Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current if grizzled superheroes getting called back into action, or an Elder Scrolls horror-fest interest you, then I have the roleplays for you!
3 mos ago
Happy hump day, all!
4 mos ago
Currently winding down a lovely vacation. Saw my sister get married, so I guess I have a brother now which is a lovely feeling! I hope you are all doing well!
7 mos ago
Happy Sunday! Today is a new day to do whatever you want to do, to make it as beautiful as you like.
8 mos ago
*insert profound lyric here*


You could probably stab Storm in the throat and she'd be like *gurgles* "fascinating"
Tough girl

- a testimonial by @Hank

Most Recent Posts

Kinsley looked into Chowder’s eyes, and placed a hand either side of his neck and scratched him vigorously the way that she knew he liked. His tail wagged, and a quiet but excited whine came from his mouth in between his pants. He knew he was going to be set to work. The doctor bit her lip nervously, it had been Alex who had done all of the training with their dog, and she’d only watched and half listened when he told her how to send him out.

It was all in the arm motions, and Chowder was a good dog who understood them, and not only that, but her enjoyed being put to work. It was as she’d said, he was made for this. “You be good now,” she whispered, and he returned her words by bringing a paw into her lap, closing his mouth. He moved to look at Patty, and then back to Kinsley. Several times he looked between them. He wanted her to be safe, for Patty to keep her safe while he was gone.

The two approached the door quietly, and still slouched low, Kinsley made a gesture with her arm - throwing it out in a straight direction, before bringing her forearm into her chest - her elbow sticking out. He shot off across the distance. He was fast, like a bullet and left dust behind him.

Chowder wanted to be good, to do good. That would make Kinsley happy if he did a good job. He approached the ghouls, taking a slide at the crowd. He barked three times, getting the attention of most but there was still a decent distance between them. He would give them a good chase. After the barks, their silence was broken and the anguished screams and groans from their necrotic lungs rang out through the mist. Spluttering. Wheezing. Screaming. They came for him, and with the same motions he ran off again, he would take them in circles but before that he needed to move them from his humans.

To keep them on his tail, he barked intermittently throughout his chase…

Back in the body of the vertibird, Kinsley listened for his barking. Counting them and listening for the decrease in volume to quantify how far he had taken them. “Brown, my ears aren’t so good - keep count of his barks when he gets further, won’t you? And if he stops barking let me know…”

“You got it,” Patty said. She reaffixed her helmet and nodded towards the doctor before turning her attention to the horde of rotskins that lay ahead. Her power-armored hands gripping tightly to the minigun’s two handles. The belt-fed weapon was locked-and-loaded and trained on the ghouls incase they tried any funny business.

As Chowder zooms off, herding the bulk of the horde and keeping them busy, it seems that his barking has stirred up something in the remaining ghouls. Those who don’t claw and lunge their way towards him, turn their heads and take notice of the big metal craft and the two humans inside. Their rotting faces twist and snarl with rage as they realize what was happening just out of earshot.

Their emaciated and rag-draped bodies began to move like they had a mind of their own, limbs flailing wildly as they ran full-speed towards the vertibird. First one or two bodies made their way, but they brought the attention of more and more - now eight or nine shufflers sprinted down the ravine towards their position.

“We’ve got company! Weapons hot!” Knight Brown yelled.

She swiveled the minigun to line up with the front-most of the group and squeezed the trigger to spin the barrels. The weapon sped up to a blurry mess before emitting a terrible screeching sound and suddenly locking up. The motor of the gun strained against itself as it tried in vain to spin the barrels - only managing to produce a puff of smoke and a lot of heat.

“Oh, goddamn it all,” Patty screamed, dropping the handles in frustration. She reached behind herself to grab the laser rifle she slung over her power armor and jumped down from the vertibird’s carriage.

“Doc, put that pistol of yours to use and blast these damn rotters a new one.”

