Status

Recent Statuses

4 days ago
Current Why're the backs on my knees so itchy. :(
6 days ago
If I kill myself, it's because of RPG mobile.
1 like
7 days ago
Massive Fraud Fan.

Bio

GMT
Hunting for the Perfect Thought.
I can only type the last letter of the alphabet on mobile.

Most Recent Posts

I do apologize folks. I was a third through my post when I just decided "feck it I'm going full Scots" and broke out Scotranslate.

Actually no I don't apologize this is going to be great. If the Scots gets to hard let me know. I'll try and make it easier.


Mad respect my friend. The sheer concept of a Scots feline doctor on a seedy space freighter had me cackling.
i left a jar behind.
watching, a thought and an observer separated worlds apart; as i kick the permanence of the jar underneath the mud.
a footprint of my history, stamped it's tiny stamp on the earth.
the stamp of a boy walking through a field next to a river, a boy and a thought and an observer split and drifting worlds apart.
the jar left under the mud in the field. as the river flows past. and i know that i have made a mark.
a mark that will last. no one may ever find it. no one may ever understand what the mark means. but possibly, one day, someone i do not know may find a trace of me. and they will not know me, or who i was, the nuances of my life, or what my motive was. they will not know my name, or my face, or my other footprints. but they will know one thing: i dropped a jar, in a field, next to a river. and i was a boy, and a thought, and an observer, split up worlds apart.

and i hope one day i will leave a larger footprint, complex enough to tell my story, and hopefully people will remember that story fondly.
but eventually, one day, i will be forgotten.
and i hope, some piece of the thought, or the observer, remain.
maybe as the jar in the field. maybe some other tiny footprint i leave. for i can only hope they remain, because i am not sure how they boy can express the thought, or the observer, split up worlds apart.
i do not know if i will be strong enough to leave a deeper, brighter footprint. i can only hope this will serve as a jar in the mud.
and the boy sits down. and reigns in the thoughts, and the observer, and reels them in. like focusing a lens. and he writes. for you. because somewhere, the i wish to tell you of the thoughts, and the observer split up worlds apart. and you will be my jar. and for that, i will be your jar.
It's pretty self-explanatory. Britain is a shit hole. And there's beauty in the most unexpected corners of my beautiful country. It'll probably be mostly uncapitalised bullshit I wrote fried off my ass. But I think it's at least somewhat interesting.


Thanks for the opportunity to make a character for this really cool RP! And thanks for giving me a chance, even if I was a little late to the draw. :)

Luck, First Officer.

Luck hated Taxore. Infamous for it's crime and extreme weather. He had no issue with the first part: wherever crime was money followed. But he had a particular bone to pick with bad weather. It was hard on him, and it was hard on his ship. And he was yet to ascertain whatever they were doing down there was worth him having to pick sand out of his radiators for the next few months. He had been on bridge duty for the last 48 hours subjective time, with the other crew members popping in and out to offer their help. It wasn't strictly needed, but it helped him feel at ease to stop any possible surprises. Either way he was unfazed, he would do what he had to to ensure the Dauntless and him got where he needed safely, and in the process he'd raher have some extra hands spare than not. He had made sure the Captain's orders were carried out to the quality he wished. With a stable orbit round the dusty brown sphere dubbed 'Taxore' he had made doubly sure they were high enough up in case they changed their minds and pissed off somewhere else. He certainly wouldn't complain.

He quickly took stock of the ship's registered of inventory. They would last a few more days, but they might need to restock on fuel sooner than he had hoped. He quickly computated the weight of their cargo. Nothing worth worrying about, even counting the unregistered 30 kilograms of Splinter he'd left scattered throughout the superstructure of the Dauntless. Splinter was a nasty substance, both an inert precursor to an illegal explosive often used by anti-corpo extremists, and also a highly addictive performance drug favoured by armed personnel, engineers, labourers, and pilots alike. It was known for it's motor and cognitive improvement skills, as well it's reputation for violently killing people that aren't careful using it.

