vietmyke

Robotech: The Macross War (Space Opera, Mecha RP)

I'm pretty sure most of them are pretty reasonable, I'll take a quick look over everyone again when I get back from work, but I don't recall any red flags sticking out for anyone's character

Down and Out - Cyberpunk RP

@jasonwolf The main concern I guess is how the pilot will be able to control the drone from so far away- how susceptible it is to outside interference, and if its impervious to interference how he managed to get his hands on such a drone.

The size shape and capabilities of the drone itself are acceptable.

Valhalla Chronicles

As Hisano spoke, the face remained impassive- tired even, though there was a hint of bemusement that could be seen as a result of her accidental- or intentional sass. Without breaking eye contact, the bartender flagged down a younger looking woman- perhaps a few years younger than Hisano.

"Cheryl, watch the bar." The bartender said to the girl, who merely nodded, and took a position behind the bar. "You, follow me." He said to Jessica as he shoved his hands into his pockets, producing a cigarette and a lighter. He led her to the spiral staircase- at which point the big man stood aside, allowing them to pass through.

The big man was handsome, even if his face was rather forgettable- so forgettable in fact Hisano probably would have difficulty remembering what the man's face looked like if she didn't keep staring at it. Not that it made him difficult to notice, the big bouncer was easily over 7 feet tall and as broad as a bear. Everything about the bouncer was impeccable- a perfectly tailored suit, a smart and clean hairstyle with a fashionable beard, shiny manicured nails and a strong facial features. He probably would've made it as a model if he wasn't so big.

If the main floor was the bar, the second level was a cross between a VIP area and a lounge. Music on this floor was much quieter, and less than a dozen souls populated the floor. People smoked on cigars and drank casually with one another while lounged on couches- as run down as the furniture was. This wasn't to be their destination, as the bartender led her behind the VIP lounge and into a rather dimly lit backroom.

It must've been a sort of storage area for the bar, filled with crates of shitty, synthetic alcohol, and pre-preserved food. The walls were industrial and metallic, and while Hisano couldn't see anything, she got the feeling that there was more to this particular room than meets the eye. The bartender took a long drag of his cigarette before blowing out a billow of smoke. Now that he was no longer leaning against the bar and in the neon light, Hisano got a better look at him. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had more grey hair than it first appeared. The man wasn't old by any means, but he was several years past his prime.

He closed the door behind him and looked at her for a while. After a short, awkward silence. He spoke.

"Tommy DeGarro isn't a name I've heard in a while, much less seen. Kid's got a lot of nerve telling folks about other's handles and where to find them. Speaking of, where's that fucker anyway?"

Robotech: The Macross War (Space Opera, Mecha RP)

Alrighty, if everyone's still here I'll probably get us started up soon

Valhalla Chronicles

The bartender wordlessly nodded to her as he picked up a tumbler, dropped a round ball of ice into it, and poured a translucent brown liquid into it. At a glance, it looked like whiskey-synthetic of course. It smelled terrible, and tasted worse- like synthetic alcohol. But, in this day and age- real whiskey was incredibly expensive, and not something one would find at a bar in the Chinese Quarter. It was definitely strong, and it cleansed the senses- at least for a moment before the muddying properties of alcohol followed it.

The bartender was a tall man of middling age, his hair was cut short and very white, and somewhat shoddily groomed- the white tinted blue from the neon lights behind him, and he sported a short, but full beard of a much darker brown color. He wore a red buttonup shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest over it. His right arm was adorned with a silver watch, and his left arm was a rather obvious cybernetic, bands of mechanical muscle in stark black- a bit different than the chrome and gunmetal that was very much the rage lately. He took Hisano's credstick and fed it into a small credit chit- a simple device for customers to slot their credsticks into for payment, meant for businesses rather than individuals.

The Credstick dinged, and the credit chit flashed "$7.00" in neon numerals for a second before disappearing behind the counter. The bartender gave the credit chit a dirty look, almost like he wished the price was higher, but he said nothing as he placed the chit under the counter, instead replacing it with a blue microfiber washcloth. Dunking the tumbler under the counter for a moment, he reproduced the now clear glass and began absentmindedly rubbing it with the washcloth. The bartender shot her a dark, but surprised look when she said the name "Talesin". The big man standing nearby guarding the stairs also seemed to hear. Out of the corner of her eyes, Hisano could see the already big man standing up even straighter, his casually crossed arms slowly dropping to his sides.