Without much more thoroughfare, Patty began to fire off bursts of automatic laser fire in the direction of the approaching swarm. Several beams of light impacted with the leader, burning away at its rotten flesh before it was nothing but a pile of ashes.

An eloquent choice of words that could have only come from the mouth of a Knight, Kinsley thought as she brought out her own pistol. It was no fandangled piece of weaponry like the fancy thing that Brown was holding, firing off with absolute confidence. The shimmering lights that were so beautiful in a way until they made contact with the ghouls. The bodies that were simultaneously bloated and emaciated at the same time. Blowing up in a spray of rotten flesh - the smell was something else entirely.

She took aim with her own weapon, so bland in comparison. Taking her time to wait for the right moment before she pulled the trigger, the screeching of them drowning out just about anything else. “Shut your hollering,” Kinsley commented. It wasn’t a yell, like what the words should have been - and it would have been had they come from the mouth of someone with the kind of chutzpah that Brown clearly possessed. Still, there was enough grit in Kinsley’s tone to allude to the amount of danger and fearlessness that she harboured under the surface.

Her while timed single shot cracked a ghoul in the head. It didn’t create quite the overall blasting effect of the energy weapon - but the putrid skull still exploded in spectacular fashion. The legs continued on their forward trajectory until the momentum ran out and they buckled.

Despite their combined efforts, the ghouls still closed ground. One rushed Patty and lunged at her, swinging its arm in a wide arc and slapping against her power armor. She raised her rifle and bashed the ghoul back and fired off several laser beams point-blank into its torso. The grotesque creature howled in agony before falling onto its back dead. Patty breathed a short sigh of relief as the thing collapsed, which was soon interrupted by a smack on the back of the head as another one of these things got a blow on her.

Patty swiveled around as the ghoul prepared to swing once more and gave it a firm kick with her power-armored foot, sending the abomination rolling across the dusty ground. As the ghoul rolled back onto its feet, Brown mustered a charge and plowed full-speed into the ghoul smearing its gore against her pauldron and slamming it against the ground again - this time it didn’t get up.

“Yeah, how’s it feel you disgusting sack of shit?” If Patty didn’t have her helmet on, she would’ve spat.

Levelling her rifle, she looked around to see if any ghouls had slipped past her and towards Kinsley. That was her main goal - didn’t matter how many hits she took, if any of the others got hurt it was on her. She’d put her body on the line to keep them safe - and the power armor helped, of course.

While she was lost in her own thoughts, Patty began to feel a weight pull against the servos of her power armor. Looking down, a couple of ghouls had taken hold of her waist, clawing feebly against the plates of metal trying to pull her down while a few more closed in to overtake her. Their arms flailed wildly as they battered Patty with powerful strikes - each one dealing an almost superhuman amount of damage to her armor and more importantly her pride.

Kinsley fired off a few unsuccessful shots into the air, and each bullet disappeared into the glow of the atmosphere around them until her little pistol was fresh out. For the most part, and to her credit, Brown had kept the creatures at bay. Now it seemed that she was being thwarted. Broken creatures stumbling around and grasping at the woman, trying to pull her down into their new domain - their eyes ravenous and skeletal fingers desperate for her.

One of them stumbled around with a clumsy foot - trying to make purchase on her power armour as if it were a ladder to victory. Kinsley wasn’t prepared to let it, and there was a degree of a special kind of recklessness involved in her quick decision. She reached for a long piece of broken pipe, rounded at the end, and she moved to the distracted ghouls.

She gripped the pipe tightly at the end and gave a wholloping golf swing with it, taking the ghoul’s head clean off its shoulders with an almighty whoosh - sending it hurtling against a solid metal wall. The thing simply cracked like an egg and slopped down the wall, a viscous mixture of flesh and bone. Kinsley wasn’t done either, she continued her melee assault to free Brown.

