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STATUS: Achmed the Snake 6 mos ago
- Last Seen: 14 hrs ago
- Joined: 7 yrs ago
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- Penny 7 yrs ago
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Status
Recent Statuses
6 mos ago
Current
Achmed the Snake
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like
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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12 mos ago
One, polyamory is notoriously difficult to administer
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12 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
There is an open spot if anyone is interested.
It took about thirty minutes to find an answer. Robed tech adepts poked and prodded at arcane equipment and incanted litanies of consecration to the Machine God as the manipulated one of the vox stations with their mechadendrites. General Hetad gave up grumbling that it was a waste of time after the first couple of venomous looks from the Governor.
"We have something," the lead techpriest, declared, his voice a synthetic buzz from the speaker which replaced his mouth. Like many of the Mechanicus he was heavily augmented, lumps and bumps beneath his red robes testament to further augmentation beneath. Like most Valhallan's Katiya had a slight revulstion for the practice of replacing flesh with mechanical replacements. Many officers and troops in the Imperial Guard used augments to repair battle damage of course, but the Cult of Mechanicus seemed to revel in voluntarily augmentation.
"What is it?" the Governor demanded impatiently. The techpriest touched a control and crackling audio sprang into life.
"Three, seven, fourteen, twenty one, six..." a monotone female voice intoned. It began to repeat after twenty numbers, clearly playing on a loop.
"This is the only unauthorized vox traffic we have been able to detect," the tech-priest reported.
"But this is just numbers, obviously its not important," General Hetard blustered.
"No doubt Corporal Vomer, is very brave but his..." the general continued. The Governor silenced him with a wave of her hand.
"It's Connors," she corrected idly though her mind was clearly focused on the transmission.
"It is a numbers station," Katiya declared, drawing all eyes to her.
"A what?" the Governor demanded, eyes bright and intent.
"Its an automated broadcast of coded instructions, the numbers correspond to a certain course of action," she explained.
"Can you tell us when this began?" Katiya asked the tech priest.
"Seventeen hundred hours thirty seven minutes and sixteen seconds local time," the tech priests mechanical voice droned.
"Just before the Arbities building was bombed," Katiya mused. That wasn't alot of time to mobilize the kind of crowd that was in the streets. Not unless they had been preped in advance anyway.
"Where is it transmitting from?" the Governor asked.
"There is an eighty six percent match to a disused PDF vox station in the hills north of the city," the tech priest supplied.
"We have something," the lead techpriest, declared, his voice a synthetic buzz from the speaker which replaced his mouth. Like many of the Mechanicus he was heavily augmented, lumps and bumps beneath his red robes testament to further augmentation beneath. Like most Valhallan's Katiya had a slight revulstion for the practice of replacing flesh with mechanical replacements. Many officers and troops in the Imperial Guard used augments to repair battle damage of course, but the Cult of Mechanicus seemed to revel in voluntarily augmentation.
"What is it?" the Governor demanded impatiently. The techpriest touched a control and crackling audio sprang into life.
"Three, seven, fourteen, twenty one, six..." a monotone female voice intoned. It began to repeat after twenty numbers, clearly playing on a loop.
"This is the only unauthorized vox traffic we have been able to detect," the tech-priest reported.
"But this is just numbers, obviously its not important," General Hetard blustered.
"No doubt Corporal Vomer, is very brave but his..." the general continued. The Governor silenced him with a wave of her hand.
"It's Connors," she corrected idly though her mind was clearly focused on the transmission.
"It is a numbers station," Katiya declared, drawing all eyes to her.
"A what?" the Governor demanded, eyes bright and intent.
"Its an automated broadcast of coded instructions, the numbers correspond to a certain course of action," she explained.
"Can you tell us when this began?" Katiya asked the tech priest.
"Seventeen hundred hours thirty seven minutes and sixteen seconds local time," the tech priests mechanical voice droned.
"Just before the Arbities building was bombed," Katiya mused. That wasn't alot of time to mobilize the kind of crowd that was in the streets. Not unless they had been preped in advance anyway.
"Where is it transmitting from?" the Governor asked.
"There is an eighty six percent match to a disused PDF vox station in the hills north of the city," the tech priest supplied.
@tokkiya
The old man shifted uncomfortable but frustrated. Jones was an active man despite his years and he chafed at being confined even when it was necessary. In that sense there was something of the Wolf to him, despising a cage.
"Ah its no worse than some hunting accidents I've had," the old man groused. One of the many bags of fluid draining into his IV is morphine, so his judgement on this point is suspect.
