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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Uh
I think that constitutes suicide... doesn't it?
Posted on 2007-04-17 at 00:49:00.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Way I figure it...
This is one of those cases where I'll post after the lot of you seeing how there's a chance for a lot of communicating. Figure Wyatt will make sure things are solid-steady on the Lullaby before inviting Willow to join them for the business end of things. His guard isn't down, but he's diplomatic-cordial with the miners just so-as y'all know. He'll certainly not turn down a good home-cooked breakfast!
Posted on 2007-04-15 at 23:40:54.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Sorry about the delayed posting.
All right, things are moving forward again. I've posted. I've also sent a message to Raven asking if he's still in as Guardian... believe me. You guys want him playing Guardian, so bug him. 
Posted on 2007-04-15 at 23:31:58.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Vamoose!
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
Preacher gave a quick nod as he glanced back the direction Croaker had indicated. South meant taking them out of range of the sentry’s vision (hopefully) and crossing the street at an easier local. The problem, as the solo saw it, was that it would mean a good two to five minutes where those inside the building would be left to their own devices… not that they really weren’t anyway what with the lot of them outside and out of range to help without getting a hole blown through their skulls. Then there was the suggestion of putting one of them on the rooftop of the apartment building they were on, another couple of minutes at best to accomplish that. Still, Croaker was calling the shots. He had been from the moment Preacher had joined and so long as the solo’s life wasn’t put in too serious jeopardy he was good following orders. He, too, waited on Coyote’s response. If the nomad wanted to spend the time hoofin’ all over the city while the rest of the team was indoors there wasn’t much Preacher could do, or say, about it.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
The play was priceless. It was a pissing match of undeniable blatancy. Spiff was making his move and trusting to Peacekeeper and Firewind to watch his back. They were in Stallion’s house, the gang leader was armed and had bodyguards within a wink of an eye away, and the three of them would have to fight a horde of heavily-armed boosters who were sober and serious in order to get out. There was only one answer to the question of, “How dare he?” and that was that he must have a huge set of balls.
Firewind and Peacekeeper caught the show though. While Spiff had his back turned they witnessed Stallion’s face turn an ugly shade of red quicker than a two dollar whore turned a trick. His hand started over towards his piece, but Merry Deth stalled him with a hand on his thigh and a quick word in his ear where her painted lips touched his lobe for just a second… a second that surely sent a tingle down his spine.
The phone conversation was brief, but informative. “Tell me something I want to hear.”
”I’ve sent you the schematics on the Hole, boss. I’ve looked at ‘em and I think the man’d be in the top floor, penthouse suite. That’s likely where he and Queen Mary would be. Boss… Boss, you there?”
“You’re obviously a busy cat,” Stallion’s voice broke in on the conversation. His amusement was evident and it occurred to everyone there that he’d seen through Spiff’s bluff. “But I got no time to play at games. If what Elizabeth has said you told her is true, I got to get my troops ready for a fight tonight. ‘Course, it was awful nice of you to come down here in person to check up on things. I ain’t about to turn away free Chooh, understand? So why don’t you three just make yourselves comfortable and tell me how it is you came about this data. I want to know everything you do, and pronto. You may even say that your very lives depend on it… seeing how the lot o’ you be sitting in my house when it’s about to get attacked, ya know? So sing, li’l bird. You don’t have all night.”
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to the Hole – 12:53pm
“Ok Frankie you want a story I can get you a story but only after its all said and done. But if thats not good enough for you so be it. Unless there's anything else you want to say to me I guess this is goodbye and oh one more thing I will be sure to give Peacekeeper your hello.”
DigitalScribe slowly closed his phone and stared out into the rain for a moment. He wasn’t concerned so much about Peacekeeper; not with Guardian around. Those other two he’d hired tonight had been small fish compared to the big black bodyguard, and the media was going to go into debt if he had to in order to keep the man around until this conflict with Croaker and Peacekeeper was resolved. He gave a slightly frustrated shake of his head and coughed as quietly as he could into his hand. The nomad had always been stubborn, and rarely could see the bigger picture, but Frankie thought for certain that reminding him of the debt he owed the media would be enough to calm his fires. Croaker was many things, but DigitalScribe had always thought him honorable.