Kinsley’s assault didn’t go unnoticed. In the momentary lapse in the ghoul’s attention, Patty seized the opportunity to turn the tide. Managing to pull one of her legs free, she raised it as high into the air as her suit of power armor would allow her and slammed it down, shattering the skull of one of the ghouls into a fine red paste. One-by-one the rotskins fell as she regained control of her rifle and fired off what remained of her microfusion cell into their twisted and obscene bodies.

When the fighting was over, the mangled corpses of ghouls lay on the ground in a heap of flesh, bone, and ash - utterly unrecognizable from people they used to be. Patty took a deep sigh of relief and glanced around - with the quiet din of battle fading she could hear a comforting sound.

Bark! Bark! Bark!

“Chowder’s still… kicking…” Patty said, trying to catch her breath in the space between words.

She took a long breath in and cleared her throat, turning to look at Kinsey. A sense of respect overcame her as she noticed the bloodied pipe in her hand. Beneath the helmet a grin of satisfaction crossed her face.

“Nice fucking chops, doc,” she laughed, “keep it up and we might make a knight out of you yet.”

Kinsley let the gored pipe drop from her grip, and became aware of a painful throbbing in her leg. As she looked down, she made out that she had been cut by something. It couldn't have been the deformed hands of the ghouls, it was too clean and precise for that. It was then that Kinsley noticed that there was a piece of torn metal protruding from the entry way. She'd sliced herself in some part, before or after, the assault. Hard to tell now, only that it stung. A bleeding laceration six inches long to her calf. "Well then…" she remarked at it.

She didn't hear Chowder, but she gave a ghost of a smile upon hearing he was alright and still out there. Hopefully wearing out the rest of the nightmarish creatures so that they wouldn't return.

"No interest in that title, Brown.. " she said wearily, looking up at her colleague with respect in her eyes too. "We should check on other Brown and Algarin…" The stinging in her leg was hot, and the blood sticky. It would be worthwhile to take a quick breather to take stock, patch up, and plan their next move.

“I’m still alive. Dog still alive… Die another day, I suppose,” Kinsley breathed out into the atmosphere, a hapless statement whispered towards the flicked ear of her canine companion as she spotted him close to her, as always - his eyes out on the horizon and on the looming threat amidst the mists that they were entrenched in. He whimpered quietly.


Her round doe eyes scanned instinctively for someone in the ship and in the torn shreds outside before narrowing. There were more aboard, she knew that much. She hadn’t given it too much thought, she’d just sat and glazed over as she always did - Chowder had been sat between her knees - his own backpack fastened over his rough blue and white coat. As always, his tail was wagging furiously at the salutes - yelping as if in unison with them.

The ringing in her ears was thicker than usual, louder too. Or was that a different sound? As she turned on her heel, she saw in the cockpit the young Knight, gardening apparently. A deep crease formed over Kinsley’s brow and she made a dash for it.

Still in the pilot’s seat was Frank, pinned in place by the sharp and knotted arm of a tree - punched through him. Kinsley stopped at his side, her eyes moved over him, and the remaining buzz of Brown’s weapon was the undertone of her evaluation. A young Kinsley would have looked at this as a challenge, and a younger Kinsley might have been more prepared to accept it. But not this Kinsley. Her lips pulled to the side, and she took hold of Frank’s hand.

“It’s Frank, right?” She asked in her disturbingly gentle voice, before turning her face to catch Brown’s gaze, it was a single look — with strength enough to demand her attention.

Patty nodded and matched the look, strength for strength. Dr. Kinsley might be older than she, but she was no soldier - hell, a few years ago Patty would’ve considered her a local. Still, she had seen the things she could do in the medbay. Brothers went in, shot, sliced, and burned to hell and are still kicking. That warranted respect, of a sort. Patty stepped aside and motioned toward the cockpit with her free arm and said, “He’s all yours, doc.”

