the self-claimed non-expert, the Neo-Roman felt slightly more confident in their ventures as of today. Calling Ash an expert might have been a fancy florishing of words on his part, but in true comparison Nigel was still very much the novice when it came to handguns. He'd always used his sword after all, and that was both quiet and efficient enough for his own liking, so the need had never arisen.

Times changed though, and even he understood that. Now at least he had someone to help him on that unknown path that was the future.

The time for Ash to talk had not ended though, with a new matter which the new-world soldier decided to put his weight behind. The plan, or at the very least A plan going forward. The plan was as simple as it was sound, though the explisite inclusion of modern firepower was a tactic Nigel wasn't too familiar with, very least at this close range. Thalia's inclusion of stealth was a warm welcome to him, prompting Nigel to reply. "Fairly, though nothing compared to yourself. I can be quiet when the need arises…" He even managed to keep his mouth shut at that point, instead of going off on a long Latin quote about silence and whatnot, as if making a comedic point in contrast. Nigel simply took a deep breath and continued with another comment. "We head out as quietly as possible. As lain upon us earlier, we are not fighting time itself, so silence and patience are virtuous in this battle."

Looks like Nigel managed to sound ancient again. TouchΓ©.

It didn't take long for the bus to arrive at their designated drop-off point, an intersection before their planned foraging duty up north. Their target, a food mart. Outside the 'fresh' air caught Nigel in the face as he disembarked their galley on wheels, stretching out on the way out as if cramped inside CMB. His senses sharpened quickly as he mentally ordered himself to return to duty, a retired legionaire put back into service for the Empire. No sooner than they'd been given their final orders and Team B had ran off like Iberian skirmishers, Nigel turned to his group and looked them up and down. They all looked prepared, as prepared as one ever could be in this world of death, blood and fire.

A lone road kept going north from their position, treelines on all sides and far away in the distance the sight of a rooftop. Flat and industrial, that had to be their goal for small campaign. A road kept going to the east, encompassing a small overgrown field of what had probably been farmland, while the left contained more trees. Fairly simple, as long as they weren't being watched.

"North it is then, though let's head on the left side of the road. If we encounter resistance, may give us more cover..."

A pause from the now sword-wielding Roman came as a hushed reaction to something his eyes saw. In half a year Nigel hadn't seen one of Them, not this close and in reach of him. A certain instinct took posession of him, his hand gripping tightly around his sword - a fine blade, though sadly not his own beloved Gladius he'd carried into CMB. Eyes narrowed and locked onto the shambling Servant of Hades off in the distance, he breathed slowly and reminded himself of the threat of life outside the Walls.

A single Walker, off in the distance. Yes, they still existed out there. It didn't seem to notice them, at least not for now as Nigel eyed it like a scout keeping watch for a passing Gaul band of bandits. A brief look from Nigel onto the others told them he was ready to go deal with it at a moments notice, as he waited for it to wander off or approach them.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Alexander Polawski
Location: The General's Office
Skills: N/A

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


Alexander drew in a long drag of breath, letting it out again with a heavy, drawn out sigh as he took in of Aeron as possible, just like he'd been taught by Freedman over the past six months. He'd learned that keeping those happy moments, filled with good people and the comforting company of his friends, were amongst the few things that kept the old veteran going those days. Yes, the list of reasons to live had grown longer since he first joined Camp Mexico Beach, but on the top three of that least, Aeron could be found…and now Alexander did his best to remember as much of the General as he could. For when he was going to pass over to the hands of the Father, the old veteran wanted to keep the fond memories, even if they were painted by Aeron's worn face.

"I see…Bless his soul, Doc, he's a good man. We all can use a little hope now and then, but on this I trust your old bones, Aeron. They've carried you a long, long way, so they know their shit." Alexander's reply was a somber acceptence of the time running through their hands, like the very sand they'd stood in many a time, just the two of them staring out into the blue ocean and in deep conversation…sometimes a deep silence. Another memory Alexander would carry of his old friend. Oh, how far they'd come since 'Nam and the 70's. "Days…agreed. May God see to what we mere mortals cannot change, unless he can find me a good cache of military-grade copper!"

Alexander's somber tone fluttered into a chuckle at his own joke, doing his best to push away the lingering reminders of Death standing at a distance, waiting for Aeron patiently. An image was conjured up in his old mind, one where Alexander himself delivered Aeron to the Afterlife and greeting Death like a familar face…would Judith be there, waiting for him when his time came?