“Damn!” Frankie rolled over to his belly again and scooted up to the edge. “Fraq!” His bright blue eyes scanned the rooftop once more, then turned to Guardian. “It’s going down, Choomba. That was Croaker on the line there, and he’s feeling desperate or he wouldn’t have called again.” Turning back to the building he pointed at the fire escape. It was closer than the building and would be an easy landing pad from their location. Of course, it’d be noisier than hitting the rooftop, but beggars couldn’t be choosers… or something like that. “We got to get over there and quick.”
At Guardian’s questioning stare Frankie sighed. “OK, so I got a soft spot for people I care about, even if they want to put holes in me that don’t belong there. Not to mention that the only way this story is going to pay off is if we’re getting the footage, neh? So, we back up to there,” he pointed over his right shoulder, the left still bearing the shoulder camera, “and get a runnin’ start. Then, we’re flying like the eagle to the sea… only not so far. You get the drift. The sentries are still at their posts so we’ll have to move quick. See that large cooling unit? We’ll have to sprint to that and dig in to stay outta their frame. You good with this?”
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to The Hole – 12:53am
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - 12:53am
“Mother frackin’ son-of-a-bitch!” Lobo snapped his cell phone shut and closed his eyes for a moment, his left hand slicking his long, black hair back on his head.
“That don’t sound good.” There were two other men in the van. One was a smallish Caucasian with a receding hairline and a thick mustache. He wore glasses, a white button up shirt, and brown slacks. He had a Glock 30 machine pistol strapped to his waist and he chain-smoked mint-flavored cigarettes as though they were the very air he breathed. The other man was of average build, black-skinned, with shorter hair in a wire-like dreadlock spread. He was wearing an armored Gibson jacket that looked like it had been through hell and back, Gibson jeans, and Ruftread boots. He had a Nova 757 CityHunter in a bulky shoulder rig and it was he who had spoken.
“No, it ain’t frackin’ good.” Lobo opened his eyes and took charge. “All right, we gotta light a fire, boys. Coyote is in trouble an’ says that if we don’t come up with some way to help him out he could get greased.”
“Damn,” the skinny white fellow muttered as he turned back to the console sitting against the wall of the van. “What kind of help does he need?”
“He’s got some high-eyes lookin’ to smoke him.”
“The nearest unit is five-minutes—“
“I know that! I frackin’ told him as much! What else we got Masterson?”
“Um…” The smaller man quickly punched through a few relays on his computer. The screen highlighting every active unit within the city grid. A couple more tags and it’d focused on their area.
“There!” the black man pointed over his shoulder. “That’s an AV, no?”
“We can’t commandeer an AV!”
“Like hell we can’t,” Lobo growled. “We’re frackin’ S.IN., Choombatta. If they got it in the air, we got it on the way. Rip, call it in.” Lobo relayed the coordinates Coyote had given him and the black man snatched up a radio mic from the desk he was leaning against.
“Unit A-V-Three-Alpha-Uniform-Alpha, come in, over.”
There was a moment static, then the speaker crackled to life. ”Unit A-V-Three-Alpha-Uniform-Alpha here. Who’s this? Over.”
“This is unit S-I-N-Two-Delta-India-Juliet. We got a ten-one-oh-eight in progress. Can you assist? Over.”
“Affirmative. What’s your twenty? Over.”
Rip gave Lobo a smile as he relayed the coordinates. “Code three, A-V-Three-Alpha-Uniform-Alpha, code three. Do not fire unless ordered, though. Don’t want to run the risk of an unnecessary DB. Just hoping that the sight o’ you will clear the air a bit. Over.”
“Affirmative. Enroute. Over.”
“Well,” Lobo sat back against the seat he occupied and sighed. “Coyote can’t say we don’t frackin’ got his six.”
“You know there’ll be a shit-load of paperwork to fill out when we get back.” Masterson sounded as though they were in all sorts of trouble as he lit up another smoke.
“Yeah,” Lobo grinned. “But you got that covered, right? You can process that trash right from your pretty little box, neh? So we’ll be able to call it a night as soon as Coyote’s free an’ clear.”
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - 12:55am
Posted on 2007-04-15 at 21:13:20.
Edited on 2007-04-15 at 21:14:38 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Looks smug
I posted.
