Not totally my cup of tea, but i'll nibble. Interested.
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Pilatus
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Delightfully Unrefined
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- Pilatus 10 yrs ago
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PrinceAlexus,
Fading Memory,
Infinite Cosmos,
BigPapaBelial,
Massasauga
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2 yrs ago
Build a fort with the blankets and pillows.
7
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2 yrs ago
Today is my 15th wedding anniversary đź’•.
23
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2 yrs ago
Legit watching how long that 1v1 interest check stays on the front page. I'll never quit this site.
4
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2 yrs ago
Discipline a heretic and he'll be loyal for a moment, put him to the flame and he'll be loyal the rest of his life.
2
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2 yrs ago
Sometimes the heresy purges itself.
2
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Most Recent Posts
Interested
Well that pretty much kills it.
I don't mind posting again if @OfWindandRain is still feeling under the weather, just to keep the dialogue going.
The handcuffs were removed not long after she boarded. A pair of Costa Rican shiphands escorted her on to the ship and she was careful to abide by the old sailing maxim to step onboard with her right foot first for good luck. They seemed to appreciate the consideration and kindly tossed her bags in the back of the veterinarian’s Jeep and set on about their business with hardly a word. Meryl rubbed her wrists from the grazing of metal cuffs. Now that she was free to look around she began to take stock of the others from behind her sunglasses the Marshall was kind enough to hand back over with a less-than-comforting smile and a wave.
She immediately did not care for their apparent overseer. With the death of Simon Masrani, it had apparently only taken a few days for this whole operation to turn into another InGen fiasco. She found it amusing how they thought not just a liason or guide was needed, but an actual supervisor of sorts who had already threatened them all with consequences for going, “off-script”. What a tool. She thought and shook her head with a tiny grimace. It occurred to her that his true purpose was most likely to keep her in line and perhaps the vet as well. However, she had noticed Ms. Loring was packing her own sizeable sidearm and did not seem the type to take orders very well from corporate stooges. Same for the other man, O’Malley.
Unlike the others, Meryl had been given scant little information about the mission. When Tuvya outlined the apparent “plan” she tried hard not to laugh out loud, but only managed a faintly controlled guffaw. It was classic InGen: Full of threats and not really in control of anything. She had spied on their inter-workings for years. They were a truly typical corporate operation in that respect, but unlike other businesses, when things went south, people didn’t just lose their employment or pensions, they instead tended to die quickly and in fantastical ways. She paid little attention to his grandstanding and anticipated that his existence would last about as long as it would take for him to realize he was the fall-guy when the whole thing went to pot. The redhead seemed to be a willing order-taker for him. Shame. She thought. Redheads were bad for sailing as well.
As the island approached, she sat down Indian-style in front of the Jeep’s great bumper. With the eastern sunrise behind them and the Jeep loaded at the very stern of the ferry she had the rising sun to her back and comfortable shade allowing her to watch everyone else as she took a quick glance over her equipment pack provided by Masrani deciding what she would carry and what would have to ride. She furrowed her brow a little. The offerings were not the worst setup, but not the best either. It did seem at least as though they actually might have wanted her to succeed which she would have appreciated if she trusted them in the least.
She immediately did not care for their apparent overseer. With the death of Simon Masrani, it had apparently only taken a few days for this whole operation to turn into another InGen fiasco. She found it amusing how they thought not just a liason or guide was needed, but an actual supervisor of sorts who had already threatened them all with consequences for going, “off-script”. What a tool. She thought and shook her head with a tiny grimace. It occurred to her that his true purpose was most likely to keep her in line and perhaps the vet as well. However, she had noticed Ms. Loring was packing her own sizeable sidearm and did not seem the type to take orders very well from corporate stooges. Same for the other man, O’Malley.
Unlike the others, Meryl had been given scant little information about the mission. When Tuvya outlined the apparent “plan” she tried hard not to laugh out loud, but only managed a faintly controlled guffaw. It was classic InGen: Full of threats and not really in control of anything. She had spied on their inter-workings for years. They were a truly typical corporate operation in that respect, but unlike other businesses, when things went south, people didn’t just lose their employment or pensions, they instead tended to die quickly and in fantastical ways. She paid little attention to his grandstanding and anticipated that his existence would last about as long as it would take for him to realize he was the fall-guy when the whole thing went to pot. The redhead seemed to be a willing order-taker for him. Shame. She thought. Redheads were bad for sailing as well.
As the island approached, she sat down Indian-style in front of the Jeep’s great bumper. With the eastern sunrise behind them and the Jeep loaded at the very stern of the ferry she had the rising sun to her back and comfortable shade allowing her to watch everyone else as she took a quick glance over her equipment pack provided by Masrani deciding what she would carry and what would have to ride. She furrowed her brow a little. The offerings were not the worst setup, but not the best either. It did seem at least as though they actually might have wanted her to succeed which she would have appreciated if she trusted them in the least.
I'm just glad we got another guy character. I was afraid this was going to be like Sucker Punch with dinosaurs.
