N3v3rM0r3
Ezekiel
Pizza Box
RPM
Hos
rush99999
tadcfnaf
Syrenrei
Zeus23The Sandmadien's Tale in which the Racist Sexist Hurricanes rule with an iron, if windy and rainy, fist.
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 21 days ago
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21 days ago
Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
29 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
like
3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
1
like
Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
Hurricanes shall not replace us!
Sayeeda gave Niel a skeptical glance but said nothing as she took a seat at the bar. The stool was vaugely sticky which she figured was about par for the course.
"What is the local?" she asked pushing a small metal coin across the slick top of the bar. The bartender and her alien companion were silent for a long moment as they took in her weapons and armor. The alien had a strange odor too- him? it? - something vaguely akin to stale ginger which tickled the back of her throat but she refrained the urge to sneeze. After a moment the woman seemed to relax and reached under the table and produced a large earthenware jug and a none to clean glass. Halfheartedly she swabbed the glass with a cloth and then slopped three or four fingers into the bottom of it and slid it across the table.
"Scotch," the woman said monosyllabic, her eyes still guarded. Scotch was a fairly general term for any kind of hard liquor, Sayeeda had tried variants of it distilled from as more plants, and in a memorable case a fungus, than she could recall. She lifted the glass and sipped the faintly greenish liquor tinge to it and tasted vaugley of some sort of sweet fruit. It wasn't the worst thing she had ever tasted and so she knocked back the remainder of glass and beckoned for another.
"You are out of your way, there are other bars for spacers," the Alien rumbled in a voice like rocks breaking.
"Not a spacer," Sayeeda responded.
"Soldier then."
"Maybe a soldier," she agreed and took a sip of the second glass of liquor.
"I'm looking for someone, a Xenos scholar named Ferenhall."
@POOHEAD189
"What is the local?" she asked pushing a small metal coin across the slick top of the bar. The bartender and her alien companion were silent for a long moment as they took in her weapons and armor. The alien had a strange odor too- him? it? - something vaguely akin to stale ginger which tickled the back of her throat but she refrained the urge to sneeze. After a moment the woman seemed to relax and reached under the table and produced a large earthenware jug and a none to clean glass. Halfheartedly she swabbed the glass with a cloth and then slopped three or four fingers into the bottom of it and slid it across the table.
"Scotch," the woman said monosyllabic, her eyes still guarded. Scotch was a fairly general term for any kind of hard liquor, Sayeeda had tried variants of it distilled from as more plants, and in a memorable case a fungus, than she could recall. She lifted the glass and sipped the faintly greenish liquor tinge to it and tasted vaugley of some sort of sweet fruit. It wasn't the worst thing she had ever tasted and so she knocked back the remainder of glass and beckoned for another.
"You are out of your way, there are other bars for spacers," the Alien rumbled in a voice like rocks breaking.
"Not a spacer," Sayeeda responded.
"Soldier then."
"Maybe a soldier," she agreed and took a sip of the second glass of liquor.
"I'm looking for someone, a Xenos scholar named Ferenhall."
@POOHEAD189
Well if your Hurricane only hates Jews it isn't technically racist. Apparently.
Junebug looked up at the vast wreckage of the ancient ship. Generations of scavengers must have stripped it of components and hollowed out the living spaces which now thronged with dirty desperate people. Her nose wrinkled at the mix of smells which rose from the streets. Smoke coiled from street vendors carts where makeshift braziers charred meat or warmed tepid soups. The common garment seemed to be shapeless brown cloth and broad brimmed straw hats but dozens of different styles were present. Some of them were familiar from other worlds Sayeeda had visited but others were alien even to her broad experience. Weapons were much in evidence all so, slung casually or peaking from waste bands or coat pockets. Few of them were as well armed as Junebug herself but she did spy a couple of Terran's in some sort of light body armor.
"Well," she said, temporizing, "I don't think we can count on finding him just hanging around." They headed off down one of the alleys, chosen by virtue of the fact that slightly more people seemed to be heading that way. Large three wield rickshaws seemed to be the primary form of local transport and several rattled by loaded with some sort of stalky vegetable that reminded Sayeeda of sugar cane. The city had been augmented with whatever had been to hand. Plastic sheeting printed with beer logos or soup flavors made improvised awnings. Here and there handmade signs declared bars and brothels with varying degrees of artistry. A particular memorable brothel was doing a roaring trade beneath the sign of a purple cat that lifted its haunches invitingly.