Posted on 2007-04-15 at 17:20:32.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: They're here...
Beneath his gloves Char was sweating. They were about to face off against Imperials once again and that was never a fun experience. Not that the ranger enjoyed combat when someone's life was on the line. He did enjoy a smart sparring session where he could truly test his fencing skills, but this wasn't going to be that.
Looking over to where Maximus stood ready, Char gave him a nod and set his jaw. He'd just heard the sounds of booted feet and it was time to truly test his skills. He moved back a little ways from the door, staying along the wall so as to make it impossible for any shards of wood to hit him should the door be broken in. He rested on the balls of his feet, his legs slightly bent, his muscles loose and ready to spring into action at a thought. His strangely furced blades were held with the left one forward, the right back a bit, ready to slash. He was as ready as he could possibly be.
(OOC: Offensive action - Char will push to keep the enemy at the door making it difficult for them to press their position. He'll fight with the intention to end the fight as soon as possible and that means killing. Defensive action: Char will try to stay back to back, or close by Maximus for the benefit of covering each other's back. As far as he's concerned there is no retreating since that will put Arien in danger.)
Posted on 2007-04-14 at 07:21:25.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: And where Spiff was...
There weren't no jutting things. 
Posted on 2007-04-11 at 00:24:56.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Let's talk...
(OOC: backpost a bit)
Wyatt had just finished strapping on and was about to give the elephants a farewell pat when his quarters were buzzed. Readjusting his hat so that it rode low on his brow, the captain opened the ladder hatch and climbed up to meet… glossy—Willow. Climbing up the rest of the way, Wyatt twisted and dropped to the catwalk.
"Captain san, when I said everything was shiny, that was more for Asher's state of mind than yours," she started, then stopped to wrinkle her nose at the oiled metallic smell she noted on the Captain.
"I see you've put on your "dress" shirt," she resumed, a touch of irony coloring her tone. "Ready for trouble or looking for it, I'd suggest that Asher remain on the ship with me for a least an hour or so. That burn was bad, but I didn't want to scare him and send him into shock. He's stable, now, but needs real mending if he wants to keep the full use of his arm. Burn scars are the worst to heal, especially around a joint."
Wyatt tilted his head to the side, not completely oblivious to the tone she’d taken with him, but finding it amusing he decided to let it pass.
“If’n you say he should remain, then remain he shall, Doc.” It was simple; it was direct. Tilting his hat to the little woman he gave her a soft half-smile. “I ain’t lookin’ for trouble Willow, just prepared for it. Whoever was on that other ship seemed hell-bent to run us out and paid it no mind when they put their burn to our nose. I’ll not play like that didn’t happen, but I’ll not start no conversatin’ that ain’t peaceable. I promise you that. Just tend to the boy and the rest,” he gave his coat pocket a tap. “I’ll let you know when your skills are needed.”
Wyatt waited to make sure that Willow didn’t have anything to add before continuing on his way with another tip of the hat brim.
(OOC: caught up.)
The trip down the gantry did nothing to prepare Wyatt for the vision he was met with upon opening the doors. The captain was forced to squint into the bright light, a frown creasing his face as his hand rested on the butt of his pistol. Lowering his head a bit, he allowed the brim of his hat to shade his eyes and scanned the area for signs of life—the closed doors on Bay 1 not going unnoticed. They’d beaten the Celestia in.
*Blamm …. Ting thuck*
Most men might have jumped, but not Wyatt. He was practically dead inside, most days it didn’t matter if he was dead on the outside too, and the proximity of the shot mattered little to him other than to stay his hand as his initial impulse had been to skin iron.
“Hold steady, Sam,” Wyatt said under his breath. It wasn’t that he figured Sam for a loose cannon… well, OK, sometimes he figured Sam for a loose cannon.
“WHO THE AI YAH TIEN AH ARE YOU?” a voice shouts out from the homestead.
“AND STAY OUT OF MY MATERS!” another voice calls.
Wyatt let his hand drift from his weapon and his coat to roll back over it as he held his hands out about six inches from his sides.