Turning back to the list as Aeron requested, Alexander squinted at his own writing in the dim light of the room, reading it out aloud for Aeron to hear. "Like I said, copper wire. The young fellas down in the basement haven't stored what I requested last time properly, so some of it's been corroding like Lady Liberty herself. Nothing too bad, but if we should find a way to store it dry, and I wouldn't mind some more spools down with me in case something hotwires. Same with screws and LED lights, we can never have too many of them." Alexander explained to Aeron, talking as clearly as the radio operator he'd been four decades ago, clearly giving of the vibe of someone who knew what they were talking about. "Then I'd like to put in a request for the scavening teams; rechargable batteries, tons of them. I know it's already a priority for the entire camp, but I've been dealing in those little suckers half my life and know how to take care of them. Kids these days just keep them plugged in the sockets all night, when they shouldn't be charged more than neccecary. Overcharges them, you know…anyway…"

Alexander kept on explaining his wish for a better trained crew down with him in the Communcations Room. Those he had now worked, it wasn't that. They knew the basics, but Alexander had to remind them what and what not to do with those old radios. It was mostly the younger ones who needed his foot shoved up their asses, but he couldn't fault them. Some of the radios they used were as old as he was. Old and reliable, but clunky to use. He would request himself teaching some volunteers in Education when he had the time. Knowing how to operate and maintain a radio was important to CMB after all.

Then came the last request on his list, the one he'd saved for last…and like last time when he looked at that list, his strength failed him. Alexander looked down on the list, read and re-read the bulletpoint time and time again, though Aeron would be able to clearly read what it said and figure out what it was Alexander wanted to request. Still, Alexander let his head hang down, heavy with the sense of guilt for how he had left his old settlement behind so many years ago…how he'd left Judith's grave back there. He sighed, looked up at Aeron and his tired eyes, and at that moment knowing another question he needed to ask. It had been on his mind for the past half year, spoken about with Freedman and reflected over countless sleepless nights in his bed…the image burned into his memory, just like the napalm burned those kids, and the bullet must have burned through his uniform…

"Aeron…I, I mean…Freedman and I have spoken about this since my first week outside of Quarantine, and…Forgive me, I am not good at this." Alexander shuddered at what he was about to tell Aeron, though equally determined to head through with it. He'd spent so much time, uttered so many words and torn himself apart inwards over this, and now the only thing left was to ask for forgiveness…and it all started with Aeron. "Do you remember Sergeant Jackson, my commanding officer back in 'Nam? Tall, stern black man from the South and as firery as a preacher himself. Do you remember…or know how he died? I…I need to talk about it, with you."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nigel Cooper
Location: Training Grounds -> Bus
Skills: N/A

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


As they all stepped into and found their seats in the now infamous bus, just as they had done when they first happened upon the scouting party of CMB and decided to join their small piece of civilisation half a year ago, Nigel found himself conversing in the briefest of sense to his fellow passengers about what was to come. He was certain that their briefing of the coming test was not far behind them, but for now Nigel was content to continue exchanging words with those who willed it; for the most part this meant Thalia, at least verbally.

Nigel anticipated the non-verbal response he recieved from the one-handed Amazon warrior, her wordless grunt having become a staple of Thalia to him at this point. It was almost as if he was commucating with a barbarian, not well-versed in the art of diplomacy and orating in finely constructed sentences, though he could hardly fault her. It was he who spoke like the Roman senators and soldiers, not her kind - if one did not count her brother, of course. The "Nnn" was more than enough to get the point across, even for a scholar as him.

The same went for their talk of Ash, who seemed to throw a polite jest in their direction, to which Nigel responded equally. It had not been his intention to forego his inclusion in the conversation, it just so happened…odd. Nigel reminded himself to speak more with Ash, more than they had done before. After all they were military both of them, just from very different times. They had much to teach and learn from another.

That last part of Thalia's observations struck a chord in Nigel. A good one! Nigel nodded approvingly at her words, his eyes taking in those in the bus and very possibly on their team. "Well said, Thalia. Ludemus bene in compania. We play well in groups, as anyone should strive to do when one can. I'm sure we'll find our place in said group once we get out into the field, for our baptism of fire…"

With the bus rolling out towards the gate, like the chariot headed for war awaiting the last gatehouse of its home city, they recieved more information for the coming test. Nigel wasn't wholly surprised to hear the group he'd been put into. Perhaps he'd been more taken back by the inclusion of Wayne, but…so much water had passed under that bridge that who knew how much the reincarnation of Caligua himself had changed? Then again, a fox changed its furs, not his habits. Was Wayne a fox then?

