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STATUS: Achmed the Snake 6 mos ago
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6 mos ago
Current
Achmed the Snake
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10 mos ago
It's kind of insane to me that people ever met without dating apps. It is just so inefficient.
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11 mos ago
One, polyamory is notoriously difficult to administer
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11 mos ago
I'm guessing it immediately failed because everyone's computer broke/work got busy/grand parents died
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1 yr ago
In short: no don't use basic acrylics.
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Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
Jessica Scarlett, or Red Jess as she was known to her friends and enemies, both of which she had in abundance, cursed the day she had ever come up with this clever plan. Doubtless the six other crewmen with her on this were cursing her all so, but given they had all been hardsuited and in vacuum for the past day and a half. The starfield appeared unchanged, even though they were hurtling through it at over seven hundred miles per hour. Their vessel, nicknamed the "Abortion', was a collection of beams of structural plastic, air tanks, gyroscopes and pieces of glass etched with engineering marker. The guiding design principle of the Abortion was that it could contain no metal or other material that might scatter radar. The resulting craft had no sensors, no life support and no abillity to manuevur other than break. In every sense it was a collection of junk which had been launched into space on a ballistic course.
The problem was that the ship they were trying to board was one of a half dozen which had been shot up by a Hegemony squadron four days earlier. The attack ships had moved on to other engagements leaving a picket and a single salvage tender which was in the process of hauling the derelicts back to a Hegemony controlled world to be condemned as prizes of war. Luckily the process was a slow one, and the ship she was looking for, the slave ship Blackbird, was a low priority to the Hedge. The picket cruiser was orbiting a gas giant two hundred thousand miles distant. Its orbit was calculated to sweep the derelict ships constantly, but due to the nature of the orbits there was a twelve minute gap in its coverage as it passed behind the gas giant.
Jessica's plan to approach the problem was simple. Insane, but simple. Certainly if she presented it to her instructors back at the naval academy on Capella she would have been laughed out of class before being sent for yet another psyche eval. She and her crew had constructed the Abortion, attached it to a stolen tug, and then jumped out of parallax during the picket ships blind spot, accelerated for nine minutes and then released the Abortion before dropping back into parallax. The Abortion, small and non-metallic, hard flown on her ballistic course for thirty seven hours. Thirty seven hours during which her crew with no protection except suits. Thirty seven hours with what snatches of sleep they could grab. Jessica looked at her chronometer, on old fashioned pocket watch which had been sprayed with a synthetic resin to protect it against vacuum. Thirty eight hours. It was nearly time. Jess climbed forward hand over hand past one of her crewman, asleep and tethered to a tie down, to the nest of cables which served as the Abortion's controls. There was no instrumentation, merely a sheet of glass which had been etched with navigation markers. All of which were just about aligned. Jess checked the pocket watch again and then grasped a lever and yanked. The ship slammed into her butt, jolting her spine as cylinders of CO2 on her port and starboard began to vent, slowing the ship. The other spacers, jolted awake by the sudden deceleration, clung on to the vessel as gyroscopes fired smaller jets to control the ships attitude.
"Twenty seconds," Jessica said, though no one could hear the words without air to carry the sound. Ahead of her she saw a metal hull swelling larger. Amazingly they were on course. She drew the single piece of metal equipment she had allowed herself, a laser range finder that was low powered enough that the scatter wouldn't be visible for more than a few hundred kilometers, and pointed it at the approaching ship. It returned a relative rate of close and she adjusted the gas release slightly with the twist of a lever, then she stood up and took one of the lines of woven plastic.
"Ten seconds," Jess muttered, the hull completely occluding the starfield now. The rate of close was now only a few meters a second, still a little faster than she had calculated but it was too late to worry about it now.
The Abortion hit the side of the blackbird with a crash that every soul aboard felt in their spines. As a group the sailor leaped from the ship and onto the hull, tying lines to whatever they could find as the Abortion rebounded away. It sailed ten meters back before snugging on the cables. One of them snapped soundlessly under the strain, but the other five cables held. Jessica let out an explosive breath. They were aboard.
