Thayr

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Φ PAYBACK Φ

Meeting Room

Who the fuck decided to do a drugs talk when you get to do morning and afternoon shifts. What absolute idiot decided that. Myla was, honestly enough, annoyed by that fact and by the great glorious fact that Lightning Girl for some good reason decided she needed to make a joke out of every thing under the sun, to include the dispatcher whose name Myla had already forgotten. What was it? Jamie? John? Jackie? James. Why the fuck did she feel the need to make so many jokes about his nonsense.

Of course, then one of the officer guys brought in donuts. What could a guy do with eight arms? Does that mean eight funny bones? Did he have a dominant hand or a dominant side? What the fuck did his clothing bill look like? So, so many questions for the eight armed office guy, and more than Myla would probably never ask. Wait, there was another good one. Why the fuck did eight-arms decide he wanted to work in an office. He could be out there doing…well, heck, massages or something. She didn’t touch the donuts though. Too much sugar, and Myla knew the brand well enough that she remembered they always tasted underdone or some weirdness. Honestly, she just had another coffee. Five packets of sugar, a quarter of the cup as creamer…hey, they needed to restock that…Irish Cream? What twit bought Irish Cream. Bullshit, she swore, absolute bullshit.

Then Lightning Girl started talking to Myla. Again.

"And you did okay too! I reckon in your heyday you'd have been so much better at stealing ceramics than those losers were. Right?"

"Sorry, I forget I'm so English sometimes! Like you did good. Sorry, that's what I meant!"

Long stare at that one. A peptalk, is that what that was supposed to be, from the girl scout of all people? Myla swallowed, nodding with her eyebrows up and a long drink of her coffee. Irish Cream. She’ll have to fight someone over that. Who the heck buys that over French Vanilla. Bullshit. She watched the girl go around the place after, talking to each person, congratulating them. Yeah yeah, we need someone else to tell us we did good. Like we weren’t there. Yeah. Myla started to take another sip. No. No, she just couldn’t do it with the Irish Cream. Down the sink it went, as Myla watched the whole thing from the side.

Then Madcap appeared and started throwing food left and right. What sort of wacky nonsense was this? Was everyone high as fuck or something?

Of course, that’s when a kid walked in. He looked like he was early teens, pre-teens, something like that, a little skinny kid with brown hair and everything. Myla stared, swallowing. Surely they didn’t have a fucking kid around, as a…a hero or even a dispatcher? Surely not. That’d be such utterly stupid bullshit, considering like…what, there were child labor laws. Was it someone’s kid or…something? What was going on?

“Ah. Hello. I assume you must be the heroes? Nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you all.”

Fucking what. Myla stared for a second longer.

”When did we start having fucking kids working here? The hell’s this?”

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

☉ Liute 🜂
II

_________________________

Another spoke. Yelled, really, as the sun searched to find the proper look for the world, and the mortals, below. An errant eye turned down to see another, a speck against the green really, acting out its frustrations. He heard the yelling from that little thing, though from that fact that they did not stand upon the earth…another godsblood? One errant eye turned into a stare, working to listen to the words properly, to see that godsblood properly.

The little shape hung against the ground, floated up towards him as it were, and danced about in its light little movements as though a part of the wind itself, and light cloaked about the little shape like cloth. It danced, here and there, shifting from stark, quick motions to slower ones, mimicking out laying against the earth before shifting up again. Then light pooled in their hands, and they pointed to a cloud. The words, all throughout, were fast and clipped, words in a tongue that Liute did not know the name of yet understood nonetheless. It was the tongue of gods, he understood, the tongue that…perhaps all gods spoke, or at least knew, and such was curious enough. The words were fast, sharp, accusatory here and emotional all throughout.

A longer stare as the godsblood hid from the sun’s light under a cloud, a motivated enough cloud as Liute could see it stand still while all the others continued their lazy motion. The touch of a god? Perhaps. What sort of beings were they then, with such confident words and confident motions, which such actions that they turned such a thing to their own uses with the merest desire. What was…’the happy cloud’? Why was it happy…and why did it glow yellow?

A longer stare indeed. That cloud stood over a spot on the world, a distinct enough spot on the world. Was this the land of that godsblood? Did they claim a dominion, even though they acted such against an errant cloud? Strangeness. Liute entertained the idea of going down to that place, to that godsblood. He wanted to know their name. Yet…was there a point to that? They seemed to be annoyed enough at it all. Perhaps it would be better to wait.

