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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I will...


Don't fret. I'll get to it as soon as I can scrape up some time.

Posted on 2007-03-24 at 01:11:44.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Oh boy...


I haven't read the posts in the game yet. I just dropped in to see what I missed and there's this long thread that I have to catch up on which, from the looks of things, will lead to an interesting read in game when I can find the time to get around to it.

I apologize for the delays folks. I've been asked to head up a company expansion project and it has basically eaten up every evening this past week. Now, like the true fool I am, I picked up another art contract. I'm hoping to have it finished in a couple of days straight up though (black and white being quicker for me than color), but this doesn't mean I won't post before Al does... I hope.

I'm looking to post tonight, or tomorrow. Though somethin's funny 'bout my crew... I step to the loo for a bit an' come back to a bunch of huggin' and weepin' over how sweet an' capable everyone is. Near t' gave me the jitters...

Posted on 2007-03-24 at 01:11:00.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: There's always that possibility...


After all, this is Punk.

Posted on 2007-03-22 at 00:21:14.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Naw...


Hold off a bit. Let's see what mess the others make (did I write that out loud?)...

Posted on 2007-03-21 at 02:16:48.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Answers


Frankie Tordesky.

The building on which DigitalScream and Guardian have taken post is the same height as the Hole... roughly. It is maybe a couple of feet higher, but only in architectural decoration. It is also roughly five to five and a half meters away. Guardian has already placed sentries at each of the building corners; DigitalScribe and he had taken up position in the middle. The map is found here:

http://www.the-crazed.com/CyberPunk/images/TheHoleExterior.jpg

Posted on 2007-03-18 at 17:32:19.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Uh-uh!


Having just turned his gaze from Arien Char catches the knight swaying out of the corner of his eye. Kilgim is just as quick to respond as the two move to aid the armored man. The ranger places a hand on Arien's chestplate and another on his shoulder.

"Wha's wrong der, Arien?" he asks while glancing over his shoulder and about the hall to see if there's some unseen attacker. "Be on da guard!" This was said to the others in the room and then he was focused on the knight once again. Despite Char's and Kilgim's offered aid, Arien backs away, his face a mask of confusion.

“I don’t know…my head…feels …” he mumbles as he takes off his helm, lets his sword fall out of his hands and slumps down to the ground, rubbing his eyes as if in pain. “Alloryn … so dark…”

Char's brow furrows and he looks to the dwarf for some explanation. He certainly isn't adept at deciphering this sort of thing and the cleric's experience with healing magics is likely more in tune with the knight's needs, so he hopes...

Then suddenly Arien stands up, looking about as surprised by his whereabouts, “What is this?” He says but his voice sounds odd - higher pitched, “Two places? How odd. Twins? Oh, this is delicious!” He steps forward in an odd exaggeratedly feminine walking pattern (picture the knight walking like Jessica Rabbit) looking over each of the party members as if seeing them for the first time. “Men! Oh, it has been so long since I have had men!”

Char is dumbfounded. He stands with his mouth open slightly, tense, like a rabbit ready to jump, but unsure of what he's to do.

Arien staggers again, clutching his head with both hands, “What is …” his voice sounds strained but normal again. (DetMag – light fades)

His face curls up into a savage mask of rage, (DetMag – light returns) his eyes fall upon Dapple, “An elf!” he spits with fury (and that strange voice again) launching himself at Dapple with arms extended like claws.

Sunset hisses and draws her wing back as if to strike and that's when Char knows what he has to do. He's a big man, maybe not like Maximus, but he's definitely born of strength. Taking Arien to the ground ought to be a task he was up for and seeing the knight as he was told Char that he was Arien no more. Leaping from the balls of his feet, the ranger wraps himself around the knight and uses all of his weight and might to pull him to the ground, wrapping him up in a bear hug.

"Kilgim! Da lad's gone a bi' off, no?" Char's words are growled through clenched teeth as he attempts this manuever, hoping that the dwarf has something to counter whatever it is that is effecting the knight.

Char will have to process the whole "elf" thing later. For now, his greatest concerns are that they have been discovered, Arien has been removed from the equation, and Jal is no where to be seen.



Posted on 2007-03-18 at 17:27:01.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Good to know


Char watched as Valentine went to work, but saw nothing of the spell effects. It raised questions of doubt in his mind until he reminded himself that not all magic was accompanied by the pop and bang of that which is shown at carnivals. Then, it was Jal's turn.

The ranger felt strange around the shattered man, but he had made the decision to put that feeling aside in the interest of getting Alloryn back to her brother and friends as well as completing the mission. So he found it a little odd that he felt a might sorry for the strange sorcerer. Those feelings were quickly abated when Jal transformed himself into a wraith... the man could speak with the dead and become one of the undead!?

"If ye think it'll be needed, ol' friend, me can brin' back the silence a few more times. Still it does drain me strength n' limit the use o' other prayers. But me should 'ave no problems in 'ealin' anyone even if me did cast a couple o' more such spells."