_____
The hatch slid away as the burn gel cut through the metal. As expected the interior of the Blackbird had been depressurized by battle damage so the hatch didn't blow out. Jess slid the hatch away, letting it drift off into space and sliding into the ship. Without power, the artifical gravity was gone also, and debris floated everywhere, They were on the ceiling above the main hold. On the floor below them were several dozen cryo tubes. Many of them were cracked open, leaking globes of bluish cryo fluid into the weightless void. Those tubes which had lost integrity were caskets now, their occupants frozen and dehydrated. Jess growled. She didn't like slavery or slavers, and it was a comfort to her that the crew of the Blackbird had died when Hegemony guns had ripped their tub open. She made a hand signal to one of her crew, a slender woman named Jacobis, who kicked off and floated over to her. Jessica caught her and then pressed their helmets together so that the vibrations could transmit between them.
"Get one of the escape pods warmed up," she instructed, "I'll see what..." She paused as one of her crew, already down among the tubes, made an urgent gesture. Jess arched an eyebrow and then kicked off, sailing down towards the deck, she hit and rolled, catching the deck grating with her fingers. She straightened, the soft magnets in her boots barely enough to keep her grounded. The crewman made a gesture to the translucent tube. Inside was an angelic looking face of deep blue, with bright red hair.
"A starborn?!" Jessica wondered. Then made a gesture to Jacobis. The other woman nodded then reached out and pressed the emergency release. Their was a puff of air and the tube slid free of its metallic clasp. The two women man handled the tube into an escape pod. Unlike the rest of the ship, the escape pod could generate both atmosphere and gravity, as they passed the tube through the shimmering mag field it settled to the ground. Jessica rolled the tube over and tapped at the controls, initiating the thaw. Fluid drained away as inbuilt injectors pumped drugs into the veins of the sleeping slave. Her eyes snapped open, starring up at Jess unseeing. The pirate pulled her helmet off to reveal her own shock of red hair, tied into a severe bun to keep it out of her face during weightlessness.
"Hello there," she greeted the Starborn.
@SporkoBug
The problem was that the ship they were trying to board was one of a half dozen which had been shot up by a Hegemony squadron four days earlier. The attack ships had moved on to other engagements leaving a picket and a single salvage tender which was in the process of hauling the derelicts back to a Hegemony controlled world to be condemned as prizes of war. Luckily the process was a slow one, and the ship she was looking for, the slave ship Blackbird, was a low priority to the Hedge. The picket cruiser was orbiting a gas giant two hundred thousand miles distant. Its orbit was calculated to sweep the derelict ships constantly, but due to the nature of the orbits there was a twelve minute gap in its coverage as it passed behind the gas giant.
Jessica's plan to approach the problem was simple. Insane, but simple. Certainly if she presented it to her instructors back at the naval academy on Capella she would have been laughed out of class before being sent for yet another psyche eval. She and her crew had constructed the Abortion, attached it to a stolen tug, and then jumped out of parallax during the picket ships blind spot, accelerated for nine minutes and then released the Abortion before dropping back into parallax. The Abortion, small and non-metallic, hard flown on her ballistic course for thirty seven hours. Thirty seven hours during which her crew with no protection except suits. Thirty seven hours with what snatches of sleep they could grab. Jessica looked at her chronometer, on old fashioned pocket watch which had been sprayed with a synthetic resin to protect it against vacuum. Thirty eight hours. It was nearly time. Jess climbed forward hand over hand past one of her crewman, asleep and tethered to a tie down, to the nest of cables which served as the Abortion's controls. There was no instrumentation, merely a sheet of glass which had been etched with navigation markers. All of which were just about aligned. Jess checked the pocket watch again and then grasped a lever and yanked. The ship slammed into her butt, jolting her spine as cylinders of CO2 on her port and starboard began to vent, slowing the ship. The other spacers, jolted awake by the sudden deceleration, clung on to the vessel as gyroscopes fired smaller jets to control the ships attitude.
"Twenty seconds," Jessica said, though no one could hear the words without air to carry the sound. Ahead of her she saw a metal hull swelling larger. Amazingly they were on course. She drew the single piece of metal equipment she had allowed herself, a laser range finder that was low powered enough that the scatter wouldn't be visible for more than a few hundred kilometers, and pointed it at the approaching ship. It returned a relative rate of close and she adjusted the gas release slightly with the twist of a lever, then she stood up and took one of the lines of woven plastic.
"Ten seconds," Jess muttered, the hull completely occluding the starfield now. The rate of close was now only a few meters a second, still a little faster than she had calculated but it was too late to worry about it now.
The Abortion hit the side of the blackbird with a crash that every soul aboard felt in their spines. As a group the sailor leaped from the ship and onto the hull, tying lines to whatever they could find as the Abortion rebounded away. It sailed ten meters back before snugging on the cables. One of them snapped soundlessly under the strain, but the other five cables held. Jessica let out an explosive breath. They were aboard.