In the meantime, Lancer Brown had made his way back over to the cockpit. He wasn't going to be much use for Knight Brown's plan, so he thought he'd offer his help seeing to his pilot-in-arms with tree-in-torso. He brushed past Patty, giving a nod of respect for her command and lack of objection to her minigun-centric tactics. He then crouched next to Frank, on the opposite side to Dr. Kinsley, and sincerely asked "is there anything I can do to help?". As he said this, he gave Frank, who was losing his wits as if they were located in his blood, a worried look. The man was uncharacteristically vacant, breathing heavily and roughly.

Frank indicated the chest pocket of his flight suit. Breathing labored, blood pooling in his chair, the pilot had no illusions of survival. His mouth tightened into a thin red line. “My kids. Give them,” he groaned until his words faded in the air. Eyes glazed, devoid of light and aimed at Lancer Brown. The doctor held his hand, but the burden fell onto Brown.

Sami reached into the pocket that the late pilot had gestured towards, knowing full well what it contained. He somberly looked upon the photograph, and felt his heart sink as he realised that the two siblings it depicted had just been made orphans. They may never have an idea of why dad didn't come home if the rest of the crew didn't make it out of this desolate land. Either way, their lives just got a lot harder.

Sami struggled to hold back a tear for his fallen comrade. He'd known loss of friends before, and Frank was barely even an acquaintance, but he felt upset by his death that had so suddenly come about, if only because it exemplified the fragility of life and of its enjoyment. One moment the Lancer was cracking jokes about good times, the next he was choking to death on his own blood.

And with that thought, Sami wondered what the fuck he was doing here.

The crease in Kinsley's brow relaxed and she slowly blinked, placing a hand flat over their now deceased pilot's eyes to gracefully close them. "Ad victoriam" she said quietly, once again the words blanketed under her breath.

His blood perfumed the air, and then Chowder was beside her too, his eyes bright and attentive. "No boy, no," Kinsley said, rubbing his ear with only a sliver of the affection that Grimshaw would have. He placed his chin in Frank's bloody lap, a weak whimper came out of him again.

"Are you hurt Brown?" She asked, turning to face the Lancer who had made his way to them. Sami shook his head, and murdered a faint 'no'. "You too Brown… Other Brown. Are you hurt?" A brow quirked in the Knight's direction, and she had something of a word or two for her, but even she had enough tact about her to not do it while someone was in a state of grief at her side. She knew that look, those eyes. Her entire life had been spent under the deep scrutiny of those eyes.

“I’m fine,” said Knight Brown.

That wasn’t the truth - well, the whole truth anyway. Her head was pounding and she was a little dizzy, but she’d be damned if a little headache was going to stop her. She shook her head to erase the thought from her mind. A man had just died and here she was thinking about a damn headache.

“Guys,” Owen shooshed, waving a hand back toward the others. “Keep it down. Damn doors won’t shut... We’re screwed if they hear us.”

Craning his neck out of the left door, he caught a glimpse of the area. Tall trees stripped down into lithe, blackened things. Puddles that seemed to glisten eerily close akin to glass. The ruins here appeared particularly devastated. Skeletal remains of a forest the scribe imagined had once thrived here.

Owen turned back to the group and gestured outside. “I don’t know if trying to mow them down is the best move. What if something goes wrong?” The scribe rubbed the dreadlocks running along the top of his head. “I mean, could we try to fix the damage? Maybe patch it up long enough to hop out of here?”

“Best way to find the others is from above,” Kinsley chimed in, in as hushed of a tone as she always did. Pointing up to the sky before placing that finger upon her temple, half scratching at her hairline, and half tapping as if in thought. “They could only have gotten so far away from us, based on the speed of the bird here and whatever direction we were facing when they were flung… And how far up or down we were.” She shrugged, eyes moving left to right as if she was already putting together an equation for maximum distance fallen in the moment of silence between speaking again. “I also do not wish us to fire a gun if it can be helped. Could be more of those things lurking out of sight. Fifty counted does not mean fifty in total. Don’t be the hare in this situation.”