Kilgim's words broke Char from his unease and he nodded, thankful for the dwarf's suggestion. It was good to know what you had at your disposal when it came down to decision-making time, and he'd been afraid that the more Kilgim prayed for help, the less likely they'd all be to receive magical healing.

"Dat be a goo' ting, frien'. Cause I tink we be needin' da 'ealin' a fair amoun' dis day."

Placing a hand on Kilgim's shoulder, Char glanced over at the silent knight and watched his grim study of door. Arien was certainly preoccupied with Alloryn's unknown predicament and the ranger suddenly realized just how responsible Arien had been by dumping the role of leader on his shoulders for the time. With a slight shake of his head, Char glanced over at Dapple and repeated the action. This was not looking good.


Posted on 2007-03-17 at 17:39:14.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Storyline moved forward.


All right, Choombattas! I've moved the thread on and we're getting nitty-gritty.

Congrats Spiff! You've earned two IP. One in Human Perception and one in Persuasion & Fast Talk. There were some very nice rolls at just the right time. Probably saved the sorry hides of Firewind and Peacekeeper with all that fancy talk.

Posted on 2007-03-17 at 03:23:53.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Moving on With or Without You.


The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:49am

“Seems t’ me that the street’s pretty well covered,” the solo drawled in answer to Croaker’s question. Behind his shades, Preacher scanned the rooftop, hoping for some sign of what Coyote had seen; some way to place their possible shooters, but it was gray and black, sheets of rain impeding their vision. “It’s likely as a dust bowl havin’ dust that they placed a couple o’ shades such as ourselves doggin’ their corner. Hell, Coyote spotted the gunmen on their roof from here an’ he’s wearin’ their skin more’n we are, so we best be figurin’ that they got at least what he’s got.

“So, like I said, I figure they know where we are, an’ they know we’re comin’. I don’t think we’re getting’ closer without getting’ plugged.”


The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:49am




The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:49am

"You're right, chico, but I can tell you what he's gonna say. He's gonna want to meet the man who just set him up for the gangers that are probably not far behind us. Then he's gonna yell at you for leaving your post because there will probably already be gunfire. Think about it, hombre, he's gonna send you right back here to make sure that we don't have any info he needs. In other words, chico, why the FRACK do you think I came down here? I don't want to get shot! I ain't no fighter!"

There were a lot of glances exchanged. If there were a going rate that the edgerunners could have collected on, they’d have raked in the dough. As it was, Spiff knew almost immediately that his gamble had paid off. The stares that these gangers were sharing were filled with concern, but to the observant fixer the anxiety wasn’t directed at the three of them. There was something knowing in these gazes; these people have been waiting for something to go down, and Spiff figured it was likely not their arrival. What he’d said spurred a wave of doubt. Just what he needed to make his ruse work.

Firewind felt his shoulders relax a little as well, for he saw it in these Wild Things’ eyes. The medic had trained himself to read people. He watched for the dilation of their pupils, the widening of their eye, the way their shoulders hung from their frame, and he knew that they’d bought into Spiff’s bull.

Only Peacekeeper remained coiled like a flying squirrel ready to spring from a python. Since these looks of sudden apprehension by so many people carrying military-grade weapons could lead off in any direction at any second, she wasn’t about to let her guard down. She’d seen it often enough before; the careless, or foolish, believing that the situation was well within hand, and then it explodes. She’d been in on a couple of undercover busts where everything was going so smooth and then someone had done something stupid to blow their cover. So much lead… so much blood… this was not what she wanted, but she was ready.

“All right,” the bald guard growled, pulling his submachine gun off Spiff and resting it against his shoulder. “But you got it all wrong, Gato. We ain’t low-techin’ no more, so I don’t have t’ go stompin’ up all these stairs to let Stallion know you’re on your way.”

Before Spiff could respond, the ganger had pulled a comlink from his pocket and had activated it.

“Stallion, yo.”

“What?”

“Got some balls-out glory hounds here t’ meet’cha. Should I let ‘em up?” He wagged his eyebrows at the three as he waited for the delayed response.

“Who are they?”

“They’re those that let Elizabeth know about the trouble brewin’ tonight.” Baldy gave Spiff a smile that said, “Gotcha.” Then continued through the grin, “I think they’re after some sort o’ reward.”

There was more silence during which the three stood cautiously in their place. Finally, the comlink cracked and Stallion’s voice came back over it. “Send them up.”

Mr. Bald and Pierced looked surprised for a moment before nodding into the comlink and placing it back in his pocket. “Top floor, room six-thirty-three.”

There wasn’t much time to savor the victory. Living on the Edge you learn to take what small gifts are presented you and run with them. They’re few and far between as it is, so when a little bit of grifting lands you in the sweet spot; ya just keep tickling until you’ve had your fun. With a nod and a confident smile, Spiff turned and began to trot up the stairs, Firewind and Peacekeeper following close behind. There was likely an elevator, but the three hadn’t been directed to one, and didn’t see one off-hand, so the stairs it was.