"The vamps were over confident, playing with me," he grinned in satisfaction, another trait he shared with wolves.
"Don't guess they will make that mistake again but..." Jones trailed off as the lights of the hospital flickered out for a moment. back up generators came online with a whine and machines began to wail in protests at the interruption. Hospital doors, magnetically held open, swung shut into their fire door configurations. The back up lights weren't quite enough to keep the place fully illuminated an nurses began to walk rapidly to check on patients in serious conditions, making sure back up power and batteries was taking up the slack.
The nurse who had been outside the room when Anders arrived walked purposely back down the hallway.
"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to need to ask you to leave, we ha..." she started visibly at something behind Anders. He turned to find an empty window.
"Some was there, outside the window," the nurse stammered, caught between nervousness and embarrassment, the were after all five floors up.
The old man shifted uncomfortable but frustrated. Jones was an active man despite his years and he chafed at being confined even when it was necessary. In that sense there was something of the Wolf to him, despising a cage.
"Ah its no worse than some hunting accidents I've had," the old man groused. One of the many bags of fluid draining into his IV is morphine, so his judgement on this point is suspect.
"The vamps were over confident, playing with me," he grinned in satisfaction, another trait he shared with wolves.
"Don't guess they will make that mistake again but..." Jones trailed off as the lights of the hospital flickered out for a moment. back up generators came online with a whine and machines began to wail in protests at the interruption. Hospital doors, magnetically held open, swung shut into their fire door configurations. The back up lights weren't quite enough to keep the place fully illuminated an nurses began to walk rapidly to check on patients in serious conditions, making sure back up power and batteries was taking up the slack.
The nurse who had been outside the room when Anders arrived walked purposely back down the hallway.
"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to need to ask you to leave, we ha..." she started visibly at something behind Anders. He turned to find an empty window.
"Some was there, outside the window," the nurse stammered, caught between nervousness and embarrassment, the were after all five floors up.
Opportunity leaned back, crossing a calf over her thigh as she leaned back into the comfortable upholstery of the coach. She made an airy gesture with her right hand, dismissing his thanks.
"If one finds oneself with the good fortune to be riding in a carriage, seems only right to share," she returned, her tone making it clear that she regarded riding in a carriage as dubious fortune at best. She had learned to ride a horse as a child but vastly preferred automobiles.
"As for the Wildes... we are cater-cousins. Old blood connections, back before the Revolution," Opportunity explained. Truthfully the nature of the connection between the Knox family and the Wildes was vague in her mind. The Wildes were the senior branch, though the Knox family had made its fortune in the India trade and privateering against the French, elevating them in the English society.
"What about you Mr Slate, what sin have you committed to have this nights festivities inflicted upon you?"
"If one finds oneself with the good fortune to be riding in a carriage, seems only right to share," she returned, her tone making it clear that she regarded riding in a carriage as dubious fortune at best. She had learned to ride a horse as a child but vastly preferred automobiles.
"As for the Wildes... we are cater-cousins. Old blood connections, back before the Revolution," Opportunity explained. Truthfully the nature of the connection between the Knox family and the Wildes was vague in her mind. The Wildes were the senior branch, though the Knox family had made its fortune in the India trade and privateering against the French, elevating them in the English society.
"What about you Mr Slate, what sin have you committed to have this nights festivities inflicted upon you?"
"Hot," Junebug commented. Softly as the rear of the line exploded in great geyzers of rolling flame. For a moment she felt like she ought to be ordering a platoon of tanks forward into the breech torn in an enemy line by an artillery barage. But there were no tanks, only her and Neil. Junebug raced forward through the smoke, leaping over a ruined adobe wall. All was chaos now. The Spiders and Scorpions had never been soldiers, but now any semblence of discipline was gone. Junebug saw one spider, stunned and bleeding, shoot another simply because he was a shape moving in the haze. Many more were simply throwing down their weapons and fleeing. Junebug fired her railgun methodically, every two seconds, simply swinging her reticule onto one heat signature after another and squeezing the trigger, careful not to overheat the weapon. Even so she felt the heat of of the glowing barrel against her armor, make work done in the hold of the Highlander not quite up to the task of properly cooling so potent a weapon.