“Name’s Wyatt Sung, an’ I captain Rocinante here. Picked up some containers from Griffith on Beaumonde. Griffith an’ Royale. We were told that the Lullaby Mine had some ice that needed transport to Regina. Who’s throwing lead our way, so that I might address them that be proper. After all, it ain’t considered polite to keep hollerin’ less you know who yer hollerin’ at.”
(OOC: Influence roll please… trying to influence the situation in our favor.)
Posted on 2007-04-10 at 01:22:09.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Can't find anything...
There's nothing in the book pertaining to repairs on the ship that I can find. Maybe they thought it would be covered in the monthly maintenance. Maybe they figured you'd take it and treat a mechanic's fix-it rate like a docs... don't know. The call's yours as far as I can tell.
And you're right; Wyatt ain't gonna hold off on business cause some ruttin' cat's aboard the Roc. After all, airlocks are a handy way of gettin' rid of stow-aways...
Posted on 2007-04-10 at 00:45:04.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Good news!
Thanks for the update DA. That's some really good news. We look forward to your full return.
As for your question Tann; those are the fire escape. Though you haven't checked, most fire escapes in the city are at least fifteen feet from the ground at the lowest point with ladders that lower when necessary.
Posted on 2007-04-10 at 00:40:55.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Some orders are in place.
The crew's pretty solid at wearing multiple hats, so I hope I'm not offending anyone by leaving them out of the spitting contests right off the bat. Way Wyatt figures it, the Roc needs fixing... as much as he hates putting credits towards repairs, he don't like flying broke either. He hasn't discounted Kora's usefulness in a fight, nor Willow's usefulness in a negotiation, but he isn't about to put the Doc at risk until he knows the lay of the land.
Sam and Ash... well, gunslinging is kinda their gig. So getting shot at ain't so taboo in Wyatt's mind when the two of them are with him.
Posted on 2007-04-08 at 18:57:41.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Orders
Wyatt’s face split in a grin that belonged to a man who’d just witnessed the grim overcome. The Maria Celestia was blown back and they were coming in on the docking bay as smooth as one could considering the icy debris floating off that rock. They’d be delivering the cargo soon enough and on their way, though he’d no illusions that the crew they’d just sent rollin’ wouldn’t be out for something by way of revenge. What the ruttin’ hell’d they think they’d accomplish by gunnin’ like they did anyway? he thought just as Willow’s report came over the intercom:
“Minor medical event in the engine room, Captain-san, but we’re shiny now. Just no hitting Asher on the arm for a while, or you’ll have me to face. Pardon the impertinence, but are we there yet? My stomach can’t remember which way is up.”
Wyatt glanced at Dash and raised his eyebrows as he grabbed the mic. “What the hell happened so that he got himself broke?”
(OOC: assuming a quick, “The panel blew out and toasted him a bit.”)
“Ta Ma Duh! (Damn!)” Visions of Roc falling apart around him filled his head. “Well, tell Kora she don’t have much time to get the patch on. I don’t want to be sittin’ on this spinning iceblock fer very long.
“Ash, git yerself all patched and meet me an’ Sam in the cargo hold pronto. The rest o’ ya, strap some iron for the duration. We’re preparin’ fer Tian Shia (Everything under the sky).”
Dropping the mic back into its holder, Wyatt helped Dash bring the Roc around for purchase, then, as the pilot worked his magic, Sung began switching all control back over to him. The grinding sound of their boat connecting with the docking bay rang through the ship followed by a clanking that indicated the magnetic locks were in place, and Wyatt rose from the chair.
“Get strapped, Sam. The crew o’ Celestia’s likely t’ want words. I want t’ make sure we’re doing the right sort o’ talkin’.”
Slapping his friend’s shoulder, Wyatt readjusted his hat and made his way to the Fore Deck and down the ladder to his quarters, his boots making the crisp clicking sound he was so used to on the metal boardwalk as he went.
Wyatt hung his weaponry in a ostentatious manner on the wall near the door in his room. The shotgun hung horizontal at head level, its sheathe draped across its length. The Colt service revolver Wyatt preferred rested in its holster beneath the shotgun, angled so that the combat knife—also in its sheathe—could cross underneath it. Beneath those, center under the pattern, was the Derringer, all shiny and faux pearl handled. The drawers were underneath these and it was to this that Wyatt first focused his attention, pressing the button that pushed the top one open. As the mechanism released, Wyatt was already unbuttoning his shirt with one hand while pulling his suspender straps down with the other. As soon as he was bare-chested, the captain hooked his hat on the shotgun barrel and retrieved his ballistic mesh shirt from the drawer.
