Some one will be getting hurt here. Besides, there's another main story moment coming up shortly after this one is up, one which will involve heavy fighting. Unlike the most recent encounter.
Good to see you, Raid.
The New Yorker
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Treading the Rhetorical Minefield
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- Old Guild Username: Serge Drevlan
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Bio
I'm just your average New Yorker. A guy who thinks he can do more than he ought.
Most Recent Posts
Hey, just checking in to see how things are going. I know people have been busy for the Holidays, I certainly have been, and I hope you are all well.
Peik and I have written some stuff over in TP, the next part of the collab. I'd like to see some familiar faces in there soon! Let me know if there are any impediments for you.
Peik and I have written some stuff over in TP, the next part of the collab. I'd like to see some familiar faces in there soon! Let me know if there are any impediments for you.
Are there preassigned landing teams? Is there some sort of protocol?
Diego let out an exaggerated puff of air with Preacher’s mocking ejaculation. Winters, a smart, experienced marine, gave a soft chuckle, continued sipping on whatever she had in her cup. Diego sent an acknowledging smile her way, then a dismissive wave at Preacher; she chuckled again. Diego fell into a dull place after that, an inconcrete miasma of self-meditation. He really liked Winters, actually, now that he thought about it. She was pretty, independent, and confident without being arrogant. She was a balanced counterpoint to Diego’s own neurotic distrustfulness, and deluded self-assurance.
Suddenly, donuts had appeared on the table, and Winters was like a distant memory as Diego scarfed down the strange, powdery, pastry-like circle. With his mouth mostly empty he gave a satisfied chuckle. “Fuck, I didn’t know I was that hungry until I remembered what food was”, he said to no one in particular. The security officer decided it would be prudent to fetch another cup of joe to quench any donut induced thirst. He did so and returned to see the pilot, Raymond Charles, speaking with Zelda and the other engineer. Her name slipped through Diego’s proverbial fingers as he struggled to find it somewhere in the abyss of his mind. Alex? Alison?
Diego sat back in his seat and proceeded to eat another donut. As he finished it Raymond was addressing the XO. Diego inwardly scoffed at the comment, what in the hell was that supposed to mean? he asked himself. What kind of God needed to be brought anywhere? And if that was the point of the question, to debase such an existence, in what way could it be helpful? Diego decided to save his time and discount it as a turn of phrase, a manner of expression, an idiom. By the time he was done thinking about it, the other engineer had begun speaking… Alice was her name, Diego finally recalled.
The security officer couldn’t help but smile wide, his eyes darting across the table to find a friendly, understanding face. He couldn’t stop himself, “I’ve heard that about a lot of British girls,” he said in shameful response. A self-exasperated smirk crossed his face. It’d been a long time since Diego had embarrassed himself this much; though, to be fair, this was the first time in a long time he’d had much serious social exchanges. Not since his time back on earth had he spoken to people so openly, so intimately. Diego glanced at Dr. Laster with a knowing look, receiving a none-too-pleased expression for his trouble. To save himself from any more embarrassment Diego used his cuppa’ like a muzzle, bringing it to his lips to quiet his mouth and mind. He carefully swallowed the sludge, his eyes fully shut, and allowed the disgusting, mostly hot liquid to soothe his soul. A younger Diego might have gotten a kick out of that, now it just made him a little sad.
Suddenly, donuts had appeared on the table, and Winters was like a distant memory as Diego scarfed down the strange, powdery, pastry-like circle. With his mouth mostly empty he gave a satisfied chuckle. “Fuck, I didn’t know I was that hungry until I remembered what food was”, he said to no one in particular. The security officer decided it would be prudent to fetch another cup of joe to quench any donut induced thirst. He did so and returned to see the pilot, Raymond Charles, speaking with Zelda and the other engineer. Her name slipped through Diego’s proverbial fingers as he struggled to find it somewhere in the abyss of his mind. Alex? Alison?