After a time the thighs start to burn, but there’s no reduction in pace. Stalling too long could end poorly and they were riding a wave of luck. Two floors gone they still hadn’t seen a single drunk Wild Thing. Three floors and they were passing men and women armed to the teeth with a serious, deadly look about them, none of the usual high, none of the usual inebriation. Four and five went by with more of the same: deadpan expressions, serious stares, and a whole lot of military-grade weaponry. Then they were at the sixth floor, stepping out into a carpeted hall from the stairwell.

The hall wasn’t very long. Spiff knew from his past that this was the floor where the penthouse suite was located, so the majority of the whole level would be dedicated to that spacious quarter, if not the whole thing. The truncated hall was no surprise to him. Firewind had been in a similar local once before during his medical internship. It had been filled with superficial interns waiting hand and foot on a few residents and full-fledged doctors. The experience hadn’t been pleasant, but Sohe had thought it quaint… of course, she’d dumped a whole buttload of escargot on the chief resident when the conversation had turned to politics, but that was a different story. Peacekeeper didn’t have the opportunity to visit these places as much. Most of her clientele were located in dives, piss-filled holes-in-the-wall. Still, there was no real difference in the results a firefight incurred were stains on the carpet instead of the bare cement.

Peacekeeper scanned the hall, running her eyes along the whole length of it, looking for anything that might indicate trouble. Some dealers set the hall outside their safe room with automatic, AI controlled, machine guns, but she didn’t see any of that here. No cameras, nothing but a group of four very large gangers at the end of the hall standing around the double doors leading into the penthouse suite.

Firewind felt the calming sensation from his stress chip activate and thanked whatever divine being had invented them for the adrenaline detection release module. His eyes were darting about as well, jumping from the walls to the ceiling, ceiling to the floor, to the door, to the goons—at least down there they could have made a break for the door. Here? There was no where to go.

Spiff didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the hall either. His was a quick scan, more used to the grunts such as Peacekeeper doing that sort of work than having to work through the details himself. Instead, he did what he did best and focused on the guards, trying to get a read on them.

The first of the guards stood leaning against the wall. He was about six foot, long black hair that draped his shoulders, a thick face with some Chinese in it, and thin, black sunglasses. He wore a black vest over a bare chest and his right arm was chromed to a beautiful, reflective sheen. His body bulged with muscle and the scowl on his face said he didn’t like that he was letting anyone into the room, let alone these three. Held in his hands was an impressive-looking shotgun.

The guard across from him stood two inches taller, wore his hair in a Mohawk, pulled back into a long ponytail. It was obviously TechHair™ and the whole length of it kept changing shades of green in waves. He had enough earrings in each ear and piercings in his face to be brutal in appearance, and the whole length of his neck had the skin pierced in regular intervals with thin slivers of metal on each side. He was bare-chested as well, ripped, and carrying a large submachine gun.

The two in the back were twins, standing on either side of the door like huge, Viking statues. They each had long, pale blonde hair worn nearly to their waists. They were broad in the shoulders and large than either of the men in front of them. Their mirrorshades covered their eyes, they wore Gibson armored jackets and carried some more of those submachine guns. The one on the left had a defining scar on his chin, but that was really the only way they could be told apart.

As the party approached, Spiff could see that they weren’t going to impede their progress and sure enough, the three of them were admitted without difficulty. The room beyond was luxurious and wide. The floors were marble, the walls were white wood with rails and runners. There were trestle tables with vases and flowers to either side of the door and a large, polished table in the center of the room forced the woman who walked purposefully towards them to round out to the right side some ways before righting herself again. Beyond her, the room ran to a wall of windows that would have overlooked the northern factory across the street, but its blinds were tightly drawn.

“I’m Dawn,” the woman said as she drew up in front of them. She was shorter than Peacekeeper by about two inches. Her hair was blue, cropped really short in the back, but for a long tail, and angling down to her chin up front. It was parted in the middle. She had two eyebrow rings over her left eye, a diamond nose stud, and a pierced bottom lip. As she spoke, the three could easily see that her tongue bore three silver balls down the length of it. She wore a lacy black bra visible beneath a fishnet tank top that revealed two Asian-relief coy fish tattoo sleeves. She had two handguns tucked into her baggy black pants at the waist enough that they road the pants down a bit revealing that she wore striped white and blue men’s boxers underneath.

“He ain’t gonna wait long.” She was sizing them up, had already passed over Spiff, dismissed Firewind with a cursory glance, and now was concentrating on Peacekeeper like a matron wolf who’d just been challenged. “So you better come this way.”

She turned and began to retrace her steps with the gait of a man filled with temper. “Don’t think on drawing steel here, boys and girls. One shot fired and this place lights up faster than the Mid-east, if you know what I’m saying.”

