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4 mos ago
the most famous last words of all- "aaaaaargh"
4 mos ago
"Your secret is safe with my indifference." - Taliesin Jaffe
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4 mos ago
hunger games is for whimps, i only play the sleep-deprivation games
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4 mos ago
i just thought of a really funny status.
4 mos ago
i've got the perfect 1 post a day. if i go inactive it's because i have to maintain my average


you are not wanted here

The Treasure of Emily Gray

Fallout: Genesis



Most Recent Posts

Sylvia was thinking about the Jet in the pouch that was resting on her right hip. She wasn't craving it yet, but she wasn't feeling the buzz, either. She might need it if she was going to stop the nervous feeling bubbling in her chest. What if it was some kind of crazy monster no one had ever seen before? Someone might die. It'd make a good story for her to tell, though.

Sylvia's flashlight cut through the inky blackness with a white cone of light. Walking through a forest today, one would hear the buzzing of bugs, chirping of crickets, frogs and nocturnal birds. No such noise in the post-apocalypse. The small critters of today were wiped out, or mutated into horrific monstrosities that are much less common but much more dangerous then their tiny ancestors. So the forest was quiet as the five mercenaries looked for their quarry.

Rocket's voice filled the air, as well as the terrible visage of several wild dogs. Felix had already got a shot off, and the bright red laser cast shadows behind the dogs and the group. Should be easy enough...looks like poor Isaac just got unlucky for getting mauled so quick by some mongrels.

"Dogs! It's just dogs." She yelled between the bursts of gunfire. Her 10mm pistol was in her right hand, and her flashlight was crossed underneath her forearm by her left hand. She was towards the back of the group and didn't want friendly fire so she just flicked off the safety, pointed the flashlight at the dogs, and held her fire.

who's ready to hunt a monster and save the people

i am

The Gray Dynasty: Reika Saigyo

Current Deployment: Mars, Royal Spaceport
Current Time:16:35, Earth Standard Time, 2207.

Reika slid the magazine into her pistol with a satisfying clunk. Checking the safety, she lifted up the back of her tank top and and nestled it into her leggings. It wasn't concealed at all- that wasn't the point. The gun pushed up the cloth, so it was exposed and easy to grab. That was it, she guessed. No need to change clothes or brush her teeth or write a message. Now all that was left was to just walk...outside.

People did it all the time, apparently. It's totally breathable air- no filter or dome or insulation needed. The thought was alien to Reika. She also slid her cellular device down the front of her leggings incase she got bored. (Pockets were unnecessary, all she needed were her pants a bit of tension to keep everything she needed within an arms reach.)

Okay, time to go.

She was the first one to stand at the landing bay. The ramp outside was sealed upwards, keeping all the "breathable" poison outside. She tapped her boot against the steel floor before glancing at the control panel. Just a few taps and fwoosh. Death gas. That's how it had been for her whole life. Except this time nothing would happen because the oxygen was just in the air. No dome keeping it in, no ship to trap it, for some reason this planet was different and the oxygen clung to it instead of floating into space.

Of course, Reika wasn't scared. No no no, not at all. Something of great import caught her attention on the control panel, so she approached and began to study it intently with a hand on her chin. Hmm, yes, very intersting. This also meant that no one could open the ramp without asking her to move unless they activated it from somewhere else on the ship. Still, they would most likely have to ask her to move first which would give her a little bit of warning.

How hard could it be, really? Just walk outside and breathe easy.

Yeah, right.

The stars were twinkling above them, the majesty of the Milky Way fully visible from the dark Earth. The only light around was crackling campfire that cast warm orange light. The shadows of the Governor's Mercenaries danced along the trees, grotesquely disproportinate monsters that were mere hollow illusions compared to real monsters that wandered the Louisiana Wasteland.

Sylvia Bailey stood with her 10mm pistol drawn. She had her hands folded in front of her, with his pistol in her right. The last few moments of events were unexpected, she was hoping to get this delivery job done quickly and easily but one of the bigger paychecks of her existence on the Earth, but no, of course not. Instead Rocket and the other guy are missing, the kid's dead (bummer) and how she had to go looking for them. A strand of her blonde hair fell into her face and she wiped it away, feeling the moistness of her skin. She was used to it, the humidity didn't bother her much anymore.