The bartender pressed his elbows against the surface of the bar and leaned in. The bartender stared at her with an analyzing look- one eye was brown, the other a cybernetic without color.

"Whose asking?" the bartender's gravelly growl responded. The tone wasn't aggressive, but it was filled with a dark suspicion that bore the implication that whoever Talesin was, theirs was a name that held gravity in this place.

Visual Representation for bartender

Allaria - Classical Fantasy Ch. 5 - Recruit the Shadowwald!

Pretty sure Galahad would get along with Duren. Drinking buddies perhaps

Telecommunications

Reinhardt, Jack

Jack Reinhardt

Dead man walking

^{Incidentally, a great approximation for his voice}

Physical Description
Jack is a big man. Standing over most at 6'5", Jack is a bear of a man, built like a truck and hitting just about as hard. He has a serious and imposing demeanor, with a rigid posture and broad shoulders. Jack has rough facial features, age lines strongly imprinted on his face lack of youthful enthusiasm implies this man has seen some shit. His face is curtained off by a thick brown beard, and a white head of hair, while a large scar runs down the left side of his face. Presumably as a result of the wound that left his facial scar, his left eye is a cybernetic replacement. The most notable part of his body is his left arm, which has been replaced by a black cyberarm. His outfits are plain and subtle, t-shirts and tank tops with jeans and cargo pants, tucked into utilitarian boots, and covered by leather jackets.

Psyche
Incredibly blunt and to the point, but subtle, cool headed and streetwise. Cynical and jaded, Jack is generally cold and untrusting and is slow to warm up to others. Jack is as confident as he is ruthless, and in his younger years, he had gotten into trouble more than once for violent conduct and insubordination in the workplace. Though generally calm, Jack walks with a haggard look in his eye- seemingly waiting for someone to push his buttons the wrong way. While slow to boil, Jack has a bit of a temper, and gets fairly aggressive when properly riled up. His mere presence can be intimidating to those of weaker will and constitution, and even those with tougher constitution find themselves scared shitless when this man decides to start interrogating. Despite his gruff and prickly exterior, Jack holds a begrudging soft spot for children- despite the fact that his appearance typically scares them.

Motivations
A man with a deathwish, Jack seems content to do nothing more than sit at the local bar and drink himself to sleep every night. A functioning alcoholic and drug addict, Jack finds himself relying on healthy doses of painkillers to get him through his day to day. Though his pill habit is kept a secret from all but his closest companions, its still pretty easy to notice smell the burned tobacco and liquor around him at times- the miasma of a man slowly losing himself.

Its hard to predict when the cop will become the criminal, when whatever dirty laundry he's probably hiding will come out to play. Not that it really matters, no one doubts Jack will probably be dead before that happens- either at the end of a smarter crook's smoking gun, or his own.

Until then, Jack seems to do whatever job he's given with a sort of dogged determination, as though seeking some sort of absolution.

Relations
n/a

Personal History

Born and raised in Baltimore, Jack Reinhardt was born the oldest son to the Baltimore City police officer, and a doctor. His childhood was not one of major note, he went to public school, got relatively good grades, got into a few scraps, and made it to adulthood without dying. With only average marks in school, and not enough money to go to college, Jack opted instead for military service and at the age of 18 enlisted in the Army. He met the woman of his dreams shortly afterwards, moved to Detroit and got married at the age of 21. 4 years later, his daughter was born. The family lived a rather mundane life, with a small apartment in the city, but were happy.

Happiness seems to be a fleeting sensation these days, and it wouldn't last long. Jack's life in the military resulted in him staying away from home for months at a time. His wife eventually got involved in drugs- Super-Sid, as the street called it, a doped up version of your everyday acid. Missed calls, strained arguments, and heated shouting matches over the course of a few years, and Jack and his wife would eventually separate, his ex-wife taking their daughter with her. Burnt out, upset, and disillusioned, Jack left the military and moved back home to Detroit.

There weren't many legal careers for a man with no college degree, and little training outside shooting and fighting, but instead of turning to crime, Jack eventually began finding work as a police officer, his military training and aptitude quickly taking him from beat cop to detective in a short two years. Despite his unorthodox (read: violent) methods and occasional disciplinary hearing, Jack was did well in the DCPD, breaking doors and limbs, shooting down crims, and getting no small amount of shit for it. After a short stint as a detective, Jack was moved to Vice and found his best fit: Undercover work.

