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8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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@Oliver

Just going to leave this here...

And reminding me that Ash needs to continue drawing up plans to set Eden on fire and piss on the still-smouldering skulls of Newnan's enemies.


Black James(!)



Location: Building A (Ash's House, exterior front)




The repeated poundings on James's arm started to add up. Bryn was stronger than she looked, especially when she was slamming knuckles into one while in a state of mild shock. He sighed wearily, totally understanding her reaction to the whole, messy situation. But by hit number four, he was starting to flinch in her vise-like grasp. Reflexively he put a hand in the way, but by then she had stopped hammering his poor arm and began pointing at Thana. "Yuh huh." he said quietly. "Ain't that somethin'?"

James remained quiet otherwise during the Big Reveal and the emotional fallout that got kicked up as a result, hoping his contribution to the covert operation to get her inside would just blow away in the wind and he could get back to his duties for the wedding. But subtle things like "Logic" like to get in the way of one's hopes, in this instance the irrefutable logic that he was a friend of Zoie's family from WAY back before the Outbreak. He'd chowed down on fried chicken her mother had made on more than a few occasions. Trained hunting dogs for them. Handled hog problems in their neighborhood. Logic dictated that he knew all about little Miss Thana. This train of logic was made irredeemably bare when Thana referenced James for proof of identity. He felt several eyes on him just then.

Instead of beginning some grand speech on the matter, the ordinarily jovial blackneck gave a simple but repeated nod of his head. Yeah, he knew her once. Not so sure if he really knew her anymore, but it sure was good to see her alive still.



Schrödinger



Location: Across the street from Building A (Ash's House)




Schrody could smell the adrenaline on the cold wind and sense a palpable shock coming from the Humans. He couldn't exactly tell why tensions were so high. Maybe it had something to do with the alpha guy who tells the other Humans to do things? They were mostly all staring up at him. No, not him, so much. The other one next to him. Well both, but mostly the other one, by far. Something was up. Very possibly something important to the people of Newnan.

Unfortunately, it didn't have anything to do with him. As a matter of fact, whatever this thing was, it meant that less attention would be paid to him, so Schrodinger couldn't care less if their hair spontaneously caught on fire. Wait... no, that would be worth the watch. Ok, stick around and see if anything like that was going to happen, then locate a nice, warm spot to catch his morning nap. Maybe one of these people could assist with that particular endeavor.

Sit quietly, wait and see. Maybe bat his paws at something playfully. The Humans loved that.






"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them."


Location: Chapel Undercroft





Mary listened intently to what the Bishop had to say. It was not much, but it did point out the aggressor as a Cargast. It was perhaps enough, so much as it mattered from a standpoint of what Mary could do for the woman. Be that as it may, she would have preferred to hear everything from the visiting gentleman rather than Bishop Mansfield. More than mere information, she could have read inflection, possibly gotten a gleam of detail that was missing from earlier telling. It was the investigator in her. Mary had been under the tutelage of Priests and other Knights since leaving the Vatican years ago, veterans in the war against the Soulless. The experience had sculpted her habits when dealing with cases like this. Mary had preferences.

Not that it really mattered in this case. For whatever reason, a Cargast was an entity that Mary had little ability to influence through her training in Rome. It was funny that way; the skills of one region tended to compliment the skills of another, as if signaling that Humanity needed to band together fully, regardless of political or religious affiliation, to properly combat the Soulless en masse. It had been a long held belief of Mary's that there would be an eventual, massive uprising against the living. Obsession, almost. Minding her limitations in this regard, she deferred to Elizaveta's knowledge in the area.

The young Dame could feel the taint of Soulless upon the victim's remains. She suspected it was not in the same way that her new Russian friend could. Mary also had a healthy curiosity about her abilities, especially if they were able to be taught to outsiders. "I bear no objection, my Lady. Please do as you will to save this woman's immortal soul."

Unaware as to whether the budding Cargast would fight back, Mary unbuttoned her sporran containing ampules of holy water, and shifted her halberd slightly forward. She gave an encouraging nod toward Gerard, then returned her gaze to the deceased lady and Cossack noblewoman.



@Lady Amalthea

I find my curiosity piqued - Is the esteemed Miss Holler going to do us the honor of using the front gate, or will she just make her own wherever suits her?


Ash Holloway



Location: Building A (Ash's House)




Ash could see the difficulty shaping up. He was expecting a reaction from a very small number of the group assembled, prepared for it, if it turned into something violent. Everything considered, it was better to have this done now, out in the open. Likewise, if an example had to be set, he wanted that as public as possible. He had intended to shut down any insubordinate behavior with swift and deliberate action. If it was necessary, Ash had few problems with hasty, impromptu capital punishment. Any reservations in this regard hovered around the fact that he didn't want the new lady to assume that Newnan was ruled through tyrannical violence. Then again, these little misunderstandings could be reevaluated at a later time.