She scratched the fabric of her flannel shirt with her free left hand. No one had to worry about mosquitos anymore- now they were massive and could kill you. But Sylvia had never known about tiny, annoying mosquitos that bit you when you weren't looking, so that's why she could safely wear clothes that didn't stifle her and make her collapse from heatstroke. She had a low-cut, loose, grey shirt on underneath a short unbuttoned flannel shirt. She also had jeans that had many holes that exposed various parts of her legs, especially the knees which were almost totally obliterated.

She had a utility belt on with the holster for her currently unholstered gun, as well as a small pouch, but big enough to fit a few things. Inside were three friendly injections of Jet, a canteen for clean water, and a stimpak incase things got serious. There was also a knife, incase things became unfortunate.

All in all, she was not eager to tromp into the woods and look for a Silverfish, which she assumed is what killed the kid. But it was better than staying behind and watching a dude who was probably going to kill himself now bury the remains of his son. Yeesh! Major downer.

"We ready to roll or what?" She called back to her new allies while still watching the forest, which she had just recently learned the names of.

"I'm going with whoever is hunting this sucker down." This time she turned around a little more, but her body was still facing the forest.

"Vix? Felix? Whoever? Yeah? We ready?" She was eager to get going and rocked back and forth on her heels.

potential place for collabs. we're thinking of doing a campfire story collab to get the characters to know each other, like Rocket wanted. BAM!

(maybe save a place underneath the first IC for the special collab so it's in the chronological order)

The Gray Dynasty: Reika Saigyo

Current Deployment: Orbit of Mars
Current Time: 16:21, Earth Standard Time, 2207

A while back, the Wight had penetrated the green endless fog of Venus and had fallen or risen (depending on how you look at it) into the inky blackness of space. Despite their enormous speed, the stars always stayed in the same position. Bright, blinking eyes looking passively at the progress of man. Reika didn't really think too much about the philosophical meaning of stars, but rather that they were pretty and mind-bogglingly far away. If she thought about it too hard, it made her hairs stand on end like she was being creeped out, only in a good away. Reika loved space.

Her plotted course changed to a longer route thanks to the navigator. She assumed that old guy must have had some reason for it, other than just being a bad navigator. Weird.

The captain, Vick (she had taken to calling him Vick in her mind), sat down in the cockpit but didn't say anything. She glanced over at him expectantly every once in a while. She made a litte noise through her teeth using her tongue that could be taken for a gesture of being slightly amused. I mean, she thought, he just sits down right next to me in the room and doesn't say anything. Reika supposed she could have tried small talk, but she also wanted to see if he would try too first, and what that would look like. He didn't.

An identification prompt came through to them as the Somewhat Red Planet came into view. Mars! Beautiful. She drummed the wheel with her fingers as he spoke. Eventually he addressed the crew through the intercom.

“Crew, we’ll soon be landing. Please ensure that you’ve fastened your seatbelts, and that all luggage and our ship’s mechanic have been stowed away safely," He said, apparently pleased with himself. Well, Reika didn't want to be a suck-up, but she thought it was funny- especially since it a was a joke towards the mechanic. So, she poorly stifled a laugh.

He told her to bring them in when the confirmation came. She nodded in agreement and did so. Mars grew staggeringly big in the viewport and the monitors. Eventually in filled the entire view, and they were only looking at a small portion. She'd never been to Mars. Wow. Childlike giddiness once more pumped into her system as the promises of a new place filled her mind. This was a job? She was getting paid for this? What more could anyone ask for?

Reika's voice once again crackled over the intercom. "Okay, okay, okay, I hope you're strapped in because we're entering the atmosphere. Of Mars, it's going to be", she paused very briefly, looking for the best words. "Uh, expect turbulence." The intercom clicked off again, Reika making sure of it this time.