I wouldn't mind starting when the boat is getting close to the island. We've sort of done introduction posts for everyone. It would be good to have some interactions between the characters before they get on the island so they all start to get a feel for each other, ie.: who gets along which ones are going to clash.
I'm also a big proponent of posting order as it keeps everyone in the game engaged equally and basically works as a roll call every time you go around.
My .02
~P
I'm also a big proponent of posting order as it keeps everyone in the game engaged equally and basically works as a roll call every time you go around.
My .02
~P
No problem, I was sort of expecting a formal time moving post, but I can come up with something.
I've enjoyed them all so far. Glad we're moving.
They had switched planes in San Jose. A representative from the American embassy joined them on the short hop to the coast. The US Marshall that accompanied Meryl from the early flight out of Miami chatted casually with the diplomat, mostly politics, some sports and future plans. Meryl glanced quietly from the window as the coast drew nearer and the small plane landed. A car was waiting at the end of the airstrip along with a Jeep marked up for the Costa Rican military. The representative greeted the waiting men and said a few words in Spanish. They glanced at Meryl, handcuffed, and laughed.
The Jeep led the way through a winding coastal town. The roads were narrow and lined with sun-bleached apartments and small vendor stands that the locals walked around on the street. A couple times the military officers in the Jeep had to shout and wave people out of the way and the Jeep coughed a puff of black smoke each time the driver accelerated and shifted gears. With her hands bound behind her, Meryl shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat and looked over at the Marshall flatly. He shrugged and gave a mildly sympathetic grin.
A limousine passed them going the opposite direction as they turned into the dockyards and Meryl could see the waiting freighter emblazoned with the iconic logo of the dinosaur skeleton between the dirty masts of fishing boats and salt-scarred shipping containers. She felt a low tightening in her gut and gulped in a small breath of air. The Jeep turned crisply in front of the ship where a solitary man was standing, smoking a cigar as equipment and supplies were being loaded into the ship.
Meryl could hear the introductions as the American diplomat was the first to get out followed by the driver who went around to the trunk and then the Marshall. The men in the escort Jeep merely looked on. For a moment, she sat alone, listening. She thought she heard the man’s name. It was something foreign, but she couldn’t quite make it out from inside the car. It sounded middle-eastern, but she wasn’t sure. A question was posed to the Marshall as he started to open her door. “I wouldn’t even give her a calculator until you got to that island.” He replied matter-of-factly.
The door opened in a blast of humid sea air and morning light that caused her to squint and look down as he helped her out of the car. The coastal breeze immediately blew her hair over her face and around her mouth. She calmly looked at the man as her eyes still worked to adjust to the light and puffed away a mouthful of hair locks. She decided it was at least comical to appear grimly undignified in front of these official types. The Marshall handed over the handcuff keys and she grinned a little at the introductions.
“This is Meryl,” the representative said plainly as if he were handing over a delinquent child to her parent. “You may or may not have had time to review her file, but she is now under your employ. Washington has already completed the necessary transfers via your lobbyist and the acting boardmembers.”
The Jeep led the way through a winding coastal town. The roads were narrow and lined with sun-bleached apartments and small vendor stands that the locals walked around on the street. A couple times the military officers in the Jeep had to shout and wave people out of the way and the Jeep coughed a puff of black smoke each time the driver accelerated and shifted gears. With her hands bound behind her, Meryl shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat and looked over at the Marshall flatly. He shrugged and gave a mildly sympathetic grin.
A limousine passed them going the opposite direction as they turned into the dockyards and Meryl could see the waiting freighter emblazoned with the iconic logo of the dinosaur skeleton between the dirty masts of fishing boats and salt-scarred shipping containers. She felt a low tightening in her gut and gulped in a small breath of air. The Jeep turned crisply in front of the ship where a solitary man was standing, smoking a cigar as equipment and supplies were being loaded into the ship.
Meryl could hear the introductions as the American diplomat was the first to get out followed by the driver who went around to the trunk and then the Marshall. The men in the escort Jeep merely looked on. For a moment, she sat alone, listening. She thought she heard the man’s name. It was something foreign, but she couldn’t quite make it out from inside the car. It sounded middle-eastern, but she wasn’t sure. A question was posed to the Marshall as he started to open her door. “I wouldn’t even give her a calculator until you got to that island.” He replied matter-of-factly.
The door opened in a blast of humid sea air and morning light that caused her to squint and look down as he helped her out of the car. The coastal breeze immediately blew her hair over her face and around her mouth. She calmly looked at the man as her eyes still worked to adjust to the light and puffed away a mouthful of hair locks. She decided it was at least comical to appear grimly undignified in front of these official types. The Marshall handed over the handcuff keys and she grinned a little at the introductions.
“This is Meryl,” the representative said plainly as if he were handing over a delinquent child to her parent. “You may or may not have had time to review her file, but she is now under your employ. Washington has already completed the necessary transfers via your lobbyist and the acting boardmembers.”
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