He saw Richard making his move. Probably the first time that he had ever taken the initiative to be up at the front, and in the most ass way possible. Just before Victor called out to him, Ash had surreptitiously drawn his service pistol and turned to the side. The action did not hide the fact that he had pulled a gun in the least. It merely shielded the firearm from the direct view of onlookers in front of his house and demonstrated hesitation to point it directly at someone. Yet.

Then something surprising happened inside of the grim Captain. Surprising to himself, anyway. Ash was never one for empathy. This is probably why it smacked him like a wet sack of flour. Like most of his emotions, however, he kept the lion's share of it tucked away. He looked down upon Richard and, for just a moment, understood. Ash made no move to put away his gun, but he did address the man.

"No, Richard." His voice was assertive but soft. "Looks like her, but no. Give her some space."



Reginald Keystone



Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks




"Well I say, Peter!" exclaimed Reginald, with a twinkle of possibility in his eyes, "There is some skullduggery afoot, yes? Well then, I am most positively going to join you in the noble pursuit of our Fellowship's safety. That Walsh fellow appeared a decent sort. A little excitable, perhaps... But many good men came home from the War as such. No dishonor. And Miss Tarek! Indeed. I digress; we must be off."

The Lord Major looked to the men he had assembled. "Corporal!"

"Yes, Lord MAJOR!" Did he come with volume control?

"Inform the remaining staff inside the Officers' Club to treat these people as VIPs, attend to their needs (within reason) - and that they have dignitary's quarters near each other within the quarter hour. Return to us in two minutes." He produced a gold pocketwatch, inspecting the face of it. "On the clock, Corporal."

"Right away, Lord MAJOR!" Was he bucking for Sergeant?

At least he was quick to perform duties assigned. Reginald turned to his nephew, remarking, "One cannot in good conscience play attentive host to some while others of our party are in peril. I'm in, old chap. Shall we stroll, or take the Ghost back?" The men assembled were a simple patrol, useful to hold a small location until larger forces could arrive. Or more importantly, just the right size to act as a quick and mobile urban escort, should need arise. If the Lord Major orders it, that would indicate that need had indeed arisen. Reginald did find the assistance of his people, here or back at the airfield, exceptionally useful for things of this nature. Be it personal, business, or service to the Crown, the Lord Major was the man of his time and place. When the particulars of their upcoming adventure took them away from Cairo and the safety of the British Military, he would have to make much more hands-on, less secure decisions concerning his preferred courses of action, but until then, he was going to flex the mighty arms of His Majesty's Armed Forces to the benefit of himself and those close to him.


Keystone

Location: Salarn, Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern
Interacting With: Sana, Femnal




When Keystone entered this town about a week ago, he was alone and particularly intimidating, mostly because of his uncaring, stoic silence, large frame, and extensive scarring. Of course, when you're a six and a half foot tall slab of solid, angry meat, people you don't know tend not to react with a cheery disposition. Admittedly, some of it was his fault. Crunching up to the main gate in the gravel and mud, giving the simple utterance of "Hungry" to explain his presence wasn't the best route to go, hindsight being what it was. He had been on the road for a while at that point in time, mostly alone, and had no patience for people between himself and the comforts of an Inn. Keystone was a man who preferred civilization, in its many forms. His lack of sophistication notwithstanding, he was originally a product of Humankind's more urban tendencies.

Now he was back in Salarn, offloading his pack and Sana, both, in front of the very place of business where this foolishness started for him with Cremwise and his double-dealing; dragging outsiders into his underhanded plan to make quick cash selling arms and equipment to the Orcs. Keystone was willing to bet that Femnal wouldn't want his part in the arrangement made public knowledge.

Kyra was back to telling people what to do. It was her way, he supposed. The warm and spiffy part of it: Keystone likely wouldn't have to listen to it in earnest for very much longer. He delivers the message to the town elders (or whoever the hell ran this place), convince them as best he could that the Undead were a threat to everyone, Human and Orc both, and a third party was responsible. But first...

The main doors to the Crossed Swords flew open with some force, as if kicked by some large, brutish oaf with mild stomach dysfunction. "Oi, Femnal!" called Keystone from the doorway with exaggerated enthusiasm. He had Sana in his arms and an unhinging look in his eye. He stepped inside, carrying the physically depleted Bard across the threshold in the manner of a deranged newlywed and spoke in clear, almost excited voice. "How's about ya then, yeah? We gone an' finished up that... eh, that thing you and Cremmy wanted us do out thataway, right guv'nor? Right?" He made a grand showing of the worst possible "knowing wink" in history, and kept pushing his point. "You want I should shout the details from 'ere, or talk at the bar? Bar? Yeah." He smiled broadly and sauntered up to that most sacred of tavern surfaces.