As she spoke they were led around the table, to the wall, on to the left and down another short hall with equally impressive decorations to another elaborately crafted door. Through the door they found themselves in a sitting room. There were three couches of soft brown microfiber material, a polished brown coffee table between them, and an electric fireplace to the open space. The rest of the room was amply decorated, but the whole of the focus was on this area. Against the far wall were some windows whose blinds were also drawn. Their position, though, would place them facing to the east.

On the couch facing the entrance were two people. One was a well-muscled (likely enhanced) male with a mane of brown hair that drifted about his shoulders as though it had a life of its own. His low eyebrows were furrowed, though not in what appeared to be anger, but more likely out of habit. There were shadows under his eyes, a sign that Firewind registered as drug withdrawal, though enough time had passed that he was definitely on the upswing of it. He wore a black tank top, dark blue jeans, and had a heavy handgun sitting on the couch next to him. His chest bore a blocky, first generation light tattoo depicting a horse’s head in brilliant whites and reds.

Next to him, sitting seductively, but looking pale and a little piqued. She wore a white tank top over a red bra. Her face was nearly perfectly symmetrical, her eyes slightly slanted and alluring. Her lips were full and shaped with that full upper lip and slightly smaller lip that was made popular by fashion models of the early decade. Her bone structure provided her with smooth features and the shape of her face was not to angular while retaining nice lines. She wore her blond hair up though it could easily be below the shoulders. It was cut in a shag style, with jutting shocks of hair sticking out of large clips. It was obvious that the hair was technologically advanced; the tips held a pinpoint starlight glow of red and the sheen that kept playing over the hair made it appear as though she were walking down a long hallway with intermittent lighting. Her body was tone—a very sexy shape. Piercings in both ears; an ink tattoo of the goddess Isis on her left calf, visible below her capris. Both eyebrows were pierced, though the left had a stud and the right a ring. Her tank top was wrinkled up near her rib cage revealing a belly button piercing with a dangling silver rose. She carried no weapons.

“So,” Stallion drew the word out in a gravel-filled voice as the three approached the couches, Dawn stepping off to their right side and folding her arms across her small chest. “You’re the heroes that let Liz know ‘bout our trouble brewin’?”

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am




Meat Location: The Farris Family Inn – Night City – 10:15pm; The Net: Night City Grid – Night City University Net Campus/Administration Building.

“Can I help you?” the voice asked him. He turned an about face and stared into the eyes of the seductive AI program. Her voice was like a symphonic orchestra, beautiful, melodic and sweet. Whoever designed this program definitely knew what they were doing. Her bent over form revealed the cleavage that he had so noticed earlier, making his heart race slightly faster. Jazzer was always better able to associate with net entities more so than women in real life.

“Umm....uhhh....yeah,” he replied as he raised his gaze to the green dots that were supposed to be her pupils. He had not expected for his invisiblity to be pierced by the AI, it having had worked all night. “Is there any way that I could perhaps check the mail of one Merideth Ackerman. Her father has hired to help in the case of her disappearance. I am a private investigator and not a cop, so I have no credentials to show you.”

He tried to keep his voice steady and attempted to persuade the AI that he was for real here.

Artificial intelligence was a different challenge to persuade than a real person. Though they were programmed to mimic various personalities they were, in fact, algorithms and logic guided their processes. But Jazzer knew this. He was an experienced programmer, one of the best on the market as a matter of fact, and he knew the proper ploy he needed to play. The role of a private investigator would most likely make sense, and since logic was the driving factor within the AI, Jazzer was gambling on the fact that if this Merideth had been missing for long enough the AI would likely conclude that an investigation made sense… His gamble paid off.

“Certainly, sir. Right this way.” The AI turned about and led the way to the wall of boxes, then waved her hand similarly to the way a gameshow hostess presents prizes. The box that was Merideth’s lit up, outlined by a blue glow. Imagery of letters began to flow from within the box though the door hadn’t opened. They were carried by dove wings and flew out to hover in front of Jazzer. The AI swiveled about again and walked her sexy walk to behind the counter once more where she busied herself with pretend post office work.

There weren’t many emails. Especially for a beautiful college girl. Jazzer filtered through the emails quickly, looking at subject lines and trying to determine whether something was interesting enough to copy. After a couple of seconds he quickly copied everything, releasing the emails back to the box and closing it down. This left the netrunner alone in the post office with the inattentive AI.

Meat Location: The Farris Family Inn – Night City – 10:15pm; The Net: Night City Grid – Night City University Net Campus/Student Union/Bookstore.




The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to the Hole – 12:48pm

Guardian scanned the building and finally resolved himself to a blank. They’d been staring at the brick monstrosity for some time now and he’d been playing entry options over in his head, knowing that DigitalScribe’d likely want to get a peak inside. Still, nothing short of jumping the buildings and opening up on the gangers stood out as an option… and that jump would be trying.

“We could jump over there,” DigitalScribe offered. “You could take out the opposition and… ah, hell! Who’m I kidding? That won’t work. Besides, we’re impartial observers. Impartial observers can’t go around shooting the subjects… with guns that is. Frack!

Frack!

Frack!”