He’d seen this little piece of armor save more than one life while in the service and when he knew there was a good chance for trouble, the captain took to it like a second skin.
After he’d shimmied into it, he redressed, slipped the Derringer into a boot holster, slung his gunbelt about his waist, and pulled on his brown duster. His shotgun rig went over the top of that, and his hat went back on his head. Wyatt then dropped the personal, ship-linked handset into his pocket and finalized the routine by checking to make sure each of the weapons were fully loaded and that he had a fair share of reload available.
Pausing to peer at the elephant portrait, Wyatt gave it a quick pat and then hurried back up to the Fore Deck. He paused at the Galley just long enough to poke his head in.
“Trish, there’s likely going to be trouble. Keep sharp.” When he received the answering nod, Sung turned and made his way down the stairs to the cargo bay, all the way to the floor. He stopped at the comlink and pressed it in. “Here’s the plan, folks. Sam and I are gonna go see that we’re not being run competition by those Au chr Jze Se Duh Fohn Diang Gho (crazy dogs in love with their own feces) that tried to boil us in the Black a few minutes ago, and to ensure our sale. Asher, we need you caught up as soon as you and Willow can rig it. Kora, git Roc all patched up as quick as you can. I could you use as a guarantee should the going get rough, but it’s more vital that Roc’s all shiny in case we need to skit and skat a little fast. Willow, I’ll want you in on the business meet when that takes place, so prepare yourself, Doc.
“We ain’t outta the fire yet, folks. So let’s not get Soh Ya Feh Tian (foiled at the last minute).”
Turning from the console Wyatt caught Sam as he approached, strapped and ready.
“Well, let’s go G’en Ho Tze Bi Dio se. (engage a monkey in a feces throwing contest.)”
Posted on 2007-04-08 at 18:55:00.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: East
More buildings, same sort, lie to the east. You've got apartment complexes mostly with small lanes, some garbage-filled, others fairly cleaned out. The building directly to the east of you is in good repair, probably a corporate beaver den. You could move east all you'd like.
There's no manholes near you that you can see.
Posted on 2007-04-08 at 18:08:21.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Hmmm...
Char thinned his lips as he quickly considered the feedback he'd received, both directly and indirectly. Kilgim wasn't able to do anything for Arien and as much as he hated to admit it, Valentine was right; they couldn't trust to Arien to be himself if--no, when--he woke up, and there was likely to be trouble real soon.
"No," Char said with a slight shake of his shaggy mane. "Maximus'll stay 'ere. Need dat swordarm a' ready. Kilgim, Valen'ine, place da lad 'ere in da tunnel. Da' Moon need be seein' if'n Sunset'll watch o'er 'im 'till we return. Valen'ine, we migh' be needin' Killer's skills da furder we go on."
Char slipped his crooked swords from their sheathes at his waist in a fluid motion and gave a final nod. "Be quick 'bout i' folks. I tink Valen'ine be righ' dat der be trouble righ' soon."
That said, the ranger moved to the door. "Donna tink der be much need t' be worried 'bout quie' now, eh Da' Moon?" The adrenaline that course through one's body when you anticipate danger was already beginning to flow and Char felt more than a little roguish as he wagged his eyebrows at the thief. "I say you an' da spellbin'er 'ere see if'n some o' dat invisibili'y 'e worked on ya 'fore now can git us a li'l peak a' wot lies ahead."
Posted on 2007-04-07 at 20:27:12.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: More buildings. :)
A map of those directions really isn't necessary. But the general layout is that the map you see is but the corner of the block. It continues on with more apartment buildings, small shops, and more apartment buildings in every direction, but the north. To the north, running along that street, is more of an industrial section utilizing the canals from the harbor for cooling systems, hydro-electric power, and other such things.
You still have your weapons in side the building. They haven't been stripped.
By the way, I'm hoping Raven posts soon and I'm waiting to see what happens on the street before posting in the building.
Posted on 2007-04-07 at 20:14:11.