Jack's first and biggest undercover job was with the local Triads- who were breaking the status quo: being too rowdy, going and spreading their influence outside their 'agreed upon' boundaries with the police, starting fights with other mobs- often to the detriment of life and legal businesses. In short, they were causing more trouble than their payoffs to the police were worth. Luckily for the DCPD, they had a guy embedded inside the Triads already, and getting Jack into their fold quick. What happened next was a long game, ingratiating himself within the Triad ranks, while still giving inches to the DCPD- all without getting caught. Jack excelled at it.

While the records of the case are confidential, after 3 years the Triad's were forced out of their newly acquired territory and forced back into their usual stomping grounds. While the Triads didn't lose any particularly large amounts of funds- as their venture into this new territory was relatively small by their standards, it was still a kick to their shins. Jack was pulled out, given a new look, and sent back out into other various undercover assignments. Life went on for Jack Reinhardt for another few years. It was around this time his life truly started falling apart.

Jack and his ex-wife took another stab at trying to make their relationship work- for the sake of their daughter. They tried three times to be a happy couple again, and all three times ended up in screaming, broken glass, and lots of alcohol. Their interactions occasionally got violence, and eventually protective services came and collected their daughter from them. This did little to soothe the conflicts of the former couple.

What happened next is a lot of rumor and speculation, hushed up and hidden behind miles of red tape, black books, and disclosed records. However, the long and short of it is, on February 26th 2017, two body bags left the Reinhardt residence on ambulances late that night and Jack Reinhardt was placed on administrative leave while an investigation went underway. A funeral was held two weeks later for Amanda Allis-Reinhardt. Official cause of death was noted as death by plasma projectile, killed by a home invader who believed no one was home. Jack Reinhardt returned to duty a week later.

Jack continued working for Vice as an undercover agent for the next 2 years, took place in a variety of operations, stings, and hits. It was notable that his tendencies had started becoming a lot more wild and violent since the death of his wife, but with Vice, results were all that mattered. Jack would eventually be pulled from Vice to join the DCPD's newest unit.

Equipment
Augments

• Cyberarm - Sleek and aggressive, Jack obtained this augment sometime after his stint in the Triads. The arm itself is removable at the shoulder and has various functions built into it. Stronger than a human arm by far, the knuckles have built in shock pads for delivering debilitating shocks, and the fingers have a variety of handy tools built into them, including an auto-lockpick in the pinky and a torch-lighter in the pointer finger.
• Cybereye - Obtained after a scuffle with a particularly rowdy drug dealer armed with a knife, Jack's left eye is a no-nonsense, functional cybereye. It has a built in sighting display for weapons, a low light enhancement, and a digital recorder that stores stills and videos to a micro-storage card stored in a slot behind his left ear. It also tells time!

Weapons & Armor

• SubTech Micro T50 Plasma Pistol

  
  A miniaturized, subcompact version of the SubTech T50, this powerful energy pistol is the go to pistol for undercover cops and FBI agents alike. Small and easily concealed, this tiny frame sports a wide 12.7mm bore, and its powerful energy bolts can easily put down a man with a single shot. Due to its short barrel and large bore, the Micro T50's range leaves something to be desired, but does well enough for the confines of the cityscape. The Micro T50 is compatible with most handgun Electron-Magazines and a standard E-Mag can fire 10 high powered blasts. Jack's Micro T50 is black, with a rubberized grip and a smart-link sight.
• Armored Leather Jacket - A sturdy leather jacket with layers of kevlar woven in underneath it. The inside of the jacket has slots to slide in armor plates for added protection. Great for undercover work

Valhalla Chronicles

Music

If you had any sort of business in New Hong Kong, you'd eventually find yourself in the Chinese Quarter- no matter how hard you tried to stay away from it, it would bring you in. It didn't matter who you were, the Chinese Quarter didn't like you. Take one part industrial wasteland, three parts dog eat dog slum, slather it up with neon and add a dash of black market and you had a recipe for mean-as-hell.

It was strange to call this place in particular 'Chinese', as technically, the entirety of Hong Kong was Chinese, but the Chinese Quarter was where modern technology met traditional Chinese architecture and business- similar to Chinatowns of the western world. Seedy, yet technological, the Chinese Quarter was a weird mix of high tech and trashy, a half slum half technology park, filled with metric tons of underground, illegal, and black market technology dealers and cyber surgeons. C-Sec, Hong Kong's corporate police force tended to steer clear of the Chinese Quarter, due to a combination of deals with the local Triads, and fear of the general violence and seediness of the pseudo-slum. As a result, black markets thrived here- and everyone knew it.