Here they were, on the outskirts of what Frankie thought would be a high-paying gig, and they were sitting atop a roof, in the rain, with no options.

“You don’t wanna take out those guys on the roof and we jump across, do you Guardian?” DigitalScribe sighed at the ridiculous nature of the question and went back to watching.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to The Hole – 12:49am


Posted on 2007-03-17 at 03:20:33.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Bad news


Looks like Eol isn't going to be taking over Preacher so we're open for two players. I'll move us along then shortly.

Posted on 2007-03-16 at 00:32:34.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: It seems like...


What's the dealio? We're having difficulty getting this rolling again. Is there still interest?

Posted on 2007-03-15 at 00:52:02.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Hooray!


Boo-rah!

Posted on 2007-03-15 at 00:51:23.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Congratulations!


Awesome! I'm pleased for you, Roger. You and Cathy both... now if we could just find a job for Cathy that pays as well, but requires zero travel!

Posted on 2007-03-15 at 00:50:54.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Through the looking glass


Char watched Dapple carefully as she held her ear a small breadth from the door. He looked for any sort of ripple in her calm, anything that would indicate something waiting for them on the other side. He'd come to know some of the patterns in that calm water--like reading the movement of fish below the surface of a lake--over the time they'd been travelling together and he relied on that little insight now that the situation necessitated silence. Her shadowy gaze met his blazing blue eyes for a moment and he knew things were clear... for the time being. Glancing back at the rest, he swore to himself as he nearly put his forehead in the gladiator's chest. Casting a baleful glance at the big man he arched just enough to see the others and indicated that they should come forward. In that time, Dapple had made motion for Maximus to help her with the door. There was a moment of tense realization as to what Dapple had discovered when she slipped the dagger through in one quick, smooth motion before tugging backward. Char felt his breath catch in his throat as the rickety old thing fell inward only to be caught by Maximus with naught a sound.

Glancing at Arian, Char received the man's distracted nod and took it to mean that they should continue forward without hesitation. Dapple had already taken a peak around the nearly cord-thin doorframe by the time the ranger had reached her and the two of them quickly surmised that the path ahead was void of visible danger. Following the little rogue, Char glanced back at the waiting party, wondering how long Arien would remain with them before splitting off to try and free Alloryn on his own. It didn't make sense taking that route when their strength lay in their numbers, but Char had never had much luck talking sense to the knight. It had mostly ended with Arien looking over at Alloryn confused and momentarily dismayed by the ranger's deep backwoods accent. At least, that's how it was previously. What had made him chose Char to lead should he decide to rush off after family? If Char had been forced to make that decision he'd have gone with Kilgim.

Char hadn't been daydreaming while he was considering their situation. He'd been watching Dapple at work and making his own assumption of what would happen with those hinges and bolt. When they moved back to the rest of the party he nodded his agreement and was about to remain quiet when a thought occurred to him.

What seemed like ages past he'd joined Eftari and three other men on a scouting expedition into a rather dense arm of the Gnarley Forest. They'd been on the hunt for some guerilla fighters working a supply line and after a time Eftari had said that they could go no further due to a rather impenatrable wall made from natural undergrowth. Char had determined that the tracks of those they sought led right through this wall, but they'd been unable to penetrate it and after hours of searching, discovered that the wall continued in both directions for a seemingly endless time. It just so happened that one of the men who had accompanied them--Wha' was 'is name? Sho' Niri, er somet'in' o' da sor'--was a spellcaster and had used a spell through which he could see over the wall and to what lay beyond. It had been a most useful spell, showing the location of the troop. The memory was fading, as were most of what he still held close having to do with his old mentor. Time was a very good thief.

"'Fore we go knockin' down da doors, makin' a rucko', need t' ask da tree o' yous if'n ya 'ave any scryin' magic t' see beyon' da door." Char paused, blinked, and then said, "Well, do ya?"

Posted on 2007-03-14 at 03:46:09.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Well played.


And there it was: The Luck o’ Three.

Wyatt sat quietly stone-faced through Dodger’s discourse. His natural expression was one of hard sternness that some automatically assumed meant he was angry. It was something that he used to his advantage both often and well, and in this case it portrayed the cold rage that built inside more than adequately. As the captain saw it there could be only one answer, and that was that they were being set up. How far it went, he couldn’t immediately conjure, so he was uncertain as to whether Dodger was at risk, but he was absolutely positive that his crew was. That’s the way he looked at it too: his crew was at risk. It didn’t matter that he might be commanding Rocinante and by proximity that meant that he, too, was at risk. As far as Wyatt Sung was concerned, his crew and his boat were all that mattered now, and this revelation was threatening to blow them all outta the Black.