Eventually, a few warning beeps started to go off as they pushed through the atmosphere. She glanced over at Vick. "You ready?" She asked him, smiling. This part was always fun. Raw, concentrated heat began to appear on the front of the ship. Friction created a beautiful light display, making the Wight look like a comet streaking through the air. She entire ship began to shake, loose articles would fall off shelves and it would become difficult to maintain balance. Luckily Reika was in the most secure seat in the ship. The vast, green plains that surrounded cities of Mars came into more detail through the hectic light show. The Wight glowed brighter and brighter, until suddenly, it stopped. They were in atmo; the Wight had stopped shaking and glowing and everything was once again calm. Reika took in a shuddered, excited breath.

The nav stuff pointed her in the right direction. The ship glided effortlessly over the green grass of Mars. Though she trying her best not to show it, Reika was freaking out on the inside. She'd never seen this much grass before. Just sitting here, out in the open, exposed to the horrific poisonous gases on the outside. Of course, she knew that wasn't true, but her heart was pounding nonetheless. She'd never been outside before. There was always a dome, a building, or the hull of a ship separating her from the world outside.

A steel landing pad came into view- it was clean and unrusted, there were a few people standing off to the side just casually talking to each other. In the open. Nothing bu the vastness of the blue sky above, and that was just an illusion. They stood beneath the vastness of the universe, and they talked about sports.

"We're l-landing." She said to Victor, coughing to cover up her stammer. She was still excited, don't get her wrong, but she was very afraid of walking outside without a suit. The Wight's humming halted as they gingerly landed on the platform.

Reika spoke into the intercom. "Okay, time...time to get off." She nervously laughed and turned off the communcations device once again. She leaned back, unbuckled the complicated seatbelt, and didn't get up. She sat there, outside at the blue sky, the grass, the people talking about sports, and didn't move. She was just a little nervous.

woah, that is spooky.

to the discord! so we can figure out who's going where
let it allll hang out
"a little fleur-de-lise"

Sylvia Bailey
Shreve's Port

Quick to laugh and easy to smile, Sylvia carries herself with a constant energy. She often wears her blonde hair in a ponytail. Due to the hot, humid weather of post-nuclear Louisiana, she usually wears a cropped shirt and somewhat tattered jeans to let her skin breathe. Things like combat armor's too heavy, slows her down, and it doesn't seem to do people much good against a Silverfish. Some people seem to think leather armor will do anything against anything, but those people are dead. Might as well just be comfortable at that point. She has an authentic northern Louisiana accent, with twangs and soft letters. She's mostly unscarred besides a knife scar on her right arm, but don't let that fool you. She's seen firefights and killed some folks- she's just lucky, and a little skilled.

While friendly enough most of the time, her behavior can get strange when she hasn't had a dose of Jet recently. She's most pleasant when she's her normal self- the twilight between when her most recent dose is fading off, but not before she begins to crave again. When she's on Jet, she says odd things and can be cruel, but without it she becomes more unstable and quick to anger. Overall, she's always trying to be upbeat and charismatic, but it takes different subtexts depending on how high she is.

She could learn to stay out of people's business, or let things alone sometimes. It's not like she's crazy or anything- she's genuine enough, but sometimes she laughs at things that don't seem funny. I think the Jet gets the best of her sometimes. Sylvia also could really use someone who can reign her in because it seems like she's a little easy to piss off, and she gets herself into situations in which one party or another may be slightly hostile. I mean, it's not like she's bi-polar or something, but it's just odd sometimes. I guess that's just how she copes with the wasteland.

3 5 4 6 4 9 5

Chem Reliant: You've taken chems all your life. You manage to make them last twice as long, but you're addicted as hell. You're a far better soldier on drugs then not.
Combat Skill
Small Guns: The use, care, and general knowledge of small firearms. Pistols, SMGs and Rifles.
Active Skill(s)
Steal: The ability to make those of others, your own. Can be used to steal from people or places.

A True Chemist: You are capable of discerning if the drugs/medicine/etc has been poisoned/tampered/made better. Your years with drugs have led you to know when you're being fooled or whether it's the real thing. This is also applicable to drugs you don't use, but with a bit more time inspecting it.

  • Agility: Sylvia is quick, flexible and nimble. Hard to pin down and able to fit into tight spaces.
  • Pickpocket: Sylvia has learned to dip her hand quickly into someone else's pants pocket to steal away their caps, ammo, or Jet. She's also good at shoplifting.
  • Combat Drugs: Her body had adapted to Jet over the years, it enhances her abilities greatly without immediate drawbacks.

  • Fragile: Easy to break.
  • Combat Drugs: She's addicted to Jet. Without her fix she becomes irritable, distracted, clumsy and forgetful. While she's on jet she can be cruel and abrasive.
  • Not Terribly Clever Hacking, lockpicking, reading an enemy, reading a book, are difficult or boring. She's also unaware of her addiction, or at least unwilling to acknolwedge it.

10mm Pistol: Sturdy, reliable, and packs a bunch. What's not to like?
Sharp Knife: For when things get unfortunate.
Clothes: Various tanktops and jeans won't stop bullets or claws, but then again not a lot of things will.
  • 1 Stimpak
  • 3 Jet Injections
  • Canteen
Wallet with Bills: The old way of money had flair to it. Sacks of caps are beautiful, but seeing some guy named Washington on money is fun. That's why she has a leather wallet tucked into her back right pocket with a variety of paper bills wadded inside.

Sylvia Bailey was jogging. Her loose shirt bounced up and down with her stride as she jogged down the mostly empty street. Around her hip was a leather belt with a 10mm pistol tucked into a holster, a sheathed knife, and a small satchel filled with a few snacks. Or Jet. Mostly Jet. She had taken some earlier to get some boring delivery work done and was still riding the buzz. So she was working off the excess energy with a jog. It kept her fit and seeing the city was fun. Not really paying attention, she jogged out of public attention and into more hidden area's of her hometown.

An older woman dressed in rags sat against a wall to the left of the entrance to an alleyway. As the entranced jogger passed, the woman thrust out a hand. "Spare a cap for an old woman?" Sylvia paused her jog. Sylvia wondered how it was possible an old woman beggar could even exist.

"Eh, sorry, no." She began to continue her jog. Two burly masculine figures suddenly stepped out of the alley way.

"How about a cap for us-" They began their intimidating spiel, but Sylvia, startled and high, began her dirty work. Immediately the handgun was out. She thrust it into the belly of the man on the right, interrupting his speech with a gunshot. The wounded man gasped and shot off his own gun that richochetted against the pavement. The second man produced a crowbar and prepared to swing, but Sylvia scrambled out of the way and raised the barrel of her gun towards As he swung again Sylvia shot him in the chest, sending the swing wide. Still, the crowbar slammed into the side of her torso and Sylvia's vision purpled in pain, but she still managed to get a second bullet off and the man stumbled backwards, angry and dead. The first man gurgled next to her as Sylvia glanced towards the old crone.

"Wait-" She also began, but a bullet found her chest and she wheezed, head drooping.

"First impressions, people." Sylvia said shakily, heart pounding, a bruise forming where the club struck her. She tensely giggled as the first man ceased her gurgling and stared vacantly at the sky. Her shirt was cropped, so one could see the bottom half of the bludgeoning wound. It began to turn a vivd purple. Sylvia giggled before doubling over, falling to her hands and knees, one hand on her damaged skin, coughing.

"I feel awake now!" She shouted to no one in particular. "All that energy's been worked outta me, that's for damn sure." People began to investigate the four gun shots, wandering in the general direction of the noise, safe behind a few security officers who lead the charge.

"Why would anyone do drugs when they could just kill people for the same buzz?" Sylvia wheezed out a laugh as she continued her jog away from the scene of the triple homicide in self-defense. How many times can you defend yourself before you start to be the one in the wrong? Sylvia wondered this to herself, already forgetting that she murdered the old woman in cold blood, the fact vanishing into the haze of adrenaline, pain, and Jet.

Oh, it's terribly mainsteam, I suppose, but I thought of it first.
what do we do now
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