_____
The hatch slid away as the burn gel cut through the metal. As expected the interior of the Blackbird had been depressurized by battle damage so the hatch didn't blow out. Jess slid the hatch away, letting it drift off into space and sliding into the ship. Without power, the artifical gravity was gone also, and debris floated everywhere, They were on the ceiling above the main hold. On the floor below them were several dozen cryo tubes. Many of them were cracked open, leaking globes of bluish cryo fluid into the weightless void. Those tubes which had lost integrity were caskets now, their occupants frozen and dehydrated. Jess growled. She didn't like slavery or slavers, and it was a comfort to her that the crew of the Blackbird had died when Hegemony guns had ripped their tub open. She made a hand signal to one of her crew, a slender woman named Jacobis, who kicked off and floated over to her. Jessica caught her and then pressed their helmets together so that the vibrations could transmit between them.
"Get one of the escape pods warmed up," she instructed, "I'll see what..." She paused as one of her crew, already down among the tubes, made an urgent gesture. Jess arched an eyebrow and then kicked off, sailing down towards the deck, she hit and rolled, catching the deck grating with her fingers. She straightened, the soft magnets in her boots barely enough to keep her grounded. The crewman made a gesture to the translucent tube. Inside was an angelic looking face of deep blue, with bright red hair.
"A starborn?!" Jessica wondered. Then made a gesture to Jacobis. The other woman nodded then reached out and pressed the emergency release. Their was a puff of air and the tube slid free of its metallic clasp. The two women man handled the tube into an escape pod. Unlike the rest of the ship, the escape pod could generate both atmosphere and gravity, as they passed the tube through the shimmering mag field it settled to the ground. Jessica rolled the tube over and tapped at the controls, initiating the thaw. Fluid drained away as inbuilt injectors pumped drugs into the veins of the sleeping slave. Her eyes snapped open, starring up at Jess unseeing. The pirate pulled her helmet off to reveal her own shock of red hair, tied into a severe bun to keep it out of her face during weightlessness.
"Hello there," she greeted the Starborn.
@SporkoBug
In
A giant List of Ideas and Potential Stories [High-Casual to Advance] [18+]
→
3 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
I was just talking about the Belgariad!
Not sure if it is technically a show but he Horatio Hornblower miniseries is insanely good
A strange hush fell over both ships, broken only by the rhythmic knocking as the two hulls were driven together by the swell beneath the tumblehome. Both ships were lashed together by grappling lines and further tangled by the ruin that Markus had made of the caravel's sails. A moment later there was a great bloodthirsty cheer and the crew surged over onto the caravel to begin looting their new prize. A few stayed behind, carrying for wounded mates as best they could, though without a surgeon aboard there was little they could do other than bandage wounds and hope for the best.
"Markus, stay with us lad," Morgan said, kneeling beside the fallen captain. To Emmaline's eyes he looked like he had jumped from a light wound to advanced stages of supperation. She had seen men in similar states after being stabbed in the guts during bar fights and laying screaming for several days. Black lines traced his veins from where the bolt sank into his flesh and his skin was growing pale and clammy.
"Mannan help us I think he is dying," the old privateer cursed. Emmaline shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
"Live by the sword, ex cetera," she replied airly. Morgan turned to glare at her.
"He jumped infront of crossbow bolt for you!" he snarled, concern for Markus transmuting itself into anger. Emmaline arched an eyebrow at Morgan, clearly unimpressed.
"I wouldn't have been here at if you and your band of cut throats hadn't abducted me," she pointed out reasonably, he eyes flicking over Morgan's shoulder to the bizarre looking dwarf and the Brettonian who appeared to have come from the elves caravel. Morgan caught he wrist as she turned to leave.
"What was he talking about when he said you were going to tell him your secrets?" the pirate demanded. Emmaline attempted to pull her arm free but Morgan's work toughened hands were like iron.
"How should I know, and why should I care, he is dead and damned and good riddance," she snapped. Morgan bared his teeth in frustration, his eye flicking between Markus, the caravel and the tangle of sails and rigging.
"Perkins, Tomlon, get the captain into his cabin, then start rounding up a party to clear this rats nest away. Sea will be rising once it gets dark and we will knock ourselves to pieces if we are still tangled with this bitch," he snapped.
"Hey," Emmaline protested. Morgan waved an arm at the caravel.