He’d found it more than a little odd that the delivery boys’d been slaughtered, but the sten-bolts were left. He’d voiced his concern to the crew at dinner that night as they burned for Bellerophon and what they’d hoped was a safe dispatch of the goods that sat in their cargo bay. Don’t make no sense slaughterin’ and shootin’ holes in them all, but leavin’ the wares. Jus’ ain’t proper pirating’s all. Still, there was nothin’ for it then and there weren’t nothing for it now. They brought the sten-bolts to Dodger in good faith that he’d be able to step ‘em off for a fair price; judging from the look in his eye, Wyatt was fairly certain that the man didn’t think they’d gone all a-piratin’ and humped those that got his stolen cargo. Of course, what it did mean was that those that got dead at the swap point were likely those that humped Nina Harley. There’s some justice after all. So the big question was what to do ‘bout the circumstances they found themselves in now?

“Captain san, I may be stating the obvious, but we’re caught in a classic standoff, and with an unknown slinger, not Dodger, here. The question is; were we being set up, or was Dodger,” Wyatt met Willow’s gaze with an unreadable expression on his own, “Or are all of us being played?” The doctor finished ominously.

Juh guh jee hua juhn kuh pah, either way,” Sam grumbled, “Fer the whole ruttin’ buncha us! I mean, if I’m hearin’ correct what Dodger’s sayin’, we’re humped on this deal, right? Plus, even if’n we’s ta manage salvagin’ anythin’ from it, us an’ Smokey McPot, here, get on the bad side o’ some big ruttin’ Joo Bah Jeh who’s like ta come a-gunnin’ fer us jus’ cuz we mighta once seen this mi tian gohn cargo… Mother-humpin’-son-of….” Dash’s voice trailed off into under-his-breath mumblings.

“Finished?” Wyatt said evenly, raising a brow at his friend and waiting for the affirmation with gargoyle-like patience.

(OOC: assuming he is… or if he ain’t then Wyatt’ll let him rant a bit more.)

Turning back to Dodger, Wyatt tilted his head a bit to the left and settled back into his chair once more. “Ways I see it, Puhn Yoh, is that Sam an’ Willow ain’t that far off. ‘Course this don’t mean Da Shiong La Se La Ch’wohn Tian as far as I’m concerned ‘cause the good of it is that it forces our hand rather than allowin’ us t’ sit on our shiny little asses an’ wait fer something to poke us.

“Now, I know—an’ I’m sure you’re thinkin’ the same—that we came by this cargo clean an’ lawful. Fact of it was that the Ching Soh that dealt the crew o’ Nina Hartley their ace o’ spades was dead when we got there, so it ain’t likely that they had no stories t’ tell despite the sayin’ from Earth That Was t’ the contrary.

“You say—an’ I’m likely t’ believe you—that this here cargo’s a bunch that you lost, but that the Lao Buhn that hired you t’ ride it ‘cross the Black washed his hands of it like it was petty cash.” Here, the right side of Wyatt’s mouth curved into a wry half-smile. “Seems as though a Jing Chai business-type’d be a bit outta character t’ act so ruttin’ foolish where his money’s concerned. The types I know’d be poundin’ on yer door ready to take yer boys here and show ‘em a new dance even for a couple of credits on the head. It’s bad business t’ go all Hur Bao Duhn with an’ audience an’ such.”

Wyatt paused for just a moment—not long enough to indicate he was finished, but enough to let Dodger chew on his muddling a little.

“Like I said,” Sung continued nonchalantly. “Seems likely that someone’s got a burr under their saddle and is aimin’ t’ Da Kai Sa Jeh the lot o’ us. So, here’s the rough side up: you take this cargo off our hands for a fair price—nothin’ fancy, just enough t’ make up fer our costs an’ such. We got ourselves a run lined up that’d put us in a fair shiny spot fer a spell that’s gotta be carted off by tomorrow if’n we’re to meet the deadline. After’s all said an’ done, we’ll burn back to this rock an’ put our brainpans together t’ see if’n we can’t conjure up a fair picture o’ the why’s and how’s.”

Wyatt’s face went deadpan again as he finished his line of thought. “Some Ung Jeong Jia Ching Jien Soh put mine in a fix, Puhn Yoh. As far as I’m concerned they’ve already been sized fer a shiny, little pine box.”


Posted on 2007-03-13 at 03:09:49.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: If it makes you feel better.


I've never received a written offer for any job I've ever held. It generally (in my experience) happens for really high-paying, salaried or commissioned, type jobs where you have some serious rank in the company.

Good on ya!

Posted on 2007-03-13 at 00:22:59.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Congrats!


Here's to the hope that everything comes through. Does a verbal offer mean that they've pretty much given you the job, there's just the official paperwork to take care of?

Posted on 2007-03-10 at 21:44:46.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Congrats


New house, Van home for a week, Al with news... sweet.

Posted on 2007-03-10 at 18:16:30.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Up to you guys...


Right now it is pretty much up to you guys what happens next. The need for players to post'll only be satiated by players posting... funny how that works.

Posted on 2007-03-07 at 01:55:36.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Oh, he would-uh if'n...


it were someone he didn't have a history with that was being pressed by Dash's roguish personality.

Posted on 2007-03-07 at 01:26:11.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: South?


