The New Yorker

All-Star Marvel: Age of Heroes

What's the state of Trask industries at this point? Can we assume they are still developing the sentinels? Is it closely connected to the government (like many tech and security industries are)?

Remy may have reason to pay them a visit.

Elder Scrolls: Terror of the Padomaic

Just so you know, Commander, I'm waiting for Lucius to post before I do.

Becoming (A Hannibal Lecter inspired RP)

Alright, IC post up, Dennis, the main antagonists CS is also up. You can't put hiders within hiders anymore so I had to put him in his own thing. I might put him in the cast list later if I can find an efficient way.

Feel free to control the NPC's as you see fit as long as they are not Dennis and J.L. You can do anything within the parameters of the characters personality as I have set down. Feel free to use your imagination. If I see anything I find off-putting, I'll endeavor to let you know. Also, I encourage you to ask questions if there is anything you are not sure about.

I can't wait to see your posts!

Becoming (A Hannibal Lecter inspired RP)

5:35 AM
June 12th, 2013
Quantico, Virginia

The clay-colored sunlight broke through the blinds on the windows in staggered lines. They were projected across the moderate office wall several feet from Jay L. Carney’s desk. He sat with his back to the window, several bookcases lined the back wall. Across from him were two chairs seated in front of the desk. It was a dimly furnished room, everything were fairly dull colors and the accessories on his desk were unscrupulously bought and placed, not a concern for aesthetic value. Near the computer monitor Jay stared at was a picture of himself, his wife, and two boys (aged 11 and 15 in the picture, now only two years older). They were Aryan, certainly, since Jay was a square-jawed white man with dark-brown hair and a mountain man beard. His beard was considerably smaller now, still longer than any other FBI official in recent history. Jay knew this, he loved this. He sat in his office located in the Behavioral Science Unit section of the FBI headquarters of Quantico, Virginia. He was the Agent-in-Charge, whatever-the-hell that meant.

Quickly, Jay rose from his rested position and picked up a pen from the desk. He scribbled something on a notepad then pressed a red button on his phone receiver.

“Please come in here, Josh.” He spoke evenly, steadily. He scratched the side of his mouth with his pen, and, incidentally, his beard.

“Yes, sir” a tinny voice came from the receiver.

Jay pushed the button and went back to writing on the notepad. A moment later Jay could see out of the corner of his eye a figure walking past the window to his right that showed the hallway. Jay could tell it was Josh. And he was proven right when Josh, a twenty-something year-old Hispanic agent with light, well-manicured hair, walked into his office. He wore a nice looking suit and a red pasley tie, the pin on his lapel spoke of his position in the FBI. Jay pointed to the seat to his right, continued scribbling.

“How’s it going, J.L?” Josh said as he sat, Jay finished up his last note and looked up.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Jay responded finally, he removed the glasses he used for reading.

“Do you ever?”

“Sometimes, not very much lately.” Jay rubbed the space between his eyes and then yawned. “Heath has been mingling with the wrong crowd, I suspect.” He continued, “I had to wait up for him until 3 AM. Felicia was furious when I woke her up.”
“Why’d you have to stay up?” Josh asked.

Jay stared at the boy-agent for a few moments, expecting him to know that married men never did anything uncomfortable unless their wives made them. But, maybe he did not know. Maybe Josh was a homosexual and never had to deal with women under these sorts of circumstances, Jay never could tell. “She made me,” he finally said. “He smelled like pot and tequila, glitter everywhere.”

Josh noticed, now that Jay mentioned it, that he had glitter in his beard. It didn’t sparkle, but it was clear now that he looked for it. “If that’s all he’s doing, you should be proud. The things I was doing at that age were a lot stronger than that.”

“The FBI know that?” Jay asked playfully. He stood from his chair and walked to the coffee maker near his desk. He took the carafe and filled his mug, then another. He sent the other Josh’s way, he sat back down.

“Oh, yes. My former amphetamine use is well documented. Psych screens normal, recent drug tests negative.” He raised his hands as if surrendering.

“You’re a special case Mr. Rodriguez.” Jay admitted before he sipped from his mug. Then he remembered that he had something to tell his young, and relatively new, agent. “Oh, right. I called you in here because I wanted to thank you. You handled that business yesterday very well. Flying out to New York on such short notice is really annoying, I know.”

“It’s my home, sir, no problem at all.” Josh interrupted. He continued, “I was able to see my mother. So thank you, sir”

“That’s great, Josh. Any word?”

Josh nodded slowly, his eyes glanced down at the ground, he wasn’t sure how to begin. This morning, as he sat in the private jet that brought him back to Virginia, Josh poured over the evidence, he was enveloped by gruesome picture after another, that of the crime he’d just visited in Buffalo, and the others which had happened there in the past. He spoke the words as he practiced in the plane mirror, “We have reason to believe that this is the work of the Buffalo Butcher.”

Jay simply stared at Josh for a few moments. He heard the words but could not react. This was the news he feared, this is the truest reason why he never slept, the continuation of the great hunt. He knew that this meant the beginning of yet another attempt to catch one of the most successful, and deviant serial killers since Hannibal Lecter himself. “Josh,”

The young agent stared back at Jay, waiting for a response, so when he got one he didn’t know exactly what to do. “Yes, J.L,” Josh responded.

“Thank you for telling me this. I don’t want to start this conversation yet.”

“Why, sir?” Josh was curious of what Jay would say. He knew what Jay was thinking, he wanted Mark to be there with them. But, and this is what Josh was curious about, would Jay admit that he couldn’t even think about this case without the oh so broken Mark Vern being in the room?