"That bitch," he clarified, "not you bitch." Emmaline rolled her eyes. The two sailors who had been busily pillaging some dead elves trotted over and lifted Markus by his arms and legs, carrying him towards the captains cabin. He dragged Emmaline along behind having not released her wrist. Tomlon and Perkin's laid Markus who by now was shivering and muttering to his cot and set him down before all but running out of the cabin, either to follow Morgan's orders, or more likely, to join in the plunder. Morgan gave Emmaline a shove over towards the stricken captain.
"Even if I wanted to help, which, I emphasise, I dont, I'm not a surgeon," Emmaline protested.
"Do what you can for him," Morgan grated. Emmaline's derisive snort cut of as Morgan grabbed her around the throat his eyes flaming with genuine anger.
"You better hope he gets better, because whoever takes over if he dies will have you on your back before his corpse is cold. Save him and he will be in your debt," the old salt all but yelled. Emmaline hadn't imagined that Morgan was so attached to Markus, but evidently she had misjudged him. Morgan shoved her at Markus again and then strode from the cabin, bellowing orders that cut of abruptly as he slammed the door closed. Emmaline made a rude guesture at his back and then slumped into one of the mahogany chairs, snatching a bottle of rum from the sideboard and pulling the cork with her teeth. She sat back for a moment.
"Just let him die," she told herself reasonably, taking a sip of the rum, "it isn't like he doesn't deserve it." Markus moaned in his delirium, his back arching. Emmaline raised the bottle to his lips again but paused before taking another drink.
"Oh for Ranald's sake," she sighed.
__________
Emmaline shoved the leather wrapped stick between Markus' lips. As Morgan had predicted the sea had risen in the hours since the attack. Although she hadn't left the cabin, Emmaline could deduce by the fact that they were underway by the fact that the sound of axes had ceased, and the familiar roll of the deck. Morgan had returned once to make sure she was actually attempting to help Markus and the relief on his face when he found her stripping him out of his shirt and examining the wound had been palpable, as had been his surprise when he asked her if she needed anything. The supplies she had asked for from the kitchen had raised his eyebrows, but he was so eager for any chance to save Markus that he had complied without complaint. Once had withdrawn she had locked the cabin door with the heavy iron key Markus used and gotten to work.
Emmaline dipped a rag into the pungent smelling clear fluid that she had distilled from the rum. It wasn't quite pure, but as alchemical base went it was many times more potent than a simple distilled spirit.
"This will hurt," she told the feverish captain, "but don't worry, you totally deserve it." She gripped the base of the quarrel and whispered an incantation, reaching out to the cruel barbs that lodged in Markus' flesh. The metal sagged and softened for a moment and she yanked hard. Markus let out a strangled cry muted by the gag as the bolt pulled free, releasing a gush of blackish unhealthy looking blood. Picking up her rag she thrust it into the wound and was rewarded with another incoherent scream. Squeezing the cloth to get as much of the base into the wound as possible Emmaline withdrew it and began to swab the surrounding flesh clean. Whispering again she began another incantation, tiny fragments of cloth and other foreign material within Markus' body burst burned away with an audible sizzle that was quenched instantly by the distilled alcohol she had introduced. That accomplished she stood and crossed to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, digging through the contents till she found the dress he had stolen from her. She sighed morosely and then plucked at the hem until one of the strands of silk came free. carefully she drew on the strand until she had a yard or so of silk which she dropped into her remaining alchemical base along with a steel sewing needle which Morgan had fetched for her. After a moment she withdrew the needle and thread, threaded them together and began to none to gently sew the wound closed.
"For Ranald's sake," she repeated as she tied off the suture.
+Events of Healing+
"Markus, stay with us lad," Morgan said, kneeling beside the fallen captain. To Emmaline's eyes he looked like he had jumped from a light wound to advanced stages of supperation. She had seen men in similar states after being stabbed in the guts during bar fights and laying screaming for several days. Black lines traced his veins from where the bolt sank into his flesh and his skin was growing pale and clammy.
"Mannan help us I think he is dying," the old privateer cursed. Emmaline shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
"Live by the sword, ex cetera," she replied airly. Morgan turned to glare at her.
"He jumped infront of crossbow bolt for you!" he snarled, concern for Markus transmuting itself into anger. Emmaline arched an eyebrow at Morgan, clearly unimpressed.