The god went back to preparing himself for the world.

III

_________________________

He walked against the land, but not as any great being of fire. The faces of those mortals which walked before would suit his needs far better, and this was the face which Liute had adopted for the travel. He remained heavyset, squat with great muscles and a heavy face. Thin, golden-strand hair slicked back against the hot wind, and he wore but a yellowed grass cloak.

In some ways then, the god supposed he would stand out among others, down below on that world. He supposed it would be the point. What was the point of the sun if not to shine, even if there was no point in blinding the mortals below. What mattered was that he would be among them, and that they would know him not as a force that kills, but as…well, him. At least, that was the hope in the great endeavor.

Liute knew that there had been crops before. He walked there, to the fields, where men here and there wept. Others worked among the crops that remained, worked to move soil from one plot to another. Water was poured onto them by some. A few older mortals gathered under shade, discussing that issue. Others looked on and upwards, shielding their eyes against the light. They talked among themselves, too. One noticed his approach, a younger with long hair and few wrinkles against his face, who narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Who are you?”

The god spoke, though he still could not name the tongue. “I am Liute.” A pause followed, painful enough. He supposed that there was something to be said for reciprocating that question, that the mortals too would have names and that those names would have some worth in knowing. “And you?”

“Kian. You…are not from here.”

“No.” He motioned a hand to the crops, withered as they were. “Why are they dying?”

“The light before that was calm. Gentle. Then it came. I do not think the plants love it. Some think it an omen.”

“Of?”

Kian shrugged. There was nothing more to be said in speculating what the omen could be, especially when it was the thought of others. Another pause followed. For some reason, the man felt he could admit something to the other. “Others have prayed to it. To wish that it would give us mercy. I have prayed to it. There could be no harm in such a thing.”

The god considered what might be said, and took some sense of it. Kian might be one to believe, to know that truth, to help him in some way. Was prayer…worth anything? Some base instinct in Liute said that it was. Some part of him knew that he had felt the prayers before, as scattered as they were, as aimless as they were in giving a name to the thing they prayed to.

“Then remember my name, Kian. You are seen. You are heard.” The man looked at him with a question. “The sun is mine. That which breaks your crops is no intent. Change comes.” He motioned, as Kian’s look changed from question to confusion. The briefest slip in that form came, as heat rolled off from Liute’s skin and steady glow began, visible even under the sun.

Another pause, as Kian stared, took a step back. Others stared too, noticing the strangeness. “What is my name?”

“Liute,” he choked out, mouth slack. “You are…that in the sky?”

“I am the sun. What follows is by my hand. Remember this.”

And in that instant, Liute disappeared, and Kian had the great urge to build an altar to the god. They had been visited by the sun, visited and were known. There was something to be done, and in some way Kian greatly hoped that what followed would be good to his village. There was much for the god to do, he knew.

IV

_________________________

The light before his creation had been…less. The plants had drunk in that light, and had thrived. With the creation of the sun, though, those plants were unused to the glory that was there before them, and withered away in their distaste. The concept seemed solid, all-told, and the mortal seemed to have been telling the truth. The whole of it…seemed to follow? Liute wasn’t entirely sure. Surely it would have done no good for the mortal to have lied. Besides that, he would have given the truth upon that revelation, of who he was speaking to. Surely the mortal would have. Surely.

There had to have been another godsblood, who worked to create those plants. There surely had to have been another who would care to create the plants anew, that they might live in the light of the sun, and grow from his greatness. Surely there was. Liute’s mask restored, his divinity hidden from bursting that about him, he had come to one of the forests of the world. This would be where that godsblood would dwell, it had to be. Such made only sense to the god, that a nature-thing would be among nature, or at the very least that nature would be where that godsblood would be most likely to speak back to him. Surely.

A pause. What was there to do? How does one garner the attention of another, from wherever they might be? The most direct way, perhaps? Liute spoke aloud, then.

“Who holds this, answer! This is work to be done.”

Actions

Actions:

☉ As Liute prepares himself for a journey to the world, he notices the antics of Alechior and the location of Gamblerdise.
☉ Create temple/shrine - Liute travels to a farming village, and in introducing himself inspires them to create a shrine to his worship.
☉ Liute manifests in a forest, to speak to Saries.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

☉ Liute 🜂
I

_________________________

The sun burst into being, and a new pair of eyes gazed down against the world from its surface. He could feel the heat in his bones, in his soul, and his flesh was as clay. He could feel it in runnels against the surface, feel it against the cold nothing of the void, feel it as heat rolled off from the sun. Legs of hydrogen sunk into the surface as he rose to stand, to feel nothing against his burning skin.

There was a world, down below, a plane adrift in that void of nothing. There was a world, and he could see that not all was right upon it. He could see the great clouds of ash, the explosion of green followed by sickly yellows and death, the great catastrophe. He could see the war against itself, the death of so many, and knew that it was because something there had changed, had altered the expected balance of the life upon that world. Something had come, and burned away much, and broken much, and he knew it was that which he stood upon.

A pause, then. A name came to mind, that name for the self, that name for the singular being. Liute. Was there meaning to the name? He wasn’t certain. It had meaning, though, because it was his, and he stood upon that sun. This was enough meaning for the god, enough meaning for those below. He was Liute, and that great fire was his. A pride swelled in the newborn god’s chest, a pride at that ownership, at that right, at that strength.

Were there others? The thought was easy enough to follow against. Surely there were others, others for the sky, others for the earth, others for those flesh-things which crooned upon the world. A sign was there, that others yet existed. A word echoed in Liute’s ears, distant enough to be unrecognizable yet of any description the god could provide against it would but be perfection. A taste lingered in Liute’s mouth, the taste of burning blood. It was not his own. Another had broken against the sky, to bleed and speak into being a sun against the world. This was. The other had to be like Liute, a god. This simply was.

He stared down at the world yet. What was there could not be sustained, could not continue, not if the flesh-things were to life, not for the green or blue to continue in their strife. No, these things would burn. Was there another state, before, that the people there could live in? Surely this was the case, yet if it were not, all would need correcting.

Liute would need to discover this. He looked down at his burning skin, and knew that this would be the first which would need correcting. And so, the newborn god went to work in crafting himself, to be among the others below, to ask them of the world and know it.

Actions

Actions:

☉ A new god is born.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Liute, Of the Sun, Of Fire

Liute
Of the Sun, Of Fire

God Concept:

The warmth of a summer’s day, harsh against the brow, the comfort of the afternoon heat, the burning of brush from the dead lifematter, and the savior in the cold - Liute embodies all of these and more. A god of many faces, Liute is a new god, of a new day, of a new world, born from the instant act of another.

In the act of his birth, he acquired something unasked for - worshippers. Many farmers uttered a prayer to the light in the sky, a wish to be left alone, a wish for their crops to not die, a wish for they themselves to not die as the foliage exploded into being before withering under its own weight. They did not know Liute’s name, but there were prayers and pleadings nonetheless.

Appearance:

A figure of undetailed fire, for no worshippers know him well thusly, Liute seems to be a squat figure with a heavy, squat build. Circlets of liquid flame burst from his arms before dissipating away, while two empty sockets see on to the world beneath his gaze. As such a young god, Liute is not one to have yet found a good face to treat mortals with - generally speaking, such masks would follow the same of heavyset individuals, powerfully built, with less clothing than might be expected for the climate, and kept hair.

Motivation:

A world stands before Liute, a world of possibility for the god that has known of no other worlds than this below. Against it, he wishes to know the full measure of his strength, his wrath, his kindness, to know himself by knowing the world and how he might work against it.

All things, as the gods stand to work, are facts of the known - facts to be worked alongside, to be worked against, to be found. To it, Liute knows that a balance must be struck, or the world lost to divine error. The god knows that there is no potential in his own loss, though - the world stands before them, and he stands above that world.

Roleplay Example:

Watch, now. Watch as the earth boils and burns under him. Against that radiance, they weep. Against that hand, they burn. Liute opened his eyes for the first time, to look down at a world rebelling against his glory. He could taste the blood of another on his tongue, godsblood and the ringing of a perfect word in his ears. He could feet his own warmth, his own strength, his own hands.

Where was the other? Where had they gone, to break against the world below? Liute stared down at that world, at those people who wept, at those who ran, at those who prayed. Prayed. They who knew only another, only another who had gifted them such which could offer no protection as yet. He knew that it would not last. It could not last. He could already see those below dying to his hand. His. There was power, in that idea, in that future, in that concept, but it was a brief power, a brief idea, a brief future. It would kill them, and then there would be nothing left below but a world which he burned forever. Was this the power he wanted? Was this the future he wanted?

No. He looked down, and thought to find another he might convene against. Another he might work to know, to fix. This was the only way which life could be. Life. Was it worth something? That remained to be seen. Was it worth nothing? That it most certainly was not. The life below had worth, for it was the first life which Liute knew, and that held meaning to the god.

Availability:

2-4 times per week

Experience:

Started PBP RP in 2016, Vin's T&T TrollBridge, followed by OngoingWorlds, NationStates, and here in 2023. Generally I’m alright with casual RPs.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Liute, Of the Sun, Of Fire

Liute
Of the Sun, Of Fire

God Concept:

The warmth of a summer’s day, harsh against the brow, the comfort of the afternoon heat, the burning of brush from the dead lifematter, and the savior in the cold - Liute embodies all of these and more. A god of many faces, for the moment there can be no doubt that the god knows only the harshness, only the breaking of others under his steady hand. Liute is a new god, of a new day, of a new world, born from the instant act of another.

Appearance:

A figure of undetailed fire, for no worshippers know him well thusly, Liute seems to be a squat figure with a heavy, squat build. Circlets of liquid flame burst from his arms before dissipating away, while two empty sockets see on to the world beneath his gaze. As such a young god, Liute is not one to have yet found a good face to treat mortals with - generally speaking, such masks would follow the same of heavyset individuals, powerfully built, with less clothing than might be expected for the climate, and kept hair.

Motivation:

A world stands before Liute, a world of possibility for the god that has known of no other worlds than this below. Against it, he wishes to know the full measure of his strength, his wrath, his kindness, to know himself by knowing the world and how he might work against it.

All things, as the gods stand to work, are facts of the known - facts to be worked alongside, to be worked against, to be found. To it, Liute knows that a balance must be struck, or the world lost to divine error. The god knows that there is no potential in his own loss, though - the world stands before them, and he stands above that world.

Roleplay Example:

Watch, now. Watch as the earth boils and burns under him. Against that radiance, they weep. Against that hand, they burn. Liute opened his eyes for the first time, to look down at a world rebelling against his glory. He could taste the blood of another on his tongue, godsblood and the ringing of a perfect word in his ears. He could feet his own warmth, his own strength, his own hands.

Where was the other? Where had they gone, to break against the world below? Liute stared down at that world, at those people who wept, at those who ran, at those who prayed. Prayed. They who knew only another, only another who had gifted them such which could offer no protection as yet. He knew that it would not last. It could not last. He could already see those below dying to his hand. His. There was power, in that idea, in that future, in that concept, but it was a brief power, a brief idea, a brief future. It would kill them, and then there would be nothing left below but a world which he burned forever. Was this the power he wanted? Was this the future he wanted?

No. He looked down, and thought to find another he might convene against. Another he might work to know, to fix. This was the only way which life could be. Life. Was it worth something? That remained to be seen. Was it worth nothing? That it most certainly was not. The life below had worth, for it was the first life which Liute knew, and that held meaning to the god.

Availability:

2-4 times per week

Experience:

Started PBP RP in 2016, Vin's T&T TrollBridge, followed by OngoingWorlds, NationStates, and here in 2023. Generally I’m alright with casual RPs.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

https://discord.gg/QT5jDk82

Here's the server, whoever wants to join is free to do so.

@Vec

By the way, Discord link still had an expiration date.

Contemplating a God - need to figure out what fits and what might be 'needed' as far as themes / domains.

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Φ PAYBACK Φ

Meeting Room

One long gulp of coffee. Maybe two. Myla sat in one of the folding chairs, listened to the way it squealed under each person’s weight. The team itself wasn’t all that impressive, sure, a mismatch of goody two-shoes like ‘Lightning Girl’ - fukkin nightmare of time she seemed to be - and near-psychopaths like Eclipse, who as far as Myla could tell was just…Red Ring to the max. Dude needed to switch-up his theme, really, show some self-respect. Oh, and a few near-crazies.

It almost reminded Myla of prison.

Then a new guy came in, someone that Myla didn’t really recognize, along with the boss. Well, that wasn’t all that uncommon. She didn’t know a lot of the people who hung around the place. They just kinda kept to themselves, most of the time. She didn’t really blame them. All the had to talk to was either one-another, the boy scouts, or former criminals. Out of that group, she’d probably choose the first option too. It just seemed a bit safer.

"So, we've had a problem. Our afternoon shift has had to be redeployed to SDN Pasadena. And your dispatcher has been reallocated for another task. Too complicated to explain, but, in a nutshell, we need you to work late. This is James Speight. Some of you may have worked with him, but he'll be your interim dispatcher. He knows SDN well. Treat him with respect, and he'll get you through this afternoon."

The sound of cracking knuckles echoed through the bare room. Myla turned her head to it, staring for a moment at the cause. Did she know the guy? Was there…something there? Ex’s? Hell, she really didn’t know. The smile seemed to have something there that was different to that kinda energy though. In any case, Myla just shook her head at it, breathing out.

As the girl scout kept on by asking for extra pay, that second fact stuck out to her. Yeah, work late. She knew they wouldn’t be getting any time off the next day, or a week from now. Getting paid back like that just didn’t happen. So, hey, a shit day today, a shit start tomorrow, great. Seemed they were, though. ‘Standard rate of overtime’. Boss kept on talking, though, even as the girl scout had gotten put in her place. What she deserved, anyways. The conversation got cut down pretty quick though, and they were off.

Another gulp of coffee as they all stared to file out of the meeting room. There was a good reason why Myla didn’t like to run around in that stupid building. Always bad news, always annoying fukkin people, always a stupid time. The warmth of that free coffee from the break room was the nicest thing there. She raised it up again, just a little sip while walking along. She’d need that.

---

Dispatch Parking Lot

Myla had her bag over the shoulder, leaning on the back of a bench while the new dispatch guy seemed to settle in. The shape of a little rubber ruler made itself known in her pocket, a little 6 inch yellow and happy thing you’d expect from an elementary school. What was the name…Paul? Paul’s desk was kinda like that. Lots of little things here and there. She’d seen that knitted container full of rulers and just knew she had to have one. Why? Well, hey, because she could.

Yeah, it was another reason why she never liked being in that building. Too much stuff. Too many people used to looking out for their stuff. Paul definitely wasn’t the kinda guy to be used to that. Sucks. The rubber ear-piece snapped to life, though, and a tinny little voice came on through. Well. Several tinny little voices.

"Okay, A-Team, appreciate the change in plan is a bit different. Keep the comms clear, and I'll get you through this. Sending co-ordinates, first batch of calls are screened and allocated. I hate this from a compliance standpoint more than you do. But let's focus on the overtime pay and keeping the subscribers happy."

"This is bullshit. I was going to actually go to the DTLA ball, go see how…”

"Yeah, well, let's focus on the here and now. We'll stop at 4pm for a breather. Then keep going till 7pm, like we discussed. You won't needed early in the morning because the shift pattern's moved." James added, trying to make some sort of speech, but he was equally as pissed about it. "Oh, and Solaris, if your.....companion decides she wants to rear her head, remind her, she needs to get a pass if she wants to get in the building at the end of the night. I'm not dealing with security."

She really was tempted to take the thing out. Who the fuck cares about a ball? Was that tonight? Shit, Myla might care about that. It would have been perfect to take some things, especially maybe a fe- no, no. Stealing some cars would be bad, especially from the place where all her alleged co-workers would be. That wouldn’t go well. ‘You don’t shit where you eat’ and all that. Then the various locations came on in.

"Okay, Solaris, I have reports of a drug bust going wrong, officers in need of assistance, multiple assailants. Pin sent. Non-lethal if you can, let's talk them down."

"Uhhh, Payback, I've got reports of some trouble at the AMOCA, someone trying to break in and steal some art. Need you on that one. It's all ceramics, so mind your magnets, would you?"

"Eclipse, I've got a school that's asking for us to cover a speech that Meta-Man was gonna be at. Can you go there?”

Myla listened for her own friggin thing, but hey - there were a few different things that she clicked in on. Drug bust gone wrong, yeah that sounded about right but there wasn’t enough information. How many, what sort of wea- hey, there was her call. AMOCA…the fuck was that? Museum, ‘Ceramic Art’. Who the hell steals art in the middle of the day? What kind of amateur hour nonsense was this?

She exhaled at it, rummaging about her pocket for the most wrinkled map known to mankind. AMOCA, AMOCA…down in Pomona. E Holt Ave, then down on South Garey. Had she been there before? Probably. Of course, while thinking that through the call for Eclipse came. A school. What a joke. What a real big joke. Yeah, we’ll send the drug-guy to a school for a talk Meta-Man was going to go to. Poor friggin kids, expect Meta-Man and get that. She wasn’t the only one who thought that, though, because another voice came in.

"Idiot."

Yeah that was right. She would have laughed, really, if it didn’t look so crazy. Putting the map away, she tapped a response out on the Timex.

”K.”

---

American Museum of Ceramic Arts

Well, maybe that was why the amateurs were trying for the middle of the day. AMOCA was closed.

She stood outside the place, watching as a van had pulled up in the parking lot out back. A group of maybe five or so, all in blue coveralls, were moving boxes in and out, in and out, another guy standing to the side with a clip-board like he was all official. Maybe they weren’t amateurs after all, trying for the ‘Act like you belong’ shtick. Yeah, cool for em. Sucked that whatever they were trying for clearly hadn’t really worked all that well. What, did it have some kind of silent alarm? Weird museum, honestly. It wasn’t even that big a building, though, most of it being one floor with a little tower of another. Had she been there before? It felt familiar. Maybe.

The bag was still slung over her shoulder. Yeah, she’d wait it out. Just a little bit. Hey, that was a pretty interesting building over…there, yeah, real pretty building. Look around down this way or the street and that like she was waiting for a ride. Let em all keep on moving, keep on moving…yeah, a few were waiting around the end of the van. They were about finished. Great. Good. Move the bag off the shoulder, crouch down to mess with it…unzip the end just halfway. Last two boxes were coming out. Yeah, was about time for that.

Myla got up, brisk-walked across the street real, real fast. Clip-board dude noticed first, pointing with the end of his pen. Other guys turned around, beetle-brows raised at the idea that someone would run up then. The two with boxes set em down, clearly ready for some kind of problem or another. She brought the bag up into the crook of her shoulder though, wrapping an arm around it. A quick unzip. She could see their eyes grow like saucers. Holy fuck, it was perfect.

The pull of a cord. Four Type 50 bulbs flashed off, reflecting from the hidden cone in a flash that could be described only as ‘biblical’. Stark shadows painted out from each of the guys, the little green columns by the door, reflected off of the windows too. Each of them screamed, hands coming up as she pulled the cord again. Another flash. Another painting of shadows, the windows lighting-up like snow in the sun.

Drop the bag, hand going for the metal rod in her belt, Myla took it out before whipping the thing down to the ground. Nearly two feet of metal baton was there, then, and she held out one hand. Just a pull there, that magnetic field, and pass the rod on through…she could feel it flex in her hand…and it seemed to crackle just a bit. Three were still on the ground, hands to eyes as the sirens sounded in the distance. One got up quicker than the rest, eyes pinched. Reach out with the baton like it was a pointing, and she zapped the first right there on the forehead. He stumbled back as the other two, who were trying to get up, took a pause.

“We didn’t sign up for this, man. Look. It’s all neat, too,” complained one still on the ground.

“Shut the hell up, Keith. We know.”

She could see them still thinking through their odds of getting out, making a run for it, and passed the baton through her hand again. It crackled again. The guys against the side of the van swallowed, eyes fixed for a second on that before they looked at something else. The cops had finally came into view. Yeah, they deflated. What suckers. She watched for a bit as the cops did their shtick, got em cuffed and handled into the cars, then for the evidence people from the police came in to get the van and everything else.

Fuck it, was a Jack in the Box on the way over. Might as well have something real quick. She tapped out on the Timex, though, before making her way down the street.

”Break in done. All good.”

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Job Application - Payback

Φ PAYBACK Φ
Φ MYLA FINLEY Φ

"Maybe you should use a better fuckin’ lock next time."

Age: 25
Appearance:

Standing at 5’4”, fairly lithe considering a lifetime of moving quickly, and a head of generally unkept red-gold hair, Myla wears a nearly perpetual scowl about her face as though the day is, nearly always, going bad. Not one to wear an outfit while on the job, she prefers patterned shirts, jeans, and sneakers to anything else, though will maybe add a plain jacket or sweater every now and again.

Role at SDN: Phoenix Program
Background:

Born in Northern California, Myla’s early life was pretty typical for any kid her age. She went to school, ran around afterwards, made friends, made enemies, and generally was out-and-about more often than not. She found herself in scrap yards, lumber yards, parking lots, found herself in a number of places she generally shouldn’t have been, and was never quite alone in any of these locations. There was something inherently fun about seeing if she could get into those places, to see if she could beat a system designed to work against her, and often times the little kids figured out a way here, an oversight there. They got into a good deal of trouble then, but with a dad as a lawyer there was never a serious enough instance where the young girl found herself in real trouble. No, instead she found herself doing family-mandated “community service”, working at whatever place Myla had broken into, and through that she found even newer ways to break-in next time.

Myla started experiencing changes earlier than other girls, some things that made her angry at them with the teasing, the attention, some things that no-one else really found out, like her powers. She broke the new electronic locks at school pretty easily, stealing from them on the way to the bathroom during class for instance, and the amount of camera malfunctions seemed to skyrocket during her time there. Myla would also start getting into fights, anger spilling out at the bullies, in one instance nearly ripping the earings out of a girls ears with her powers. The girl couldn’t say whether or not it’d been powers, though, considering how much she was crying, and Myla got expelled more than once from it.

In time, they started to leave her alone though, and she continued on with her escapades out in town. A lot of companies had switched to electronic locks, thinking they were the future, and a lot of the time Myla found them easy to break, to trip and open up, to reset to the default all-one password. She took a few joyrides in the cars, too, giving just enough power to open the door but not enough to absolutely scramble the computer, and was caught pretty easily from it. Juvy came from that, though it wasn’t proven that she had any powers, and when Myla got out from it after a year she just had more ideas on what exactly she could do.

After her time there, Myla started to work on her repertoire, using a few little connections to find better scores compared to anything else. There was something still inherently alluring about breaking that system, breaking those attempts at keeping her out, and Myla wanted to see exactly how far she could push things. She took on jobs over the course of a few years, growing to be a local notoriety as far as who the police wanted to find, finding that spike with the accidental pacemaker-deletion of a US Senator while she was trying to open his electronic safe from the room over. The man’s health monitor did survive, however, and Myla made her way out with only a portion the score, but at least was intact.

She would be contracted though to break into a data center, however, to steal a particularly valuable set of design documents for a new model of predictive AI, one that had been kept in physical form to prevent more remote sorts of thievery. This would go absolutely belly-up, though, as halfway in the woman tripped the alarm, panicked, and while trying to open a dead-bolted door absolutely fried $30 billion worth of data center. That landed her well and truly in prison, which also would land her in the Phoenix Program.

Now, Myla’s just here.

Powers:

Φ Magnetism Generation (Electricity Generation, Electronic Disruption), Superhuman Durability Φ

Myla’s more a physical fighter, as her powers are generally limited to producing a very strong magnetic field at close range, though she’s armed herself with some decidedly non-powered tools to even the playing field. One of these, a bag-mounted and concealed Vision Deleter, is slung over her shoulder most days, same as a collapsable, metal baton she charges up.

Stat Specialisations:

Φ Combat: 2
Φ Vigor: 2
Φ Mobility: 2
Φ Charisma: 4
Φ Intellect: 3

Crimes:

Φ Corporate Sabotage, Grand Theft, Battery, Breaking and Entering, Drug Possession, Trespassing Φ

The Phoenix Program, thus far, has proven to solely be a job - nothing Myla’s seen has convinced her that it’s a reform program, nor has it pushed her to be a better person. It’s been a set of eyes over her shoulder, a voice in her ear, all while keeping her out of prison in exchange for the low price of removing a few small fries from the street. Myla isn’t against reform, but until it gives her a better job than the one she had before, or a better mindset, then reform isn’t in her mind.

Likes:

Φ “Arts and Crafts”
Φ Cappuccino
Φ Cats

Dislikes:

Φ Stupid friggin “Hero Names” - Hers was chosen by Marketing
Φ NPC-Energy Heroes
Φ Lock-picking. She’s still working on that skill
Φ Black Coffee

Quirks:

Φ Kleptomaniac
Φ Never wears anything metal - Never
Φ Uses Timex Datalink 150 with VHF receiver modification / text-only transmitter. Newer technology gets weird sometimes

Trials of New Rome - TEMPORARY HIATUS

Michael “Mike” Withers
June 21st
New Rome, Forum >>> Rafters

Who the fuck closed the bathroom?