Wyatt had spent a good deal of time going over numbers, preparing cargo transfer manifests, and reviewing the sten-bolts containers for both bulk and quality. Near the proper hour, he’d retired to his quarters for a brief moment. Once there, the captain of Rocinante searched about for a handkerchief, finding one in his top drawer. It was a simple white piece of cloth, but one of the corners had his initials delicately embroidered into it in red thread. The sight of the article brought back a flood of memories consisting of happier times when his life had been filled with the smiling faces of the two most important people he’d ever known: Summer and Eden. Eden had embroidered those initials one night while they sat on the porch swing overlooking the land he’d purchased as a wedding gift. Closing his eyes for a moment, Wyatt forced himself to closet those memories knowing full well that to get misty-eyed before a deal was bad luck. When he opened his eyes once more, Sung quickly tied the handkerchief into a knot and stuffed it into his pocket.

“One fer the evil…”

The captain desperately wished that he had some form of protection against business deals running afoul, but to date, he hadn’t found anything that he could carry with him. Most superstitions concerning good fortune consisted of some omen being witnessed, and on board a ship… well, that was more difficult than one might imagine.

As Wyatt briefly straightened the picture of three African elephants from Earth That Was which hung facing the door (another method for bringing good luck to the crew and ship) the corner of his mouth twitched as though a smile were itchin’ to climb out of his scowl. He was remembering a conversation he’d had with Willow and Kora one time when they’d been left drifting in the Black for a couple of days and he was desperate for luck. It had consisted of him falling back on a most improper suggestion hailing from old sailing ship superstitions that indicated good luck for a ship that harbored a naked woman. Wyatt was so frantic to find some break in their bad luck that he’d suggested the two women strip down and provide it… of course, the answers he’d received back had been nothing short of comical and accusing. Shaking his head, Wyatt Sung gave his knotted kerchief another pat and headed for the cargo bay.

He arrived at roughly the same time as Sam and offered his friend a silent nod, receiving the like in kind. They stood quietly leaning against the bulkhead, talking about nothing and inferring a great deal at the same time. They’d been able to do that almost since the time they’d nearly killed each other—where most people feed off of each other’s fear and trepidation, Wyatt and Sam seemed to be able to calm each other.

“What is it with these women-folk as makes ‘em take so gorram long ta get ready, anyways, Cap?” Sam had just holstered his sidearm after checking it for the umpteenth time. “I mean, what’s so ruttin’ hard? Throw on a clean shirt. Brush yer teeth. Boom! Yer done, right?”

Wyatt raised his brows and tipped his hat back on his head, offering Sam a wry grin as he looked the man’s attire over with a critical stare. He’d never really challenged Dash’s fashion expertise; that was plum girly.

“Well, son,” Wyatt drawled. “If’n everyone had yer ability t’ spruce up a bit in such a short ‘mount of time, there’d like be no reason fer them fancy shops. You’d put people outta work quicker than a Ta Ma Duh gunman with finger spasms.”

The two men chuckled at the imagery, but didn’t have long to share in the mirth as Willow came gliding down the catwalk.

“Go-oorram, but I’m a baaaad man,” Sam groaned.

“Shall we, Captain?” Willow stepped off the bottom stair and began to raise her hand. It was a common drill that hadn’t taken Wyatt much time to get the hang of. Eden had expected as much gentlemanly conduct from him in her time as well. Fact of the matter was; Wyatt felt less countrified when he acted like some Tian Di Wu Yohn Central Planet gentleman, so he didn’t mind it much. Taking Willow’s hand on his wrist, he turned and quietly led the way onto the street.

He remained tied up in his own thoughts for the whole of the stroll, quietly manipulating the streets with a watchful eye for any danger and his hogsleg more than showing off his hip in a crossdraw fashion that’d make it easy to achieve while not impeding Willow’s sultry sway.

Inside Dodger’s, he remained equally quiet while the two, large bodyguards retired their weapons and allowed them entry into the businessman’s meeting room. He felt little, but anticipation for the pending meeting, his mind on the possibilities of the dangers they faced going skinned such as they were, the income possibilities, and whether they’d be able to float the boat afterwards. Then his mind passed on to Griff’s ship and the Feds that’d been snooping around the dock. For a time he wondered at his friend’s safety, but only for a time. Then they were in the meeting and greetings were taking place.

“Captain Wyatt Mon! Good to see you?” Dodger stepped forward to shake hands and Wyatt smiled just enough to not offend while remaining businesslike as he accepted.

“Sam! ‘Ow you doin’ Mon! Nice Shirt! ‘Ow long you ‘ave to wear to win de bet?” Dodger asked with a hearty laugh after separating himself from the captain. Then, after Dash has made his usual stamp on the civility level, their host turned to look at Willow and whistled a long, slow note, “Willow, my my my. You are looking fine Girl.” His eyes darted back to Wyatt where they settled with an accusing stare, “You are an unfair man, mon. Bring a beautiful woman to my ‘ome like dis, ‘ow am I suppose to talk business wit’ a clear ‘ead?” His words were softened by a sudden, infectious laugh as he rounded the desk and seated himself.