“What other equipment do we have onboard?” Patty asked, “If we won’t go in guns blazing, at the very least I want to be ready for them when they finally notice us. I’ll be damned if one of you brings down the horde on us with our pants down,” she said in a half-whisper, so as to avoid drawing the attention of the ghouls.

She shook her head and turned to Lancer Brown, “You know how to fix these things, right? I’ll have your back if you want to try to repair it quietly.”

"Yeah I can have a look at the wing. It's probably just a case of fixing the servos. But it might be loud and attract those rotskins. I don't wanna be a sitting duck out there", replied the (co-)pilot.

“If we need to, Chowder can do a run around and force them from the area but it’s risky for him…” Kinsley offered, despite her beliefs that he was the luckiest dog left -- he really was still in danger if they had to use such a tactic. “He’s a good herding dog, he’ll know what to do so just say the word…”

"That could be an idea", Sami responded. "But Ghouls ain't Brahmin. Are you sure you wanna risk his life like that?". He scratched the dog on his chin as he spoke. Chowder was certainly a very good boy. He always liked dogs, and mistrusted cats. "Are you up for that, boy?", Sami asked the dog, rhetorically of course. Though if Chowder spoke back, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen in Sami's witness.

Kinsley brought herself down to Chowder's level, placing a hand on his head, before meeting Lancer Brown's eyes with her own, "he's made for things like this, just like you're made to fix this broken bird." Sami stuck his bottom lip out and slowly nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Well ain't destiny just a specific bitch", he mumbled to himself, but audibly enough so the rest of the group could hear him. "Alright then. I'll need as much time as you can give me, it could be a quick fix or a while if it's something substantial. And I won't know until I see the damage".

“So, we send Chowder out as a distraction. I can cover you while you check things out, Brown. And if things go to shit.” Owen pointed to the minigun. “Patty will be ready with the big gun. If you’re sure about this Kinsley, then I think we’ve got a plan.” He could notice Sami already nodding in his peripheral.

“We’re between a rock and a hard place… We have to get this fixed to find the others. If running off the ghouls gives us our best shot, it’s the best shot,” Kinsley sighed wearily, “He’s fast, and has more stamina than you’d expect, and a good drive. He’s hardy. But just in case…” The doctor reached into her own bag, removing a notepad and pen - and on it she began to scrawl out a message.

Vertibird down. Algarin, Brown, Brown, Kinsley alive. Surrounded by ghouls. Fixing the vertibird. Look to the skies.

She carefully folded the paper, and slipped it into one of the pockets on Chowder’s own lightweight backpack. “If he can’t make it back to us, he’ll keep running. Maybe he’ll find the others and they should know we’re alive. Or that we were. It’s a shot in the dark.”
Great posts so far friends!

Hey @Lo Pellegrino could we get a Discord for plotting and planning purposes maybe? I... I very rarely jump on here unless it's to post.
The clinic of the Prydwen was quiet for this time of day. That wasn’t unusual. Most people were too busy now to swing through unless they were frightfully ill or injured. Today was quiet, which was a relief for the Senior Scribe who had been on duty.

The senior scribe was one that most knew to avoid if it could be helped. She wasn’t particularly stern or obtuse - just strange and with an eerie nature to her. Her movements slow and precise and conversation whispery and seldom. While it was common to express that people had a hard shell and soft centre, for this senior scribe the opposite was the truth. She was outwardly soft, but nursing something hard and bitter inside. Like a peach, easily bruised.

Her eyes could be off putting too. At first, they had the power to draw you in. The ocean blue hue was resplendent in its quality - like a jewel both rare and valuable. But the redness in the corners upon closer inspection, and the smoky glaze told that the woman had simply seen too much. She didn’t look at you, she looked right to the core of you, and shrugged off the truth of you that she uncovered with an indifferent sigh.