A knot of resistance was forming at the entrance to the Spider's compound. The Scorpions had taken the worst of Neil's efforts and the Spider's were beginning to capitalize. Sayeeda targeted the strong point and fired, blasting sandbags and the weapon behind appart in a spraying fireball of white hot glass. She pulled a grenade from her belt and tossed it over the ruin, waiting a second for the concussive pop and the fingers of white smoke spread by the grains of white phosphorus. Scream tore from the a dozen throats and burning men scattered in all directions, clawing at their flesh. Sayeeda charged into the breech, her armor protecting her from the unspent grains which still hissed and popped. A spider leaped at her. She caught him, servos in the armor whining and then pitched him sideways into a concrete pillar with an audible crack. He slumped, legs slack and screaming. Junebug put a round through his chest, unwilling to leave a crippled man who could still pull a trigger at her back. A bullet spanged off her breastplate and she spun, dropping another attacker with a punch that shattered his jaw in a spray of blood and bone. Swinging her railgun she smashed the skull of a cowering thug and then felled three more with a long burst of atomized blood and burning clothing. The gangsters, accustomed to swaggering casual violence, were unable to handle the sudden and savage concentration delivered by a professional. They broke and ran. Junebug followed rail gun cracking as quickly as her optics could pick out targets in the smoke.
"I think we are going to..." Junebug's trasmission cut off suddenly as something massive and hot slammed into her chest. The sky cartwheeled overhead and she crashed through the adobe wall of one of the dwellings which had survived Neil's detonation. A table broke beneath her in a spray of splintering timber and the breath was driven from her chest. She lay there, stunned and unable to move. Electrical discharge sparked over her chest and the reek of burning insulation filled her nostrils.
"I knew it was you bitch," a voice called from the hole she had blasted in the wall. Sayeeda couldn't turn her head. Her eyes flicked downwards moving through menus of her armors display. They flickered and disolved into static, a confused mass of damage reports and critical failure messages. The Spider stepped into view flanked by three thugs. She was in battle dress and carried a light anti tank rifle. A single shot piece which Sayeeda knew to be effective against light armored units at close range. The Spider was either very good or had gotten very lucky to hit her. Or both of course. The woman stood over her, thumbing another fist sized charge into the smoking breech of her weapon.
"I told your boyfriend not to fuck with me. Apparently he didn't convey my message..."
A knot of resistance was forming at the entrance to the Spider's compound. The Scorpions had taken the worst of Neil's efforts and the Spider's were beginning to capitalize. Sayeeda targeted the strong point and fired, blasting sandbags and the weapon behind appart in a spraying fireball of white hot glass. She pulled a grenade from her belt and tossed it over the ruin, waiting a second for the concussive pop and the fingers of white smoke spread by the grains of white phosphorus. Scream tore from the a dozen throats and burning men scattered in all directions, clawing at their flesh. Sayeeda charged into the breech, her armor protecting her from the unspent grains which still hissed and popped. A spider leaped at her. She caught him, servos in the armor whining and then pitched him sideways into a concrete pillar with an audible crack. He slumped, legs slack and screaming. Junebug put a round through his chest, unwilling to leave a crippled man who could still pull a trigger at her back. A bullet spanged off her breastplate and she spun, dropping another attacker with a punch that shattered his jaw in a spray of blood and bone. Swinging her railgun she smashed the skull of a cowering thug and then felled three more with a long burst of atomized blood and burning clothing. The gangsters, accustomed to swaggering casual violence, were unable to handle the sudden and savage concentration delivered by a professional. They broke and ran. Junebug followed rail gun cracking as quickly as her optics could pick out targets in the smoke.
"I think we are going to..." Junebug's trasmission cut off suddenly as something massive and hot slammed into her chest. The sky cartwheeled overhead and she crashed through the adobe wall of one of the dwellings which had survived Neil's detonation. A table broke beneath her in a spray of splintering timber and the breath was driven from her chest. She lay there, stunned and unable to move. Electrical discharge sparked over her chest and the reek of burning insulation filled her nostrils.
"I knew it was you bitch," a voice called from the hole she had blasted in the wall. Sayeeda couldn't turn her head. Her eyes flicked downwards moving through menus of her armors display. They flickered and disolved into static, a confused mass of damage reports and critical failure messages. The Spider stepped into view flanked by three thugs. She was in battle dress and carried a light anti tank rifle. A single shot piece which Sayeeda knew to be effective against light armored units at close range. The Spider was either very good or had gotten very lucky to hit her. Or both of course. The woman stood over her, thumbing another fist sized charge into the smoking breech of her weapon.
"I told your boyfriend not to fuck with me. Apparently he didn't convey my message..."