Either way, Nigel sat in deep silence as Maddoc continued the briefing. The task was a simple one in mind, though the neo-Roman knew how much different reality tended to be, certainly out there. Enter the town, move north and scavenge for supplies noted down, then move back and rendevous. Nigel nodded, gesturing that he understood the task at hand and accepted the fairness of it. A test was a test.

With that the bus passed through the gates and found itself out on the road…the outside. Nigel couldn't keep his gaze from taking in what the outside looked like. After half a year inside the safe confines of protective walls, it was indeed a change to see where he'd come from, where he'd fought through to get to safety. Like a Roman merchant returning to the travelling life, away from the comforts and worries of city life, Nigel both looked forward to and steeled himself for what was to come. They could spread their wings, but he knew to beware the eagles hunting them.

Soon they were told to be armed, their names called up for them to decide between two bags of weaponry. Once Nigel's name was called, he decided to take the obvious option of a sword and small side arm, clearly more comfortably with the first. A sword he knew how to swing like Hercules himself, but the gun? He silently cursed himself for not training with the pistol, finding himself look at Thalia, understanding her troubles. Like her, this was something he needed to learn. Nigel even looked over at Ash and gave him a contemplative look, before commenting briefly "You teach me how to use this, " while gesturing towards the pistol, then over to his sword "and I teach you this. I'd like to listen to the expert, after all."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Alexander Polawski
Location: The General's Office
Skills: N/A

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


Standing still and waiting had become second nature to Alexander at this point. One thing was remaining frozen on the spot, making as little noise as humanly possible as you listened to the shuffling steps of a Walker horde passing outside the window of the ruin you took shelter in. Hell, he'd done his fair share of waiting patiently back in his Army days. There was nothing akin to standing (or in more cases than not, leaning half-dazed and baked under the Southeast-Asian sun, up again the embankment defences of their firing position) for hours, even days on end looking for Charlie.

It was another thing to sit quietly, seated in a decently comfortable chair and tinkering with an old radio-set older than most on the base, sipping contently on a cup of coffee. That had turned the "standing still and waiting" routine into something different. Not as shit, one would say.

Alexander stretched his good leg and prostethic leg, feeling age slowly but surely catching up to him. The good food, rest and medical check-ups had improved the old soldier's health considerable since living outside the walls, but there was only so much it could do to the bane of all Man; Time. A sore joint there and a painful movement there, Alexander saw the writing on the wall. And to be honest, he wasn't too bothered about it, not when he finally felt like a productive member of CMB.

No, what bothered him wasn't his own mortality. That he reserved for his old friend.

"Areon! Glad you're awake. Thank you, I'll be quick." Alexander's words were sincere as he saw his old friend peaking through the gab, following his invitation in and finding his usual spot in Aeron's office. While Aeron took his seat on the coach, Alexander reached for an office chair that he'd laid claim to. No reason for it, other than it allowed himself to lean back comfortably and stretch out his back. As if he was the one in pain…

He still remembered it as clear as day, every single syllable and every movement in the General's face as they had spoken that day. Six months had passed, and it didn't escape his thoughts for a day since then, certainly not when he spoke with Aeron like today. The secret he'd carried with him, kept from those who stood Aeron the closest. And as Alexander sat down to both hear and see the effects it had on Aeron, he felt that word pass through his mind again.

Cancer.

Alexander first gave Aeron a puzzled look, a brief hint of uncertainty at the General's question. Had it not been he who requested Alexaneder's presence? The piece of paper tucked into ol' Mugsy's pocket betrayed his confusion however, his earlier rant a reminder of what he discussed with the old, withered man coughing blood. Alexander pulled out the note, reading the bullet points he'd noted down for later…

    *Copper wire
    *Replacement screws
    *LED-replacements
    *Rechargeable batteries
    *Expanding radio training for his staff
    *Request for contact with old settlement
    *…


and all Alexander could muster to ask Aeron, was "You can tell me how you are holding up, my friend. I can see there's no saving you from it, but…does Doc have any idea how long you have?"