Today, as was the case on any other day, she wasn't sleeping, she was simply basking. Laid atop the hard solid steel of an examination table in the corner of the clinic. Knees drawn and pointed at the ceiling, a fan blowing white noise in her direction. Long and unkempt auburn hair was spread around her like a pillow. The natural light drawing attention to the few strands of silver that framed her face — only visible in the light, and retreating back to the warmth of the flames when it was dark.

It had been approximately thirty-two minutes of shut eye. She would occasionally drift off, her mind creating banal situations that always had just enough of a strangeness about them to remind her it was a dream and not reality. Like Elder Maxson approaching her with a serving of processed cheese slapped across one cheek, his voice humming bizarre words in her ear “I don’t wear the cheese, the cheese wears me…”

Whatever the scenario, they were always just surreal enough to draw her out of slumber. If it wasn't curious imagery, it was someone clattering apparatus - the harsh sound bursting the elusive bubble of sleep..

It was at exactly forty-five minutes that she felt the familiar cold, wet nose pressed against the hand she hung over the table. Regular as clockwork. Dr. Harper Kinsley slowly opened her eyes, letting the light from above spill in through the skylight, bright blue freckled with clouds, the slot of a window provided warmth too.

She glanced down at her happy looking dog, Chowder. A medium sized creature, his coat coarse in a mixture of browns and blues - a dark patch over his eye. He was as unique a dog as any, and still at eleven years old, as mischievous as a puppy. He dropped a stolen boot for her, nudging it closer with his nose in her direction.

Kinsley sighed and groaned; “Chowder… I can’t keep doing this…” she spoke at last - her voice laced with exhaustion and exasperation. She rubbed at her eyes. “Where’d you get this thing from?” She asked him accusingly, sitting up on the table. Chowder simply stared up, panting - his mouth so wide and the corners so high that he appeared to be grinning at her.

As her legs swung over the table, he briefly closed his mouth and whimpered ever so quietly, placing a paw on her thigh, pushing his claws against her.

“Alright, alright. You can get your feed when we take this back…” she said, patting him three times on his head. He panted happily again, skittering off in the direction of the door, waiting there for her to catch up. “Got stuff to plan for you know… Missions. Shouldn’t be playing treasure hunt with you, Chowder.”

“Dr. Kinsley!” Came the cheerfully chirpy voice of a young initiate, the soles of his shoes squeaked against the alloy flooring as he hopped, stepped, and jumped to greet the Dr on her way around. She blinked in surprise, taken aback by the abundant bounciness in the boys heels. Like a coiled spring, taunting her with his youth and motion. Her blue eyes were drawn to the pad in his hands. She vaguely recalled sending the youngster off with a mathematical problem some days ago.

“Initiate…” she croaked out quietly from behind clenched teeth. She released the grip of her thumb and forefinger so that the boot fell on the ground beside her with a clattering thud. Chowder parked himself beside it, panting happily, a wagging tail dusting the floor beneath him.

“I solved it!” He said, triumphantly, chest puffing out with pride as he handed the paper over, waiting in anticipation for her praise.

Kinsley’s eyes barely skimmed the page when she shook her head, and gave a small yawn. “No. Your answer is incorrect, actually” she said with a sigh and a tired shrug, working her jaw over the words while her fingers reached for her own pen that was spiked through her ponytail.

“The limit as x approaches zero... Of the natural log of one minus x… Then minus the sign of x over one… Minus the cosine squared of x…” she muttered under her breath, the softness of her voice little more than a gentle whisper. For a moment, there was an uptick at the corner of her mouth, the ghost of an impressed smile. Her wide, doe eyes narrowed as she worked through an internal rolodex of equations, pressing the nib of the pen to her lower lip - her brow furrowed.

The initiate exhaled with unmistakable disappointment, deflating like the very last, sad balloon at a child’s party.

She tilted the pad to his direction, and began drawing over his notes, the red ink creating lines over the paper that drowned out the grey pencil of his own. “When evaluating the limit as x approaches zero, it should look like this on the graph…” Kinsley’s slender fingers turned over the pen, an easy flick of her wrist to demonstrate her calculations - meanwhile, the Initiate seemed more disheartened with every level of her explanation.