Edited on 2007-04-07 at 20:28:50 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Oh, he knew before... ;)
The grey building is shorter, and it wouldn't offer any cover while crossing the street, but it would offer cover when running along its face until you came near the northeast corner.
Posted on 2007-04-07 at 02:39:57.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Gussied up?
*Hides the saloon girl outfit.*
I don't know nothin' about being gussied up.
Posted on 2007-04-04 at 21:07:36.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Now if I told ya...
I'd have to kill ya.
Posted on 2007-04-04 at 00:51:04.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Hmmm...
Cat+Airlock=Serenity
Posted on 2007-04-04 at 00:50:23.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: New map with positions.
Map has been updated.
You've got the cement stand that the tree is on, but that won't offer more than 25% cover from their heightened position. You could try to duck back further into the entry of the building you are currently standing in front of. Far enough back and they wouldn't have any line of sight. Or, you could eliminate the angle advantage and cross the street to advance on the other side.
You are about 100m from the entrance to the Hole. Coyote's a fast runner, and Croaker isn't too shabby either. Preacher... well, them cowboy boots ain't made for runnin'; they're made fer walking, if ya catch my drift. It would take about ten to fifteen seconds to reach the entrance by any estimation of a mad dash.
Posted on 2007-04-03 at 02:36:58.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Fly by the seat of...
Two and a half days of routine. That’s the way Wyatt looked at it; when they were in the Black. It was comforting to be among the stars with those that he cared about despite the nagging pressure of what he assumed was hunting them. Here, they had control of the situation. Not much could sneak up on you when you were being propelled through space and with Dash at the controls they could outrun just about anything, or so Wyatt believed.
Since bringing Sam on board as the pilot, Wyatt had taken his fair share of turns behind the controls, but when it came to threading a needle, he still preferred Sam to be the one making the decisions. Of course, this didn’t mean that he didn’t look over his friend’s shoulder none.
Still, two and a half days meant that Wyatt spent a bunch of time in his quarters reading, or hanging out in the cargo bay with Dash, Asher, and Kora working out and sparring. On some nights, when feeling particularly lonely, he’d find himself talking quietly with Willow about nothing consequential. It was a comfort. The only person he spoke to about anything he was feeling deep down inside was Trish. She was his confidante.
As captain, he’d make the rounds, check on the condition of the ship, and make sure things were running smoothly, shifts were being met, and order was being maintained. It didn’t take much with this crew. They were all ku and knew their stuff, so the only times he really had to assert his authority were when Trish challenged that Dash and Asher were stealing paste again. That pretty much ended when Wyatt growled, “Go Hwong Tong! Someone’s eatin’ the gorram paste, an’ I don’t much care who, but it had better stop. Dohn-luh-mah?” There’d been some ruffled feathers for a few hours, but it had passed. Wyatt didn’t concern himself with who was eating the paste after that; he had other things on his mind.
Come the day of arrival, Wyatt was in the cockpit with Sam when the comet came into view.
“Ain’t nobody tried to heave us to and suck us out inta the nothin’,” Sam grinned as he flicked a glance at the navsat display, “ain’t no bombs went off in none o’ the luh suh what Griff or Dodger stuck in Roc’s hold… Ever’thin’s shiny as shiny gets.
Now where in the hell is that ruttin’ Hulawhore mi…” Dash interrupted his own query with a low whistle as he caught sight of the Angel Hair comet streaking brilliantly through the inky void. “Wuo duh MA! Ain’t that a pretty sight, though?”
“Glory be,” Wyatt whispered in awe. “Damn near the prettiest thing I’ve seen in the whole of the Black. Careful, Puhn yoh, that ain’t gonna be like threadin’ no canyon.”
Even as Sam goaded Rocinante closer, slightly adjusting course to pin down his intended intercept vector, Wyatt rose up from the co-pilot’s seat and made his way to stand behind his friend. Placing one hand on the bulkhead, he placed the other on the back of the pilot’s chair. Over Sam’s shoulder he read the display as it chirped to life: Lullabelle Mine: claim registration 1277640.
“I wanna meet the crazy S.O.B. that tied a Bumblebee to that,” Dash chuckled as he started making adjustments to the controls and sensors that would be necessary to ease the Firefly into the comet’s tail and then successfully navigate through and, finally, dock with the mine. That done, Sam turned his gaze back to the rapidly approaching Angel Hair comet again and reached for the mic.
“A’right, ladies an’ men-folk,” he said, broadcasting to the entire ship, “Ya’ll need ta get yer gorram asses up here! Ya ain’t gonna wanna miss this!”
Wyatt continued to eye their approach. He was quite certain that this would be one of the most difficult landings they’ve ever had to attempt and knew Sam well enough to sense when he was “feeling it”, so he let the man play.
“Reminds me of a lady I knew once,” Sam quipped without looking away from what he was doing, “Shiny. Beautiful. Damn invitin’… But, underneath all o’ th’ sparkly stuff, a heart o’ solid gorram ice.
I remember this one time. Her an’ me was grapplin’ like grapplin’ was goin’ outta style, get me? An’, all the sudden she flips us over an’ reaches fer th…Gun!!!”
At the very instant the proximity alarm sounded, Sam twisted the yoke hard to port in order to roll Rocinante safely out of the path of the Griffin class freighter that had just blown past them. Wyatt fell against the console and cursed as he felt the pain of the steel against his hip.
“What the hell was that,” Dash growled, angrily reining the Firefly back to starboard to re-claim his plotted vector. He glared at the Griffin as it burned hard towards the comet, the name Mary Celestia indelibly scribing itself at the top of his Mi tian gohn list.
“Choo fei wuh suh leh (Over my dead body),” Dash snarled at the Celestia as his hands thudded across the console and nudged the throttle, “you obviously don’ know who yer humpin’ wit’! Meh, tah mah duh hwoon dahn!.”
“Mei mei,” he barked as his fingers flexed, then curled around the yoke in a nothin’-but-business manner, “Get yer fine li’l ass back there an’ get me some juice flowin’! Ever’body else, grab hold o’ somethin’! This tzao gao’s ‘bout ta get all kinds o’ crazy!”
Wyatt scowled at the intruder and grabbed the mic. “Alright folks, this is your captain. Everyone get to yer stations, there’s likely going to be trouble here.
“We’re burnin’ for the comet, but we got ourselves some competition.” Clicking the mic off, he replaced it on the hook and made his way over to the co-pilot’s seat. “I’ve got your six, Dash. Burn hard, then cut in front of the Huen Dahn and see how he likes the bump and grind of Roc’s blast. I don’t much care if you ride that tail for nigh on to an hour so long as they get the worst of it.”
That said, Wyatt flipped the switch to give him some access to the controls—not enough to pull anything from Sam, but enough that he could assist in the difficult flying that lay ahead.
(I’m going to add two plot points to Sam’s piloting checks.)
Posted on 2007-03-31 at 20:00:43.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Don't wait on the netrunner.
Netrunning happens in nanoseconds. The passage of time for the netrunner is a completely different deal and all of this that Vesper's character has been going through has taken barely a minute. Vesper will catch up when Jazzer is logged off.
Posted on 2007-03-31 at 19:31:06.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Tic Toc
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:52am
“No need to worry about Peacekeeper Frankie she is not aware of this call, look if you can get a hold of one or two extra runners, we could use the firepower. Do this for me, Frankie, and you’ll get your story, I will get the girl, and then we will go our separate ways without having to look over our shoulder wondering which one of us kills the other first. So, we got a deal?” Croaker’s voice sounded tired and strained to Preacher, and what he was saying to whoever was on the other side wasn’t promising, but the solo couldn’t focus on that right now. He was too busy trying to decide which side of the street he wanted to die on.
A ways away, Coyote made a final plea to Lobo, “Listen, Lobo, I need help and fast, yo. I got a couple of gangers on the roof over my head that need to disappear. Sooner the better. >>Coyote gives Lobo the coordinates<< Do what you can, yo! I'll see you on the flip."
It was desperate. He knew that what Lobo had said was likely true. They’d been through too much together for the other man to just dismiss the seriousness of the situation. Jogging across to where the other two were crouched, Coyote could still see the crouched form of the ganger on the roof. The man hadn’t moved, but he was certainly facing their direction, and he had a rifle in hand—what kind, Coyote couldn’t say, but a rifle’s range definitely covered their position. The only thing to their advantage right now was the rain.