They walked for perhaps fifteen minutes before they found what Sayeeda was looking for. The area was upscale in the sense that the omnipresent graffiti was slightly less dense on the rusted metal walls. The bar had a large blinking neon sign out front that declared it the Ground Floor, men and a few women lounged in an outdoor beer garden with plastic decorative trees. It was far enough from the landing pads to have more locals than transients. If the kid had been here a while, it was the locals who would know about it.
"I suppose we can ask," she said and headed into the bar.
@POOHEAD189
"Well," she said, temporizing, "I don't think we can count on finding him just hanging around." They headed off down one of the alleys, chosen by virtue of the fact that slightly more people seemed to be heading that way. Large three wield rickshaws seemed to be the primary form of local transport and several rattled by loaded with some sort of stalky vegetable that reminded Sayeeda of sugar cane. The city had been augmented with whatever had been to hand. Plastic sheeting printed with beer logos or soup flavors made improvised awnings. Here and there handmade signs declared bars and brothels with varying degrees of artistry. A particular memorable brothel was doing a roaring trade beneath the sign of a purple cat that lifted its haunches invitingly.
They walked for perhaps fifteen minutes before they found what Sayeeda was looking for. The area was upscale in the sense that the omnipresent graffiti was slightly less dense on the rusted metal walls. The bar had a large blinking neon sign out front that declared it the Ground Floor, men and a few women lounged in an outdoor beer garden with plastic decorative trees. It was far enough from the landing pads to have more locals than transients. If the kid had been here a while, it was the locals who would know about it.
"I suppose we can ask," she said and headed into the bar.
@POOHEAD189
Junebug only nodded as Val-kan and his goons turned and headed out, boots clanking on the slightly rusted metal floor as they moved across the improvised hangar floor. Only once they had cleared her line of sight did she allow herself to relax and allow her hand to slide away from the butt of her submachine gun.
"Alright," she said, "You can come on down." Even though she heard Niel moving behind her, she didn't take her eyes away from the hangar door until he reached her side. It had been a good decision to come so heavily armed, toughs like that understood only force and the threat of violence.
"Charming fellow," she said dryly.
"Booster, seal the ship and open it only for a voice print from myself or Neil," she commanded, her commo helmet queueing the circuit to the ships AI. She thought about it for a moment and added.
"Also anyone with the vocal code Junebug Six, if anyone does try to force entry into the ship, issue a verbal warning and if they dont desists light the plasma thrusters for thirty seconds." That would fill the confines of the hangar with roiling flames and free ions. It might not be instantly leathal to anyone trying to break into the ship but it would certainly make it impossible for them to continue the attempt.
"Alright, lets check out this lovely 'spirited' city," she said to Neil.
@POOHEAD189
"Alright," she said, "You can come on down." Even though she heard Niel moving behind her, she didn't take her eyes away from the hangar door until he reached her side. It had been a good decision to come so heavily armed, toughs like that understood only force and the threat of violence.
"Charming fellow," she said dryly.
"Booster, seal the ship and open it only for a voice print from myself or Neil," she commanded, her commo helmet queueing the circuit to the ships AI. She thought about it for a moment and added.
"Also anyone with the vocal code Junebug Six, if anyone does try to force entry into the ship, issue a verbal warning and if they dont desists light the plasma thrusters for thirty seconds." That would fill the confines of the hangar with roiling flames and free ions. It might not be instantly leathal to anyone trying to break into the ship but it would certainly make it impossible for them to continue the attempt.
"Alright, lets check out this lovely 'spirited' city," she said to Neil.
@POOHEAD189
@Dynamo Frokane Post sex Starbucks is the best Starbucks.
saying gas the Jews would mean killing a lot of innocents while leaving alive many actual parts of the cancer of progressivism.
So the real problem with Nazi's is that they want to gas the WRONG people. Who knew.
I wouldn't mind being called racist.
Great, glad we are all on board.
Junebug was glad that she had opted to wear the commo helmet. The slightly transulcent faceplate didn't exactly hide her face, but it would certainly make her expressions hard to read. Just now her lips were curled up in a slightly superior smirk. The men before her were toughs, not soldiers, and she gave herself even odds of dropping them with a burst from her submachine gun before they could react. Those odds went up with Neil's help of course, assuming he didn't gun her down in a burst of the almost out of control enthusiasm he seemed to have for his other tasks. Force wasn't a good option here, but she needed to get things off on the right foot. Not a friendly foot necessarily, given the caliber of people they were dealing with.Rather than responding to the local she held a hand up to the side of her helmet as though adjusting a control or pressing an ear piece closer to her ear.
"Hold one Windhoven, dealing with Indig officials," she said to no one. The offical's expression colored with a mixture of rage at being interrupted and confusion at the name of the Terran Destroyer. Sayeeda had chosen Windhoven over the Z-49 because it would be more recognizable to the local. She very much doubted that a docking supervisor knew much about the Terrans or their intentions but he would as sure as the sun was hot know of them.