“From the left your graph should appear to be reaching positive infinity, whereas on the right it is approaching negative infinity.” His eyes glazed over, watching Kinsley’s mouth make the shapes and speak the words he didn’t understand. Her words not crossing beyond that, so whatever she was trying to teach him, fell on deaf ears. His cheeks grew a hot pink in colour, and his hands fidgeted.

“The limit can not exist unless the graph is approaching the same point from both sides. Maybe try a table of values next time to solve this.” Kinsley handed the pad back to the boy, looking him up and down slowly - trying to remember his name. “Peter, isn’t it?” She asked, raising a brow. The boy may have been wrong, but he showed some promise, and she wasn’t entirely without respect for those who chose a scholars life.

“Paul, actually,” he said, nibbling on his lower lip. Last time she’d called him Percy, so this was... almost an improvement.

“Keep at it, anyway. Next time you won’t be so far wrong,” she added awkwardly in an attempt to reassure or encourage the boy. She gave another shrug of her shoulders again, turning her foot on the floor as she stooped to pick the boot up again. “Anyway. I have things to do, and so do you.”

Kinsley was busy watching Chowder make his way through the Prydwen, that she just about missed a gentleman walking in her direction. An older gentleman, perhaps only two or three years older than her. A fellow Scribe, only one of those technologically adept ones.

He was absolutely conventionally attractive. A nice haircut, a well groomed beard. In novels, tall, dark, and handsome was an attractive trope - and frequently used for heroes and anti-heroes alike. Women swooned over such idealised fantasies. And so, when he stopped Kinsley in her tracks, her reaction was a quirked brow, and to lean out of the space - (out of her own space), that he had intruded.

“Dr. Kinsley,” he said, with a warm and welcoming smile. A perfectly straight and gleaming smile. His hands were held out in a friendly gesture. Kinsley took a step back, and Chowder took a seat again since his master was momentarily occupied.

She eyed him up and down suspiciously, “yes…?” she asked unimpressively, attempting to side step past him - a drool covered boot in one hand, and her pen in the other. She was grateful she was not empty handed.

He eyed her up and down too, sure — she was shabby, her hair was… less than groomed. But she was by no means ugly. She had good teeth too, nice cheekbones, decent enough lips that he would have liked to see in a smile, but her aloof character was the real draw...

“You know, I’ve seen you around so often, yet we’ve never really had a conversation…” His voice came out smooth, flirtatious. Overly so, in fact. “There is so much more to the Prydwen—“

Prud-when,” Kinsley interrupted by raising a finger in front of his face, when he moved his mouth as if to laugh, she remained serious - and his smile quickly dropped. “Contrary to what just about everyone else here says. It’s Prud-when. A Welsh word,” she blinked, nose twitching. “If you were to study up on your Arthurian history a little more, then you’d know that. We have to preserve cultures, you know. We can’t just make things up willy nilly…”

He scoffed, unsure of how to add to that, or what could be added. All he could do was step aside for the eccentric doctor to make her way past - in the direction she was keen to go. He’d simply been a blockade and nothing more.

Eventually Chowder led her to where he wanted her to be. The Mess Hall. Unlike her quiet clinic, it was as crowded and loud as it always was, and instead of working up the energy to speak to anyone, she gave a judgemental glance to Chowder. “The onus is on you to find the owner of this, dog.” Kinsley slipped down to her knees to hold the boot in front of his nose. As if he knew exactly what she wanted, the heeler took a good, healthy sniff. After that, he signalled his presence with a bark and trotted off, his head and tail held high in a smug fashion while he weaved around the crew that he passed. For the most part, he was a recognisable figure - and the crew knew him well.

Kinsley rolled her eyes as she watched him find his victim, stopping at a table, alerting a young woman to his presence — nudging her with his nose in the side, his big brown eyes inviting, and his smile even more so.