“Ok Frankie, ever hear of a place called the Hole. Well that’s where those Runners you got and I are at right now. We are on a side street across from it and need to get across said street, but its got guards on the roof covering all access. If we try to cross we get fragged and that’s no good for anyone. So there’s the deal how long will it take you to get here?” Croaker continued the conversation, barely sparing Coyote a glance as he came up on him. To the ganger, it appeared that the nomad had a bug up his butt. There were definite sparks shot his way as he drew up to the others.
“I know where the Hole is, Choomba,” DigitalScribe said over the line. “I gotta know why you’re going in before I commit myself. I’ve also got to have assurances that you aren’t going to try and ice me, or my employees—that is, you or anyone else in your party; and that goes double for Peacekeeper. You give me these assurances and I’ll give you an answer.”
"You got more help coming, si?! That'll be good. I think them hawkeyes >>indicating the gangers on the roof<< starting to get hungry, get me? I'm surprised you and me both don't got a bullet through the skull yet. I don't know what they are waiting for.
"What's our next step, yo? This place got a back door?"
Preacher gave Coyote a shake of the head that sent droplets of water cascading in various directions from the brim of his hat. “Haven’t seen no back door, but we can’t get close enough to determine that one exists. What’s that eagle eye of yours tell us?”
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
Posted on 2007-03-31 at 19:28:59.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Quick, like a rabbit!
Brilliant pain, flashes of light behind the eyes, and Char found himself unable to change his trajectory and the solid ridges of Arien’s armor buried themselves into his flash. Setting his jaw against the pain, the ranger wrapped his arms about the knight just as they both hit the ground. The confusion of the mental cacophony he’d just experienced caused Char to go limp when they came to rest, his body draped over his friend’s, but it was a short-lived experience. Shaking his shaggy head, Char pushed himself up on his left arm and knees, then rolled the knight over so that his pale face was peering up at the grimy ceiling. Scanning the man’s face, he witnessed a slight twitch to the cheek, a rolling motion beneath the lids, and he concluded that Arien was still alive.
The sounds of the party about him brought the ranger’s head up and he quickly ascertained the condition of each. Dapple looked shaken, but was otherwise composing herself while the pseudodragon, Sunset, was clawing her way deeper into the little rogue’s cloak. Maximus looked as though he’d just been stuck in a small chest for half a day, and Kilgim appeared to have been ready to pray for divine assistance. Valentine was the only one who looked like he was a little pissed off at the interaction, but they all seemed to be unhurt otherwise.
“Is…is he alright?” Dapple asked, her voice ragged.
“Char, Kilgrim can either of you do anything to get Arien back to normal, we cannot stay here long, we must move soon.” Maximus’ question followed right on the heels of Da’ Moon’s and Char glanced back down to Arien as a result.
Just then, the ranger caught something out of the corner of his eye near the door. A split second later he had an antler-handled knife in hand and ready to throw as Jal materialized. Letting out his breath, he replaced the knife, still hovering over Arien’s inert form.
“What happened here,” the spellbinder asked, after dismissing the wraithform spell, and looking curiously at the others; “From the next room it sounded as if a battle was taking place…Were you attacked? Are we discovered?”
Char shook his head, “Attack’d, sure we be.” He gave Arien a little pat on the cheek. “Don’ know dat i' be some’tin’ I can ‘xplain.”
The ranger stopped his attempt to revive Arien and looked up at Kilgim, “Any’tin’ you know t’ do, frien’? Maximus be righ’ in dat we go’ t’ make t’ move fas’. I wager we be seein’ sum Imps soon enough—“ then, moving aside so that Kilgim could have unhindered access to the knight, Char rose and quickly addressed the others. “Maximus, Valen’ine, watch dat door. Da’ Moon, make sure we ain’t bein’ trapped in ‘ere, please. Jal, wha’ didja see on da udder side?”
(OOC: going to wait for responses before making any other type of decision.)
Posted on 2007-03-31 at 18:53:41.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Sorry for the silence.
Bad timing for silence on my part. I apologize t' all you shiny folk. I've finished the art contract so I'm going to get posting.
Posted on 2007-03-31 at 18:36:15.
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