Diego sat back in his seat and proceeded to eat another donut. As he finished it Raymond was addressing the XO. Diego inwardly scoffed at the comment, what in the hell was that supposed to mean? he asked himself. What kind of God needed to be brought anywhere? And if that was the point of the question, to debase such an existence, in what way could it be helpful? Diego decided to save his time and discount it as a turn of phrase, a manner of expression, an idiom. By the time he was done thinking about it, the other engineer had begun speaking… Alice was her name, Diego finally recalled.
The security officer couldn’t help but smile wide, his eyes darting across the table to find a friendly, understanding face. He couldn’t stop himself, “I’ve heard that about a lot of British girls,” he said in shameful response. A self-exasperated smirk crossed his face. It’d been a long time since Diego had embarrassed himself this much; though, to be fair, this was the first time in a long time he’d had much serious social exchanges. Not since his time back on earth had he spoken to people so openly, so intimately. Diego glanced at Dr. Laster with a knowing look, receiving a none-too-pleased expression for his trouble. To save himself from any more embarrassment Diego used his cuppa’ like a muzzle, bringing it to his lips to quiet his mouth and mind. He carefully swallowed the sludge, his eyes fully shut, and allowed the disgusting, mostly hot liquid to soothe his soul. A younger Diego might have gotten a kick out of that, now it just made him a little sad.
What a surprise? Turns out that waiting to be 2nd is not very productive.
I'd wager a few people have been thinking like that.
I'd wager a few people have been thinking like that.
Blackbeard said
No worries, it's what I'm here for :P And yeah very true! Nice post Yorker :)
...And, if you liked the old one, you should take a look at the new and improved
Edited Edition!...
Prisk said
Hello everyone!I've decided to leave the guild. It's been a long time coming, but the time has come. It was unfortunate that I joined this roleplay before this happened, and I apologize for that. But, know that this is not because of this roleplay, it's the forums. Anyway, do with Olivia whatever you wish. And I hope that me leaving doesn't affect the success of this roleplay!
That's really sad to hear, Prisk. I wish you well!
Blackbeard said
No worries, it's what I'm here for :P And yeah very true! Nice post Yorker :)
Thanks!
The Security officer chuckled at Lena’s jest. It was expected, predictable, but sweet nonetheless. Diego sent an indirect glance at Dr. Laster as she and Lena continued the barbaric back-talk known as sarcasm. It was the vail of the hopelessly stupid, the sword of the hopelessly pretentious. But, it seemed to suit this group fine enough. The hypersleep had already taken it’s toll, as the Highwayman does, leaving them with dull eyes, and even duller wits to boot.
Yet, the preponderance of such ponderings, made with dull perceptions, could have easily been countermanded by the torrent of character the XO, Preacher, brought in behind him. John Paul D’Angelo represented the ultimate pride and shame of the Colonial Marines, plus everything in-between. He meant so much to so many people, it was actually quite mind-boggling to even begin parsing out what it all meant. And, the true dilemma was that John was not the only one. Every Marine who had died or suffered to bring humanity so much closer to the stars was a burden to behold. They are the scar that never goes away, the soaring reminder of our ambition and it’s cost. Diego was lost in that bloody mindscape when John came up beside him. He snapped from that world of loss and sorrow and his eyes came to rest on John’s mechanized arm, as if it wanted to pull him back.
Diego’s dark eyes scanned the XO, from the buzz cut top, to the steel-toed bottom. He watched the bible, which suited the country bumpkin so well Diego could almost laugh, flip open, it’s soft pages fluttering from one fine phrase to the next. Diego took another sip of his coffee when John spoke to him.
Diego smiled in response, swallowed the coffee in his mouth, and nodded. “Aye, at least this tin can is floating toward something. I mean, if I woke up in another space station in the next five years I’d probably throw myself out of the fucking air-lock.” Diego whispered to John Paul, ending his grisly joke with another light chuckle.
While suicide had certainly crossed Diego’s mind before, this particular occasion was purely a joke. That, however, did not mean the statement was vacuous. Diego didn’t want to work for Wey-Yu any longer, not after this job. Over the past decade or so Diego has learned that working for a large organization, like the CIA, or Wey-Yu, or for the Columbian government was never stable. One way or another someone like Diego was a liability, a risk never worth betting on. Wey-Yu probably expected him to die on this mission, just as the CIA had expected that to happen on his last mission. Of course, he had no way of knowing that for sure, but his instincts were on fire, he could practically smell the corpses of Prometheus’ crew from the surface of LV-223.
Diego lifted his mostly empty coffee cup to his lips as Sara responded to the captain. Reddick, that’s where the answer lied. If Diego wanted to know the truth, he was the man to go to. After Diego swallowed the rest of his drink the cup was kept near his mouth for a while longer as he thought of how to approach Reddick, or, in the worst scenario, how he would find this information himself. His hand started to shake, and the coffee cup therein. Diego slammed the cup on the table to stop the shaking, and held his head down; the tittering warmth of embarrassment coursing over his spine, sieging his composure through pure attrition.
Yet, the preponderance of such ponderings, made with dull perceptions, could have easily been countermanded by the torrent of character the XO, Preacher, brought in behind him. John Paul D’Angelo represented the ultimate pride and shame of the Colonial Marines, plus everything in-between. He meant so much to so many people, it was actually quite mind-boggling to even begin parsing out what it all meant. And, the true dilemma was that John was not the only one. Every Marine who had died or suffered to bring humanity so much closer to the stars was a burden to behold. They are the scar that never goes away, the soaring reminder of our ambition and it’s cost. Diego was lost in that bloody mindscape when John came up beside him. He snapped from that world of loss and sorrow and his eyes came to rest on John’s mechanized arm, as if it wanted to pull him back.
Diego’s dark eyes scanned the XO, from the buzz cut top, to the steel-toed bottom. He watched the bible, which suited the country bumpkin so well Diego could almost laugh, flip open, it’s soft pages fluttering from one fine phrase to the next. Diego took another sip of his coffee when John spoke to him.
Diego smiled in response, swallowed the coffee in his mouth, and nodded. “Aye, at least this tin can is floating toward something. I mean, if I woke up in another space station in the next five years I’d probably throw myself out of the fucking air-lock.” Diego whispered to John Paul, ending his grisly joke with another light chuckle.
While suicide had certainly crossed Diego’s mind before, this particular occasion was purely a joke. That, however, did not mean the statement was vacuous. Diego didn’t want to work for Wey-Yu any longer, not after this job. Over the past decade or so Diego has learned that working for a large organization, like the CIA, or Wey-Yu, or for the Columbian government was never stable. One way or another someone like Diego was a liability, a risk never worth betting on. Wey-Yu probably expected him to die on this mission, just as the CIA had expected that to happen on his last mission. Of course, he had no way of knowing that for sure, but his instincts were on fire, he could practically smell the corpses of Prometheus’ crew from the surface of LV-223.
Diego lifted his mostly empty coffee cup to his lips as Sara responded to the captain. Reddick, that’s where the answer lied. If Diego wanted to know the truth, he was the man to go to. After Diego swallowed the rest of his drink the cup was kept near his mouth for a while longer as he thought of how to approach Reddick, or, in the worst scenario, how he would find this information himself. His hand started to shake, and the coffee cup therein. Diego slammed the cup on the table to stop the shaking, and held his head down; the tittering warmth of embarrassment coursing over his spine, sieging his composure through pure attrition.
AmongHeroes said
Thanks for the post, Blackbeard. I'm doing well this morning, and I hope you are also. As for your comment about defending Britain, I don't know of anyone from any country that won't tout their nation, and in the next breath bemoan her character . Just part of being human I suppose.
I was about to say the same thing.
Blackbeard said
Only because there are more of them, as far as I've heard from anyone who visits they say it's true how we all drink tea all the time. Known as a 'Builders Brew' it's nothing like Chinese hot leaf water XD It's like the Irish and Guinness. It just goes a long with our 'we think we're posh having tea and biscuits' mentality :P I think it's our national drink.
See, now that's weird. I couldn't think of another nation not in the UK that has a national drink.
Yet, I suppose everybody has idiosyncrasies.
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