@Humble1
As you finalize the charm you feel a sudden and terrible surge of energy. Black waves of magic swirl away from Giselle like the striking tendrils of a cephalopod. The coins blacken in a heartbeat and flake away into greasy powder. Glasses shatter with a cacophonous crash and a torrent of spirits gush from behind the bar. Janice shouts out in horror, leaping free of the avalanche of broken bottles. Dark poisonous angry curls around your hands, running up you arms, throbbing through your being. You can feel the power of it, raw and angry and throbbing with death. You could wield it, use it to do incredible things, if only it could be harnessed...
The music comes to an abrupt stop as all eyes turn towards you. Human and Fae eyes alike are staring. Giselle stares at you in shock and horror.
"Get out!" Janice hisses, placing both hands on her hips, eye spitting fire.
As you finalize the charm you feel a sudden and terrible surge of energy. Black waves of magic swirl away from Giselle like the striking tendrils of a cephalopod. The coins blacken in a heartbeat and flake away into greasy powder. Glasses shatter with a cacophonous crash and a torrent of spirits gush from behind the bar. Janice shouts out in horror, leaping free of the avalanche of broken bottles. Dark poisonous angry curls around your hands, running up you arms, throbbing through your being. You can feel the power of it, raw and angry and throbbing with death. You could wield it, use it to do incredible things, if only it could be harnessed...
The music comes to an abrupt stop as all eyes turn towards you. Human and Fae eyes alike are staring. Giselle stares at you in shock and horror.
"Get out!" Janice hisses, placing both hands on her hips, eye spitting fire.
@Humble1 making the talisman sounds like a roll to 'Let it Out'. Roll with spirit.
@rush99999
Attempts to find Quincy by conventional means prove futile. Visits to his haunts, reveal that gunmen, clearly more of Sampson's lizards are watching, nestled in a sniper perch across from Quincy's appartment in the Gloriana Hotel, sitting in a utility van outside the long of the Belle of the South lounge, skulking in an alley outside Little Caeser's Pizza.
It is clear almost at once that he has taken to the sky in that cursed bat form he is so proud of. There are unusual number of crows abroad tonight, beating wings and flashing across the night sky, cawing in raucous amusement that make identifying a single airborne presence almost impossible.
Luckily Ryder is easier to find. He is where he has been all month. Down in Centennial park the tents of a fair are pitched. Light beams down on their garish colors from overhead floods. Vendors selling unhealthy fried food are set up in food trucks which make informal streets. Tents selling beer from the Octoberfest celebration earlier in the month continue their business and rides are being assembled for the Halloween party in a couple of days. Mortals move around, enjoying an evening of fivolity with their children, oblivious of the tension filling the night. Fireworks crack from someone nearby.
Ryder and for of five of his pack are sitting around a table in front of a haunted house with a garish sign declaring it 'Werewolves of London' in a jagged bloody script backed by a full moon. Several empty bottles of Jack Daniels litter the table and there appears to be a half hearted game of poker taking place between overflowing ash trays. Ryder glances up as you approach, arching a bushy eyebrow.
"Jan my man, need another hook up already?" he calls in a more or less jovial fashion.
Attempts to find Quincy by conventional means prove futile. Visits to his haunts, reveal that gunmen, clearly more of Sampson's lizards are watching, nestled in a sniper perch across from Quincy's appartment in the Gloriana Hotel, sitting in a utility van outside the long of the Belle of the South lounge, skulking in an alley outside Little Caeser's Pizza.
It is clear almost at once that he has taken to the sky in that cursed bat form he is so proud of. There are unusual number of crows abroad tonight, beating wings and flashing across the night sky, cawing in raucous amusement that make identifying a single airborne presence almost impossible.
Luckily Ryder is easier to find. He is where he has been all month. Down in Centennial park the tents of a fair are pitched. Light beams down on their garish colors from overhead floods. Vendors selling unhealthy fried food are set up in food trucks which make informal streets. Tents selling beer from the Octoberfest celebration earlier in the month continue their business and rides are being assembled for the Halloween party in a couple of days. Mortals move around, enjoying an evening of fivolity with their children, oblivious of the tension filling the night. Fireworks crack from someone nearby.
Ryder and for of five of his pack are sitting around a table in front of a haunted house with a garish sign declaring it 'Werewolves of London' in a jagged bloody script backed by a full moon. Several empty bottles of Jack Daniels litter the table and there appears to be a half hearted game of poker taking place between overflowing ash trays. Ryder glances up as you approach, arching a bushy eyebrow.
"Jan my man, need another hook up already?" he calls in a more or less jovial fashion.
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