"You are with the Terrans?" the man asked, some of the certainty going out of his voice as he eyed her equipment, all of it expensive and millitary in nature. What does he think I am? Sayeeda wondered, Black Ops? Intelligence? Courier? It didn't really matter, all that was required was to insert enough uncertainty to smooth the way.
"I am Sayeeda Cyckali, Captain of the Independent ship Highlander," she responded, her tone bright and cheerful with perhaps a trifle more emphasis on 'independent' than was strictly necessary.
"My crew and I are here to examine market conditions and perhaps purchase samples for off world analysis," she went on in the same crisp professional tone. The guards continued to grip their weapons uncertainly but there was an undercurrent of concern now. People in menial jobs didn't like it when things grew complicated, they weren't paid enough for that and these men certainly weren't paid enough to get messed up in what might or might not be trouble with the TDF.
"As for your two weeks advanced warning, I doubt there is a computer on this shit hole that could tell you what the weather was yesterday, much less organise astrogational requests from a courier service," she said cheerfully, touching the control on her helmet visor to render it completely clear so that the men could see her face, lips curled up in smile which didn't quite reach her eyes. The tone was friendly and cheerful and glass smooth despite the content of the statement. Dealing with the locals didn't change much between the starts and Sayeeda didn't need to work hard to maintain her amused detachment.
"But if you want to search the ship go ahead and waste both our time," she said. Reaching into a pouch she pulled a credit chip from Paxton, one of the nearby trading hubs and flicked it across the few feet that separated it. The coin flashed with prismatic color, it was a round piece the size of a man's eye but it had an empty center in which a hologram hung in a diffraction grating. It was fancier coin than most worlds used, which was why Sayeeda always made sure to have a few coins. The effect would impress the local bumpkins more than the actual value of the coin, although it did represent a significant bribe and, unfortunately, a significant fraction of what might laughingly be referred to as her disposable income.
Smiling Sayeeda let her hand rest on the receiver of her slung shoulder weapon. It was her experience that you caught more flies with honey and a plasma rifle than with just honey.
@POOHEAD189
"Hold one Windhoven, dealing with Indig officials," she said to no one. The offical's expression colored with a mixture of rage at being interrupted and confusion at the name of the Terran Destroyer. Sayeeda had chosen Windhoven over the Z-49 because it would be more recognizable to the local. She very much doubted that a docking supervisor knew much about the Terrans or their intentions but he would as sure as the sun was hot know of them.
"You are with the Terrans?" the man asked, some of the certainty going out of his voice as he eyed her equipment, all of it expensive and millitary in nature. What does he think I am? Sayeeda wondered, Black Ops? Intelligence? Courier? It didn't really matter, all that was required was to insert enough uncertainty to smooth the way.
"I am Sayeeda Cyckali, Captain of the Independent ship Highlander," she responded, her tone bright and cheerful with perhaps a trifle more emphasis on 'independent' than was strictly necessary.
"My crew and I are here to examine market conditions and perhaps purchase samples for off world analysis," she went on in the same crisp professional tone. The guards continued to grip their weapons uncertainly but there was an undercurrent of concern now. People in menial jobs didn't like it when things grew complicated, they weren't paid enough for that and these men certainly weren't paid enough to get messed up in what might or might not be trouble with the TDF.
"As for your two weeks advanced warning, I doubt there is a computer on this shit hole that could tell you what the weather was yesterday, much less organise astrogational requests from a courier service," she said cheerfully, touching the control on her helmet visor to render it completely clear so that the men could see her face, lips curled up in smile which didn't quite reach her eyes. The tone was friendly and cheerful and glass smooth despite the content of the statement. Dealing with the locals didn't change much between the starts and Sayeeda didn't need to work hard to maintain her amused detachment.
"But if you want to search the ship go ahead and waste both our time," she said. Reaching into a pouch she pulled a credit chip from Paxton, one of the nearby trading hubs and flicked it across the few feet that separated it. The coin flashed with prismatic color, it was a round piece the size of a man's eye but it had an empty center in which a hologram hung in a diffraction grating. It was fancier coin than most worlds used, which was why Sayeeda always made sure to have a few coins. The effect would impress the local bumpkins more than the actual value of the coin, although it did represent a significant bribe and, unfortunately, a significant fraction of what might laughingly be referred to as her disposable income.
Smiling Sayeeda let her hand rest on the receiver of her slung shoulder weapon. It was her experience that you caught more flies with honey and a plasma rifle than with just honey.
@POOHEAD189
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