Of all the troubles he had down in the Radio room as of lately, nothing was more important to him than Aeron in this moment. The copper and screws could wait. Aeron could not.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nigel Cooper
Location: Camp Mexico Beach (Beach) -> Training Grounds
Skills: N/A

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━


It would seem that it wasn't only Nigel who thought some of the pupils weren't performing as well as they all hoped for, taking in the Professor's solemn worries about Nikki's scores in English and math. Nigel only got a brief glance at them as Manny became the message-bearer for their new quest to find the source of these scholarly troubles, though he would have to agree with the Professor's assessment - no pun intended. She was no Shakespear or Sir Isaac Newton, that was for sure. Nigel sighed at these troubling news, more so with the feeling how much Nikki stood out from the rest of their pupils.

The neo-Roman turned to Manny, with his old wisdom and worn eyes who took the mantle to find out about Nikki's troubles, giving him a respectful nod as a form of blessing on this quest. "Good luck and the Speed of gods on your side, Manny. I'm certain you may uncover some clarity and find a way. I'll do my best when I can, though it may be best for not too many people involved in this at the same time." Nigel said back to both Manny and the Professor, knowing all too well how his own students sometimes reacted when they were flooded with well-intended assistance. Too many people at the same time, and one closes down like a castle under siege.

For this siege they may need more than onagers and ladders. Much more…subtle, diplomatic.

Nigel focused on Manny's invitation to accompany him on his way, setting of a reminding thought about what else he should be doing that day. "Certainly, at least part of the way. I've got to be at the Training Grounds soon, so I'll follow you until then. Farewell Professor, and may…Jeremy! Stop that right this instance! That's a stick, not a sword, and certainly not when Brian is unarmed…" Nigel sighed at the sight just down at the edge of the beach, two boys about to fight. One armed with a stick and another unarmed, not as Nigel had taught them. One day he would teach them properly how to fight like proper little Romans, but fighting with tiny sticks would only occur over his dead body.

He shook his head and turned back to Manny leaving, waving goodbye to those pupils paying attention and following his last dentist up from the beach. There were topics he'd yet to reply to Manny, including a certain phrase. "Ipsa scientia potestas est. Knowledge itself is power. Not many in the civilised world learned that tongue for the past decade, least of now. But to me it still holds power, brings me closer to that old world of great civilisations, ideas and heroes, as silly as it sounds. Perhaps it's of less use that your wisdom of nylon and teeth…" Nigel mused as they walked down the streets of CMB, being oddly reflective of his own strangeness. Perhaps his time amongst 'normal' people had soothed his Roman ego? Nigel sighed again, looking up at Manny with a half-smile. "You surely find me strange, Manny. Forgive my eccentric nature, but let is be thankful we both make this place a better place…anyway, see you later. I wish you Fortuna with Nikki. Oh! If you happen to see Hunter…tell him Nigel looks forward to see him again. "

And with that Nigel hurried of, on his way to the Training Grounds to fulfill the second nature of his being. For half a year he'd been the scholar, teaching others what he knew and trying to improve the lives of others. As he arrived at the slowly growing gathering of people, including Thalia the Amazon, Ashton the Soldier, Tatiana the Mother and Wayne the…something, Nigel longed back to that other part of him. For did not the senators of Rome swap their place in the fields of politics and knowledge, for the fields of war when they were called? The duality of Roman society called on Nigel, giving him a reinforced belief in what he was about to embark on.

"Nigel Cooper, Education. Signing up for teams for assignment." Nigel reported to Maddoc, standing as tall and proudly as he could in front of the man, attempting to ignore the bantering in the background. Mostly Wayne, who's voice still shrieked like the storming seas past the Pillars of Hercules. When and if noted down, Nigel took his place and listened intently to Maddoc's briefing of what was to happen. It was orderly and frank enough, noting the seriousness that still lingered over a 'simple' test. Outside of the walls, nothing was simple.

Nigel followed the group into the recently arrived bus, giving a polite nod to Hank at least as he entered and found a seat. He wasn't doing this to be social, though he did not mind it if he could find more common ground with Ash and Thalia than as then. No, he was doing it for CMB and himself. He needed to remain sharp and strong, and helping the settlement on the outside did just that. Still, Nigel turned over his seat and waiting for the arrival of Thalia, to which he would comment "Hello Thalia, good to see you. Let us hope our exchange of fists and swords have prepared us for today. Though I assume we will be tested on our skill with firearms as well? That must be Ash's speciality then, at least better than me. "
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet