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    1. SepticGentleman 11 yrs ago
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6 yrs ago
Current I like the night liiiiife, I like to ɮ օ օ ɢ ɨ ɛ
6 yrs ago
𝕊 𝕢 𝕦 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕫 𝕖
6 yrs ago
I feel a tremble in my temple
1 like
6 yrs ago
He’s mastered the art of Simp Mode
4 likes
6 yrs ago
Jace haunts me dreams, blesses me nightmares, ye
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Saint Frank



“This be a bad idea, Kaal.”

“It could be a bad idea. But we will certainly find out for sure.”

The bedraggled man riding in the backseat had a look of irritation etched across his face. The shaded glasses and the unkempt dreads didn’t do well to hide it. He leaned over the seat and began saying again, “We shoulda brought more backup than one truck and four men at least. This could be some kinda Coh-Lission trap!”

“Baba.” The man riding passenger replied, raising his brow and turning his head, “Relax. Coalition wouldn’t make a trap for just little old me. And even if it is, I guarantee you we will be able to properly retaliate. Ain’t that right Cliff?” He turned to the driver of the vehicle, a much larger man, equally bald as him with a black scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, and much more scarred. He didn’t respond, save for passing Baba a quick glare of reassurance before returning his eyes to the road. “See?” The passenger replied, “How could that look not fill you with confidence?”

“Bah.” Baba replied, leaning back into his seat.

They opted out of taking the plane ride gifted to them when the letter came, delivered to Frank by a trooper who found it in his pocket where some ammunition was meant to be stored. Whoever this Cesare was, they were going to get to know him better before they did so much as drink something he offered them. Two nonidentical trucks, one with the leader of the Sunflower Group, Saint Frank himself, and his two adjutants, Clifford and Baba Daga. The other was holding four men ready to arm themselves at a moment’s notice. They weren’t dressed in their heavier combat gear in favor of remaining at least partway inconspicuous once they stepped out, with coats and hats for the snow instead. They had vests underneath just in case things got hairy. But hopefully, their destination wouldn’t leave them out in the open for long.

“There it is.” Frank said, pointing forward. Down the road, past the white of the snow, their destination lied. Viviano and Sons Funeral Home. Frank raised a communicator from his coat pocket and spoke to the team in the truck behind them, “Alright boys, destination ahead. Cliff and Baba are gonna come inside with me, rest of you find a place to settle. Observe anyone else who comes in, buzz for each of them to let us know. Do not engage unless ordered. Copy?”

“Copy, Saint.”

Frank put the communicator away and turned his head, watching the team’s truck turn into an alleyway far behind them while Clifford parked their truck in the lot beside the building. “Safeties on for now. Holstered.” Frank said, checking his handgun as Clifford shut the truck off. “Play it slow, play it safe. Let’s find out who this Cesare fellow is.”

They all exited the vehicle, checking their surroundings before they made their way into the building.
I could probably just have Frank and his adjutants (and maybe some armed backup) drive over in an inconspicuous vehicle of some sort. Longer trip than flying but they'd be more prepared, which'd make sense given their occupations.
Flights over would be a good way to introduce our characters internally, so I'd at least like to do those. After that I'm not picky.
@Polyphemus I have no objections. Late entries can always work out fine.

Also hey, first posts should have us all getting to St. Louis one way or another so, I'm guessing air travel. But after that we just wait for your go to bring us all into the evil meeting room?
It's funny you should mention that- how you received that letter is going to be something of a plot point. The people getting you all together don't lack for resources and do have a general strategy for taking it to The Coalition. Or you could all just ignore that noise, pile into a Toyota Camry, drive to Coalition HQ in Midtown and start breaking shit. It's up to you!


That actually reminds me that I've neglected to give any thought as to exactly who is recruiting all these villains.
I can't sleep at proper times for shit so I made some edits and additions to Frank's sheet. Looks much better now, in my opinion. Also, over the coming weeks, I'm gonna work on replacing his current photo with a proper, digital depiction.
I am a synth.

Would a synth admit to that.


You're the Huey Emmerich of synths so, yeah.
<Snipped quote by SepticGentleman>

I am 150% certain I am not a Synth.


YOU KNOW THE KIND OF PERSON WHO'S MORE THAN A HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN?

A ̡͟FŲ̶C̷̛͠K̸̡͝IN̴͢͞G͝ S̷͟Y̧N̶͢͜TH̀͟͜.͡
@SepticGentleman

Dammit, you took my joke!


The Institute is everywhere. Anyone could be a synth! You! Me! The garbage man, the motel receptionist, even the horse breeder! ANYONE.
<Snipped quote by SepticGentleman>

She could be a beep-boop


FUCKING SYNTHS.
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