“Can I offer you a drink? Smoke? Other pleasures?” He asks still laughing. Wyatt waited until Willow had seated herself before taking one of his own near Sam and Willow both. The center position, the seat of power.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, caught up in the man’s infectious laughter, “how’s about some o’ them shiny underpants as yer dressin’ Frick or Frack in these days? I know me a whorehouse out on Jiangyin where I might could wear somethin’ like that. Mmm… and a beer wouldn’t hurt none, neither… got all the smoke I need hangin’ right here.” He waved a hand in front of his face, carving whirling trails through the smoky haze in the air.

Wyatt felt a sudden urge to smack Dash in the back of the head, but refrained. This was Dodger, he knew Sam so there wouldn’t be no offense taken at the man’s boorish mannerisms. Holding up a hand, Wyatt gave a slight shake of his head to indicate that he was done up right and proper for the moment.

“What’s wrong wit’ my shirt?” Sam asked, drawing Wyatt’s attention to the gorilla and the wording once again. He vaguely remembered having read the quip when he’d first seen Dash in the cargo bay, but it hadn’t registered. Wyatt responded by raising his eyebrows and shrugging.

“So, Willow say you ‘ave some cargo you need moved. Whatcha got Mon that be burning a ‘ole in your ‘ull?”

Wyatt stood halfway from his seat and produced the sten-bolt he’d stowed away for just such an instance. Reaching over the table he handed it to the man and then returned to his seat.

“Good, solid sten-bolts is all. Figured you could get some fair market pricin’ fer the lot of them… got a good five cartons full: five hunnerd, shiny.”

Wyatt watched Dodger examine the item with interest for a moment. Maybe everything was going to go all right after all—“Willow! You sly vixen. What you be tryin’ to do to me 'ere?”—Then again, maybe not.

Wyatt remained cool as ice, staring at Dodger and daring him to meet his gaze while at the same time not challenging him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sung saw Willow lean forward and place a pliant hand on Dodger's tense forearm.

"Dodger, darlin', if I were attempting to ‘do’ you, there'd be no mistaking it for anything else. I told the captain, if anyone could move marked goods and get close to market value, it's Dodger, and so here we are," Willow purred, stroking Dodger's arm lightly. "We hadn't gotten to talking about price yet, and we had no intention of hiding anything. With me, sweetness, what you see is what you get."

“Same’s clean through fer the lot o’ us, Dodger. I ain’t no Chwen, and ain’t lookin’ to wind up on the wrong end of Dodger’s interests. Like I said, five hunnerd o’ them.” Leaning forward, Wyatt rested his right elbow on his knee and drew Dodger’s attention away from Willow the best he could with his presence alone. (OOC: Perception) Wyatt tried to read the man, looking for a sign that the deal had been broken, or why it had raised questions in the first place. He’d looked that cargo over himself a number of times; how could he have missed anything that could be detrimental to the deal? (OOC: Barter. But only if my perception read indicates that we won’t get shot up by playing the issue.) “These here are good, solid pieces o’ equipment, Dodger. They ain’t some spoiled turnips we’re trying to dice and pass off as raisons. They’ll fetch ya a good price on the flipside, so what’s your offer?”


Posted on 2007-03-06 at 06:33:42.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: As the last brick...


Setting the last of the bricks aside, Char paused and gave listen to the activity he heard from above. The light of their lantern cast its glow past Dapple's and the ranger's forms throwing their shadows into the room and making them dance a bit. After a moment, the ranger (ever conscious of Dapple's personal space) refrained from touching the thief to get her attention, but instead, motioned her towards the door where her acute hearing might be put to good use. Turning back to the others he considered the spell that covered the noise the warrior's armor might make. Would it last much longer? How much time did they have before the duration (was that what he'd heard those war mages call it?) expire? Shoring up against his mistrust of magic the ranger gave his companions a nod and then proceeded into the room, stepping carefully and peering up at the ceiling for a moment to discern what kind of support was overhead.

Once he was inside, he motioned that those behind him wait just within the room and peeled away from them to join the thief at the door. Pressing his ear against the old wood, Char listened for a moment, holding his breath so as not to disturb the natural sounds from beyond.

Posted on 2007-03-04 at 18:28:00.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: *Grins*


Bet ya all thought I forgot the pretty I was workin' on. Betcha did... but, I didn'. Matter-o'-fact, ya all can see it right... here:




Posted on 2007-03-04 at 18:16:02.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Yes please...


Right now Croaker and Preacher are hanging out about 100y from the Hole behind an overgrown planter while Coyote is a ways behind them in the shadows of the alley they'd just left. I need to know your next actions.

Good on DA.

Posted on 2007-03-04 at 18:13:26.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: No joke!


Can someone else play the intrepid knight? Stay tuned to find out...

Posted on 2007-03-04 at 18:12:03.

 


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