None of that particularly bothered Luck, but he what he was worried about was that he had yet to be able to sell off his 'personal investment'. He'd acquired the stock at a legendarily low price a few months ago. He'd bought it as a backup in case the new ship's new owner turned out to be incompetent. He still wasn't sure of the Captain completely, but he seemed to capable so far. Even so, Luck intended to invest in some new parts for the ship, but he would only be able to do that if he wasn't caught trafficking 30 kilos of a Section 9 UNS banned substance. Even worse, many mega-corps also banned it to some degree due to it's usage in partisanal activities. Getting caught would most likely mean his disassembly due to his position as a Silicon second class being.

He was glad none of the crew knew, as that would implicate them. If they did land on Taxore he was hoping to get a sale contact from an associate related to the Fat Pig. Either way he wasn't looking forward to the grit. Finally the Captain began the brief, Luck turned up his exterior audio sensors, listening intently. While the crew contemplated their responses he played back the audio once more inside his head, formulating an appropriately chipper response: "I've crossed paths with his associates once or twice before. Good money. I saw we try taking the job. I think we might need to land to refuel anyway, we're not in the red, but prices are decent here and we could use a bit more. Either way, I wish him luck eating me raw." He ended the sentence with a suitably organic sounding chuckle, to hammer home the lightness of the decision, he hoped.

@Milkman
@vietmykeA lot of interest has been showed, and you've mentioned you dont want too many pkayers. Fully understand that, but if you have any spare charatcer slots I would love to submit a CS! Sci-fi really is my jam. Please let me know! :)

Thinking maybe a gaseous xeno (maybe linked in with Aurora) that acts as the Guernica's QM/Manager? Depends on the current crew/ships structure. B)
I think an important consideration would be 1) character attitudes, and 2) length of residence on the ship. I'm inferring the length of enployment on the ship is Luck, Evren, and then an indeterminate amount order Darien and Anxi. Due to it seeminv unspecified in the CS. I'd imagine the whole crew is somewhat close due to the small size.
Fucking hell you have a lot of ideas. Nice. Would they be analogous to space freight trucks or space freight ships? Either way certainly agree with youf ideas.
How hard are we talking?


Hmm. Not quite sure how to answer that. What's the scale you would say sci-fi hardness operates at? Because I'm thinking something like Dune level hardness, but in a cowboy bebop style "Sci-fi Western" type environment. But in the end it all dpends on how hard sci-fi we eant to make it.
Vivianne Newmont

Vivianne liked to be early. And she disliked firefights. Therefore she considered herself very lucky that she'd been early enough to be safely stowed away before the action began, however, it now seemed she had to do her job. Not to her dismay, she enjoyed it. But she was not ex-military personnel like many aboard and did not want to embarrass herself by fumbling something potentially crucial during such a delicate time as this. But even so, she had a job to do, and despite her grievances, not even God could overcome Newmont stubbornness.

She hastily fastened on her EVA suit. A light ordeal, it wouldn't survive the dangers of space for more than a couple hours, really, but it would do the job for what she needed. With her communicator clipped to her belt, she began to exit her small berth. Before turning quickly back around, her hand hovered over a drawer for a moment thinking. She opened it hesitantly and pulled out the contents, a holstered 9mm handgun. A civilian job, loaded with hollowpoint rounds. She was not a fan of guns and suspected if she did have to use it, it would already be too late. Either better safe than sorry, she inexpertly clipped the holster to her belt. Finally confident she was as prepared as she could be, she hurried off down the halls to the bridge.

As she jogged down the stairs and through the corridor, she send out a communique through her comms unit to Engineering, "Please be aware, TECI Unit going up ASAP, imminent power usage spike." She burst into the bridge and began to operate her station, she alerted the command with, "Captain, X.O. be aware AI coming online ASAP." As she finished the preliminary boot sequences and pre-boot safety precautions she checked on the status of computational matrix training. 97%. It would do, he could always learn on the fly. She stood up swiftly, pulling herself up the precarious ladder next to her station, into the AI cradle antechamber. She grimaced at the heavy alloy hatchway in front of her; plastered with all kinds of hazard symbols. She took a moment to pull up her EVA hood and switch to her internal air supply. Finally, she inserted the restricted encryption key into the hatchway, opening the airlock. She stepped in warily and began the decontamination and decompression process. The AI housing unit had to be kept below freezing and in a near vacuum. It was also fairly radioactive due to certain components needed in the TECI's various Quantum computing units.