The answer was that he could not. Josh made his way down the corridors in a steady beat. He greeted people who greeted him but ignored everyone else. He bounced with a dignified stature, he held power here. In no time he was in the rotunda which housed the very many lecture halls within the headquarters. Recruits filed from a classroom and into the dark wooden hallways, leather shoes squeaking against expensive marble. This institution was built to accept the brightest minds and make them feel like they were being pampered, because they were. This was the happy side of the FBI headquarters, the theoretical side. Josh allowed the last of the students to leave the room he was headed to, then walked in. There was a young man speaking with Mark momentarily about the homework he assigned. Mark seemed to give the student a succinct answer, then sent him along. Josh stepped up quickly then.

“Hello,” Josh started, “J.L sent me.” His eyes were shielded, he tried not to let the cat out of the bag too early. But, considering Mark was a skilled pathologist, Josh doubted he wouldn’t see past his ruse.

8:45 PM
June 11th, 2013
Charlotte, North Carolina

It was raining in Charlotte when Gerald Yun entered the police headquarters there. He was carrying a briefcase and a very large umbrella. His suit was cheap and stunk of the FBI, and perhaps cigarettes. He was a clean shaved middle aged man with a bit of a beer-belly. Gerald sat calmly at a bench near the bullpen on the second floor of the police station, every so often he’d check his watch.

He was fetched by a dull looking detective who brought him to the chief’s office.

“Mr. Yun?” The chief asked. She was a tall skinny brunette with short hair. Grey streaks and crow’s feet marked her age. Her pistol was visible on her waist, she sat with a document in her hands. The two shook hands and smiled amicably after Gerald confirmed his identity. The two spoke casually for a few minutes before settling on the time and location of Gerald’s business there. He was sent to secure the transition of a future recruit.

“So I will be in the hotel next to the airport, it’s all in her briefing. She can meet me in the lounge downstairs two hours before the scheduled time of departure. As I said all the information is in the briefing, in this case.” He settled the case he brought with him on the desk and tapped it. Papers were signed, hands were shaken, and Anne was called from her work. Gerald left the office and looked down the hall, a young looking red haired woman made her way down the hall. He stopped for a moment then thought better of greeting her here. They’d have time to get acquainted at the hotel and during the plane ride home. So, Gerald left the office then, left Anne to receive her briefing and dream of the life to come in the FBI.

All-Star Marvel: Age of Heroes

I won't be able to post the other Gambit post I have thought up today. I will see if I can get it up tomorrow.

Also, I might be interested in making another CS. I'll have to think about it first however.

Becoming (A Hannibal Lecter inspired RP)

Sorry people. I had an important job interview yesterday and a really long day of writing and recovering today. I completely forgot to write everything for this up. I will have it written and posted by tomorrow afternoon, without any delays.

That will be when the IC goes up as well. Hope to talk to you guys soon.

Elder Scrolls: Terror of the Padomaic

Double-time post up!

Leon, where are ya!?!

Hey there, Nytefall.

Elder Scrolls: Terror of the Padomaic

Serge chuckled playfully at the Sharee’s remarks. She seemed to like him, to some degree or another, which made the Breton feel much better about his place on the boat. He lifted his mug and nodded at Sharee as she finished speaking.

“I wouldn’t dare, Captain. You get too many drinks in me and I’ll be going overboard.” He sipped from the mug despite his comment. Then, as seemingly an afterthought, Serge glanced over to Allaina with a respectful interest. He looked over her fine dress, and the even finer curves and dips under the dress, and sighed. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Serge said, loud enough to catch Allaina’s attention but almost no one else’s. He lowered his head to better meet the Bosmer’s gaze. His eyes were entrapping, they were boys eyes. His tattoo rested on the peak of his head like a crown, yet he was roguish; he was the Rogue Prince. “Serge Yncan, fool extraordinaire.” He held out his hand to take Allaina’s, it was unassuming yet implied that she was familiar with common courtesies—he’d kiss it if she gave it to him. Serge’s eyes flicked over to Sharee’s for a moment, an acknowledgment of shameless flirtation, “And yet, you’ve made me feel more the fool than I ever have,” he finally said.

Sarel was in a similarly difficult situation speaking with the Orc. He was asked about his style of fighting, how he’d learned it. This sparked the fires of memory in the Dunmer so brightly that he could not help but speak only the truth, Beilin deserved at least that.

“I was a skinny orphan in Solstheim when a wondering swordsman found me. I was surviving by hunting Netches, I was quite young, but quite skilled. You see, my father hunted netches and taught me all about it before he di…—killed himself. I was a dead-eye with a bow, I could pin a pup to the ground from over seventy-five meters. No longer, I haven’t even held a bow in over two decades.” The last time Sarel held a bow was when he and Beilin went boar-hunting in the Colovian highlands. That was a splendid weekend of paternal bonds and bloody friendship. Sarel had to rein himself back into the conversation, he felt himself being lilted off by melancholy. “Well, this wondering Swordsman trained me in an ancient and strict martial art, long since forgotten, forged by Dunmeri minds.” Sarel felt like he belonged to the Sentinel verse club just then, his words took on poetic meaning. “When he died I was not half way through my training, he had so much more to teach.” Sarel’s eyes watered now, the combination of distant emotional ties and the cool sea air made that so. “Suffice it to say, Orc, I’ve killed a hundred times a hundred men, and I find no pride in that.” He said this with despondence and not a fraction of hostility, he was buried in discomfort and sadness.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Igraine said
Hahaha XD Well beyond the lack of faith in my sincerity? The only insecurities I cater to belong to family and a handful of precious friends, so take my words for whatever they're worth to you! *shrugs and grins*

They're worth quite a bit, if only I understood them ;p

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Igraine said
All righty Hellis, and for what it's worth Serge? There was nothing unworthy nor not worth waiting for at all :)

Oh sure, I totes get that (yeah right)