Mike belated stared at the public bathroom with a sign hung across each entrance. ‘Clausus’ it read - Legion-peoples with their goddang Latin closing the goddang bathrooms. Someone had clearly died in there. No matter what amount of Godly nonsense you could spray, the stench hit Mike well enough that it just made him more annoyed than anything else. Of course, he’d forgotten about needing to throw up. That? That was just rude. It just was and Mike was all-in against it.

He took in a long breath, long enough to calm himself back down. Pluto had gotten him into a eating contest, and man Mike had nearly won if it wasn’t for the fact that the dog had just been inhaling things. Yeah, they both had laid down for a good ten minutes, but man. Mike almost had it. Where’d he find so many chili dogs…one hand reached down to the coin pocket. Ah. Yeah, it was a lot lighter than it had been when he woke up that morning. He’d need to talk to Jake about not selling him so many chili dogs. Well, no, he’d already had that conversation with the guy before. He’d definitely had that conversation before. What an ass.

Breathing through his mouth, no mean feat considering how absolutely god-awful the stench was, Mike made his way through the crowds to…well, he was still trying to figure that out. Where would a good enough place to be? Yeah, he started to just kinda move with the flow of the crowd, which was enough that no-one had a good time to notice his legs long enough to be pissed for some stupid reason or another, but he just kept on going.

Was this the rafters? The crowd had started to thin out here and there. Some of the fights had finished up. Some of them still seemed to be going on…maybe? Probably? What the heck were the brackets. Mike had no idea on that, and looking back to see the big-as-heck sign facing the exact opposite way, had an immediate decision. Yeah, who really cared about who was going to fight who and went. Yeah that didn’t matter at all. The faun would just get to see who fought when they fought, if they fought or…something. He couldn’t really think of anyone he was particularly attached to who’d be fighting, anyways. They were all chill folks.

He looked around for a second or two more to see if there was anyone he actually liked hanging around. Themise? Would she be into this sorta crowd? Naw, it was too loud. John Jr? He was cool, but it was pretty loud for him, too. Besides, he was sure that the guy would be trying to mug someone for a sandwich or something with how cute he was. Naw…ah! Jerry! Jerry? No, Jeremy. Fuckin’ ‘Grover's Glorious Ganja Goodies’ dude-bro who sold some pretty good leaf, even if it wasn’t grown quite like Mike’s was. Lotta G’s, though. Pretty good. He started to make his way up to that row.

A beat of a stare at the person next to him - who was she? Mike didn’t quite know. He seemed to have just asked her something or another, there was that questioning look in his eyes like he was expecting a response, but Mike just burst out as he got up. ”Man, how’s it going! Been forever since I’ve seen you. What was it like, last Tuesday?”

Halo: Edge of Midnight

Shipmaster Chur'R-Jev,

Tec, & Nol
Anvil Station, Conference Room Seven

---

A human commander, Sullivan, and a Sangheili General, Chuka'Mdaham. Chur’R-Jev stared, head cocking for just a moment at the illuminated section providing a human cruiser for observation. The target, likely. What was there to be had from a human cruiser? No details had yet shown, and wistfully the Kig-Yar thought through how many such cruisers had been boarded and taken throughout that War of Annihilation. Not many, not many at all.

Of course, that the ship was the target suggested something had gone wrong by the humans themselves. Perhaps the ship had failed to report, suffering a malfunction. Perhaps the ship had been boarded by those fanatics who yet felt that the War of Annihilation had not yet concluded to their satisfaction. A glance followed at Tapo'hatam and Chuka'Mdaham with that thought. The Swords had proven their interests to some degree, but there were always fanatics among the Sangheili.

They were waiting for another, though, who soon arrived along with an escort of humans - police, as Chur’R-Jev understood it. The other, a Lucy Holden, seemed to have annoyed them. Interesting. Of course the Sangheili offered to take custody. A fool. He had no role in the whole of the issue, especially when so many others were here and did have a role there. Honor and pride, thee Kig-Yar thought derisively. Then another entered, one of the false Demons. The Shipmaster merely watched, pushing off the wall he was leaning against to grab one of the devices from the table before leaning against the wall again.

A glance at the device confirmed that it was not yet displaying, and he looked up at Sullivan and Chuka'Mdaham expectedly, head cocking for another moment. They had a briefing to start, and there was no reason to delay.