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Everything that Addison did in the days following the meeting was to prepare for the trip to New Mexico. She'd lost contact with the Biomancer on the 21st - too much for him to handle maybe? Maybe he really just wanted to be sure that Hex was dead. The answer could have been anything. Tensions between the heroes that had remained had not gone unnoticed by the Agent, and she'd taken to keeping Hex's journal as close to her chest as she could - referring to his notes and records of them all.

The notes said a lot. If there was anyone that Addison was keeping a close eye on, it was Stardust - she had seemed the most volatile at the meeting, but that said - she was a damn good hero, and it wasn't that she couldn't be trusted, just that the woman was more powerful than a woman should be. Truthfully, Addison respected her a lot, but they had a mission. Hell, the Agent was keeping an electronic dossier of her own on the team. She had to - this was Supers getting back together for the first time in years. She was responsible for that - if all hell should break loose, she needed to know why.

The meeting had ended with the agreement to work together, and it was a shaky agreement at best, as evidenced by Biomancer's departure. At any minute, any of them could decide that something else was worth their time.

That's why she chose Albuquerque.

It made sense, of course, to head that way off the bat. It was his last known destination - and all of the clues that Addison had, and with all of the resources at her disposal, she had tracked the man's location to the desert via coordinates left in his journal. "of fucking course," she cursed, moving across the sand in her vehicle. She had paged the team the coordinates, and she hoped they'd meet her there in a timely manner - unlike the first meeting. Being out in the sprawling open desert left her with a pit of anxiety too. What would actually stop them fighting with each other here should tensions rise again? She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, chastising herself for not having a little more trust in them.

It was easier said than done. She was the powerless one, after all.

Which of them would be most likely to kill her and take Hex's files? ET? Probably not. He seemed too good of a man to kill a defenceless woman for something like that. It seemed out of the style of Avant-Garde to try it too. He had been so friendly - or was she confusing simple politeness for friendliness? The Tower would literally manage to crush her if she allowed it. Addison wondered if the sister would be here, Beacon.

The gothic pallor of Spellbound, and her history was perhaps the most interesting of all. In Addison's eyes, it was Spellbound who was the wild card.

Once again, she shook her head - taking to slamming a fist on the wheel to stop thinking that way. If she was having doubts, they were bound to pick it up - and so she let her eyes wander the desert, the glowing orange horizon as the sun dipped behind the monolithic rocks. She'd never been here, and so she wanted to set as much of the beautiful scenery to memory.

After some time, Addison arrived at the coordinates. Exiting the vehicle, she brought her equipment with her - including a geo-scanner that she'd swiped from the department. This whole thing was off the books, she'd taken the damn nerve to simply call in sick, not that they gave a shit - they weren't going to follow this up.

The rocky ground crunched underfoot, her heavy boots pressing them back into the sand. She wore a simple armour that pinched at the contours of her body well in a deep blue shade. A belt around her waist had the holster for her pistol. Her hands were gloved and her thick brunette locks slicked into a high ponytail. For all intents and purposes, Addison looked the part of a superhero, if someone were looking at her from a distance. Something about form-fitting spandex seemed to sing Super.

She flicked the lens of her visor over her left eye and sighed. They weren't here yet, so she took the time to check the area. There would be hell to pay if these coordinates were a dud - because with her human eyes she could see only an ancient looking rock formation and nothing else. Unless Hex liked pitching a tent to look at the stars, there was nothing here to show for his frequent visits.

Addison pinched at the arm of the visor, turning a switch to power up her scanner...

What the frick
For your consideration;

@Lo Pellegrino

As part of my character's history and equipment (I guess), she has an old doggo, this doggo is very important in her story - would this be okay or nah?
Potentially working on a female, early/mid 40s surgeon.

edit; more background/brainstormy
- a very accomplished career surgeon;
- very depressed, introvert type - perpetually gloomy but still doing her best to help people.
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