"I wouldn't have been here at if you and your band of cut throats hadn't abducted me," she pointed out reasonably, he eyes flicking over Morgan's shoulder to the bizarre looking dwarf and the Brettonian who appeared to have come from the elves caravel. Morgan caught he wrist as she turned to leave.
"What was he talking about when he said you were going to tell him your secrets?" the pirate demanded. Emmaline attempted to pull her arm free but Morgan's work toughened hands were like iron.
"How should I know, and why should I care, he is dead and damned and good riddance," she snapped. Morgan bared his teeth in frustration, his eye flicking between Markus, the caravel and the tangle of sails and rigging.
"Perkins, Tomlon, get the captain into his cabin, then start rounding up a party to clear this rats nest away. Sea will be rising once it gets dark and we will knock ourselves to pieces if we are still tangled with this bitch," he snapped.
"Hey," Emmaline protested. Morgan waved an arm at the caravel.
"That bitch," he clarified, "not you bitch." Emmaline rolled her eyes. The two sailors who had been busily pillaging some dead elves trotted over and lifted Markus by his arms and legs, carrying him towards the captains cabin. He dragged Emmaline along behind having not released her wrist. Tomlon and Perkin's laid Markus who by now was shivering and muttering to his cot and set him down before all but running out of the cabin, either to follow Morgan's orders, or more likely, to join in the plunder. Morgan gave Emmaline a shove over towards the stricken captain.
"Even if I wanted to help, which, I emphasise, I dont, I'm not a surgeon," Emmaline protested.
"Do what you can for him," Morgan grated. Emmaline's derisive snort cut of as Morgan grabbed her around the throat his eyes flaming with genuine anger.
"You better hope he gets better, because whoever takes over if he dies will have you on your back before his corpse is cold. Save him and he will be in your debt," the old salt all but yelled. Emmaline hadn't imagined that Morgan was so attached to Markus, but evidently she had misjudged him. Morgan shoved her at Markus again and then strode from the cabin, bellowing orders that cut of abruptly as he slammed the door closed. Emmaline made a rude guesture at his back and then slumped into one of the mahogany chairs, snatching a bottle of rum from the sideboard and pulling the cork with her teeth. She sat back for a moment.
"Just let him die," she told herself reasonably, taking a sip of the rum, "it isn't like he doesn't deserve it." Markus moaned in his delirium, his back arching. Emmaline raised the bottle to his lips again but paused before taking another drink.
"Oh for Ranald's sake," she sighed.
__________
Emmaline shoved the leather wrapped stick between Markus' lips. As Morgan had predicted the sea had risen in the hours since the attack. Although she hadn't left the cabin, Emmaline could deduce by the fact that they were underway by the fact that the sound of axes had ceased, and the familiar roll of the deck. Morgan had returned once to make sure she was actually attempting to help Markus and the relief on his face when he found her stripping him out of his shirt and examining the wound had been palpable, as had been his surprise when he asked her if she needed anything. The supplies she had asked for from the kitchen had raised his eyebrows, but he was so eager for any chance to save Markus that he had complied without complaint. Once had withdrawn she had locked the cabin door with the heavy iron key Markus used and gotten to work.
Emmaline dipped a rag into the pungent smelling clear fluid that she had distilled from the rum. It wasn't quite pure, but as alchemical base went it was many times more potent than a simple distilled spirit.
"This will hurt," she told the feverish captain, "but don't worry, you totally deserve it." She gripped the base of the quarrel and whispered an incantation, reaching out to the cruel barbs that lodged in Markus' flesh. The metal sagged and softened for a moment and she yanked hard. Markus let out a strangled cry muted by the gag as the bolt pulled free, releasing a gush of blackish unhealthy looking blood. Picking up her rag she thrust it into the wound and was rewarded with another incoherent scream. Squeezing the cloth to get as much of the base into the wound as possible Emmaline withdrew it and began to swab the surrounding flesh clean. Whispering again she began another incantation, tiny fragments of cloth and other foreign material within Markus' body burst burned away with an audible sizzle that was quenched instantly by the distilled alcohol she had introduced. That accomplished she stood and crossed to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, digging through the contents till she found the dress he had stolen from her. She sighed morosely and then plucked at the hem until one of the strands of silk came free. carefully she drew on the strand until she had a yard or so of silk which she dropped into her remaining alchemical base along with a steel sewing needle which Morgan had fetched for her. After a moment she withdrew the needle and thread, threaded them together and began to none to gently sew the wound closed.
"For Ranald's sake," she repeated as she tied off the suture.
+Events of Healing+
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