"Right. First and fore, I'm needin' rooms for my people. Make absolute that one of em's got two beds and bath access. I'm puttin' her an' my pack in that one now. Good clear water for her, and whatever else she needs. Bath drawn later. Rest of us, decent eats and ale on the quick."

"Don't look so shocked, neither. Believe it or no, but I'm back to 'elp you lot out. Keepin' quiet in the meantime's just a perk. And to that ungen'lemanly topic, we'll talk after everyone's fed n' settled."



Caesar Gonzalez


Location: Morgue



Seems most of Caesar's ideas were shot down by suggestion or by situation. Well, better to know now than when he got out there, he figured. Now with this other Roller Derby group taking heat fro Juno... "¿Qué en el infierno? Why do the Derby Girls have control so much crime? This makes no fucking sense. None." Caesar seemed to step out of himself and into a sense of hyperobjectivity as he spoke, "I mean, is this something that has to do with the people that own or control the league around here? And why the hell would such powerful women lower themselves to be a part of a regional not-quite-sport team? These are powerful people. Can't they just meet in a lodge someplace, or un castillo maltido? You know, wear robes and have a special fucking handshake like normal secret societies?"

The older man was suitably frustrated. This running around and hypothesizing was pointless. On the other hand, if he really wanted to take a potentially "nuclear option", he had a good idea where two of these people were at that moment. Which reminded him - Caesar had neglected to send Keystone an All Clear indication. Shaking his head, he sent a quick text over his secure line to Keystone's company phone.

"All good here. Italian tonight? Might bring guest. Talk business then, call you later."


"Look, I don't like the idea of getting in with drug dealers. A lot of them still talk about me like I'm the boogeyman or something. But I'm listening to options. Like this FBI guy? Anyone know who he is, where to find him?" For all he supposed, he could probably just walk into the local offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and set up an appointment. Of course, that would tip his hand immediately. He didn't particularly want to get killed, like his...

"Hey, when did you say the bodies would be released? This needs to be taken care of." This last remark was directed at Dr. Brinne, in a much more humbled, less irritated tone of voice.



William Harper

Location: Retribution, Bridge


The minutes ticked by with unerring surety. Harper was unsure as to whether time was moving faster or the people on the ground were intentionally dragging their feet. He suspected that his personal anxiety about the situation was coloring his judgement. In fact, he was certain of it. But that certainty did absolutely nothing to assuage his pressing need to get off of this godforsaken rock before the armada of Reavers got close enough to track his intended destination upon takeoff.

Naturally, he tried very hard to keep any of his pant-darkening tension from showing externally. Unless they were looking very hard, all anyone could see of the new Pilot was quiet readiness, coupled with a high state of alert. On the inside, he was a Battle Royale of howler monkeys, locked in a steel cage with a sack of uncut cocaine and a single running chainsaw to pass the eye gouging, testicle rupturing next twenty minutes.

Well, to absolute Hóuzi Qiángjiān Hell with that. Harper keyed in a coordinate inquiry into the onboard navigation computer, plotted a near midway point, and calculated another possible route from said point. He didn't want those people-gnawing bastards following them, but if they did manage to pick up their trail, Harper wanted them to travel someplace with a decent population and formidable defenses.

"Move your ass, Captain..." he muttered quietly, tapping his fingers on his console. He was really itching to seal up the Retribution and break atmo. Eighteen minutes left. He figured he would need at least a five minute head start.



Foy Coiffeur

Location: Whitefall, surface -> Retribution, Cargo Bay


"Well, isn’t THAT a fine How-Do-You-Do? marveled Foy aloud. He rested his Callahan over his shoulder, a more relaxed look clearly asserting itself over his features, like a slow wave of smugness settling in for an afternoon visit. "This situation has progressed to a most inopportune landscape for most parties concerned, ladies and gentlemen. Why, the very mention of exchanging munitions and other such acrimonious objets de discours seems positively unnecessary, given the looming spectre of potential violation and dismemberment. I should surmise, Captain, that negotiations have come to speedy conclusion - denoting the full reach of the terms of my contract, sir. Or more simply: Unless you wish to compensate the terms of my presence, I shall see you inside." Guns were of no use here. Disaster visited upon the Retribution or her crew would damn them to an unfortunate and dramatic demise, if their man Harper was correct.

Foy turned to one side and began a meandering walk back toward the Retribution. He was whistling a jaunty parlor tune, moving his hand as a conductor might direct a symphony. He stopped for a second, and looked to his closest friend in the 'Verse, Jahosafat. "I say, as we have a few minutes before possible phallus aeration and eventual consumption, can you not think of a more fitting time to discuss the forthcoming Haberdashery, hmm?"

Hoping his conversation would carry for the short walk back to his temporary home, Foy entered the open Cargo Bay, taking position at the top of the ramp leading to the further interior of the vessel. No sense in getting stupid at this juncture.

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