The streets were packed with people and rubble, making it difficult for a vehicle to travel through, and no Taxi would take her any closer than the outskirts. She made her way through the crowd packed streets and found her way to the giant arch that marked the Chinese Quarter. Entering through large archway, Hisano could only be 80% certain that she wouldn't be knocked unconscious, and robbed of major organs- that was 70% more certain than she could be about almost every other smaller entrance around the Chinese Quarter.

Stepping into the streets of the Chinese Quarter, Hisano's senses were immediately assaulted by bright neon colors, the sounds of street vendors and crowds, the smell of sweat, grime, and chinese food, and the overwhelming atmosphere of the Chinese Quarter itself. Sure, Hisano was no goodie-goodie straight-shooter nose-in-the-air middle-class wage slave, but she wasn't a slummer either, and the Chinese Quarter was a weird kinda slum.

Fixer's Hope was a moderately difficult bar to find- it wasn't on any of the main roads, and anyone Hisano talked to seemed just as likely to tell her to 'slag off' as they were to give her instructions- and half the times the instructions didn't even take her to the right place. She found a Fixer-Up Auto shop, Last Hope- a strip club, and a gaudily dressed man calling himself Mr. Fixer, 'willing to kill anyone for the right price' before she found Fixer's Hope, a smallish building off Renno Street, nearby the seediest alley she'd ever seen. Outside the building a few people stood around or sat on the curb, a few smoking cigarettes, their arms bare- either chromed out or covered in tattoos, one drunk. One or two gave the girl a look, but no one approached her.

Knocking on the steel door and lighting up a cigarette, Hisano only needed to wait a moment before a slit at eye level of the steel door slid open. A glowing blue eye stared her down, looked down, then up. The eye shot a look at one of the chromed out guys behind her who merely nodded- probably making sure she wasn't a cop, or any other sort of trouble. Without a word, the slit slid shut, and a the door slowly swung open. The glowing blue eye was skinny looking guy, grimy and missing his left eye. He held the door open for her and gestured her inside. He made no attempt to ask her to throw out her cigarette, and the general haze coming from the interior of the building implied that there was probably more than person actively smoking inside the establishment already.

As far as bars went- Fixer's Hope wasn't nearly as shitty as Hisano expected- it was by no means great, but it was't a run down piece of shit. The bar itself had a very technophile aesthetic to it, and was neither particularly crowded nor extremely empty- the remote location and the man at the door seemed to limit general accessibility. Fixer's Hope appeared to have two floors, and a spiral staircase sitting next to the bar lead to that upper floor- an impossibly big man in an impeccable suit stood in front of that staircase though, and he seemed to be turning away most people that approached him. The bar on this floor was relatively small, with only enough space for some 10 stools, about 3 of which were taken.

The bar was easily the brightest thing in the room, neon lights projecting long shadows across the floor- cleverly placed so none would be in your eyes when you sat down, dozens upon dozens of bottles of liquor and synth-alcohol lit up in their shelves by LED backlights. A military grade energy shotgun sat on one of the shelves- both a decoration, and a not-so subtle warning to anyone that would cause the bar trouble. Behind the bar was a taller, gaunt man, his hair salt and pepper gray with a full brown beard and a black cyberarm. He paid little attention to the patrons of the bar, and seemed to be occupying his time by running a rag through a glass mug.

Small round tables and taller standing tables populated this floor of the bar. A bit less than half of them were occupied, many by just small groups or one or two people. Only one particularly large and rowdy group were present on this floor- a group of tattooed triads sat in the corner loudly laughing to themselves and speaking in rapid cantonese. Even then, their volume was only loud by relative terms, and they maintained a rather respectful volume and distance from the other customers nearest them.

Down and Out - Cyberpunk RP

@Big Dread sounds fine to me- just keep in mind what I said about 'low level' characters. I don't want your guy being too good at being a badass.

@jasonwolf If you want to send the character description to me and me only I'm fine with that. Again keep in mind that these characters are to be 'low level' so don't expect that drone to be too advanced.

Valhalla Chronicles

Post was longer than expected. Used (hr) lines to split up what was going on on the computer screen and the office itself.