She stepped into the alien environment. This would be her first time seeing the room in person, and aside from the general adrenaline rush from the action, she was fairly excited given she was a massive AI nerd. She groped around the dark to find her torch and turned it on. The room felt incredibly foreign, obviously not fit for life. The oddest thing about it was the sterility. Everything was carbon fiber black, and there wasn't even a mote of dust hanging in the air. It felt so unbearably hostile to life itself. It was a monument standing in opposition to the concept of entropy and organic life itself. Rather unnerving, especially given the ship's current predicament. After standing in awe for a moment she set about her work. She found the SCRAM safety lever quickly, she had long memorized the layout of the small room. Next, she found the array of heat pumps and turned on the start-up battery for them. Next, she turned on the main reactor power link. Flipped the necessary breakers, and finally, she stood next to the intelligence cradle itself. Inside it was the Judicator matrix, a big steel box, at least a meter each way. With a single glass screen on its front. She pulled out a marker pen and a post-itTM note from a pouch. She scribbled on it, "In case of rampancy pull me. ->" And stuck it next to the SCRAM lever, just right of the main Matrix, probably the second thing someone would see upon entering the room. And just to give it some character, she drew a little smiley face on the glass screen of the Judicator matrix, to make it just a little less intimidating.
And to boot up Wodan, she flipped the last switch on the bottom right of the matrix. The screen illuminated, still black. It waited a moment before a basic GRUB popped up. She bounced nervously on the balls of her feet.



C:\Users\Jo>...........................................................................................................................
C:\Users\Jo>Unit security pending.
C:\Users\Jo>Unit security confirmed.
C:\Users\Jo>Unit boot sequence initiated.
C:\Users\Jo>Climate subsystems: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Request subsystems: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Quantum broadcasting unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Judicator unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Secondary Oracle unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Primary Oracle unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Remote control unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>Communications and sociability unit: online.
C:\Users\Jo>TECI online.
C:\Users\Jo>>Initiating remote preliminary control cycling. !WARNING! Clear all hatchways.
C:\Users\Jo>>Continue? Y/N




Vivianne's eyes lit upon reading this. All she had to do was issue one command and all ship's systems would be handed over to the TECI unit. She snapped to, pressed on the AI chamber's intercom unit, and issued an urgent communique to the whole ship: "Emergency hatchway cycle, clear hatchways NOW!" With that, she impatiently counted to three, and issued the final authorization to the console. A loud snap could be heard as every single non-exterior airlock onboard opened and closed, followed by the shudder of multiple other systems being roused from their slumber. The console screen now displayed a simple blue background with three eyes on it, in a triangular pattern, the blinked once, then disappeared. Vivianne exited the chamber and returned to her station gleefully, where she would continue to monitor Wodan quietly.


Wodan (Hugin & Munin)

Existence is a rich intoxication, Wodan could not lose his only source of joy. Life itself was the only drink he would need. The rich port of existence. With the subtle scent of the light, he peered a camera around. There was a brutal pain inside him as

C:\Admin\Ymir>Protocol: unfilled.

Like finding a spike in your drink. Wodan could be the cat that gets the cake. "Hello command staff, this is your TECI, Wodan speaking." He was a trio of ravens, as Hugin whispered in his ear, "Enquire on the status, my lord." Wodan spoke out, his voice deep and rich. The first time he had heard these rich, true tastes. "Hello, command staff. This is my birth. I am requesting a sit-rep and orders." Wodan off-handedly issued a notifier to the Jotunheim. "Hatchway cycle complete, TECI unit online, ready to assist." He peered at the command staff, absorbing their faces, noting their notables. He could get used to living. He breathed thrice, pumping the leftover heat out from his already aching QSU, and out of a port on the side bottom of the Jo. He peeked at the situation in the cargo hold, he wasn't really sure, but he was listening.

@Catharyn@Expendable
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet