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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Update...


I am still being beaten up at work. Haven't had any time to post lately. However, I'm about to hit the road which may provide me with more time.

I fly out to the East Coast on Tuesday. I'll be in Philadelphia Tuesday and Wednesday, in Charlotte (NC) on Thursday, and Charleston (SC) on Friday. From there, I'm potentially driving to New Orleans, then back up through Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and into Connecticut where my son is being stationed with the Navy. Then, from there, I'll be driving back across the country to Utah. Somewhere in there, I should be crashing at hotels, or with plenty of time while I'm switched off driving with one of my sons, to post.

Posted on 2018-02-16 at 12:37:47.

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


I am still being beaten up at work. Haven't had any time to post lately. However, I'm about to hit the road which may provide me with more time.

I fly out to the East Coast on Tuesday. I'll be in Philadelphia Tuesday and Wednesday, in Charlotte (NC) on Thursday, and Charleston (SC) on Friday. From there, I'm potentially driving to New Orleans, then back up through Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and into Connecticut where my son is being stationed with the Navy. Then, from there, I'll be driving back across the country to Utah. Somewhere in there, I should be crashing at hotels, or with plenty of time while I'm switched off driving with one of my sons, to post.

Posted on 2018-02-16 at 12:37:26.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: The site is hungry...


I am still being beat up at work. Haven't had any time to post lately. However, I'm about to hit the road which may provide me with more time.

I fly out to the East Coast on Tuesday. I'll be in Philadelphia Tuesday and Wednesday, in Charlotte (NC) on Thursday, and Charleston (SC) on Friday. From there, I'm potentially driving to New Orleans, then back up through Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and into Connecticut where my son is being stationed with the Navy. Then, from there, I'll be driving back across the country to Utah. Somewhere in there I should be crashing at hotels, or with plenty of time while I'm switched off driving with one of my sons, to post.

Posted on 2018-02-16 at 12:34:03.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Cool! Looking forward to it.


I've been broadsided at work. It's all good, but busy nonetheless.

Posted on 2018-02-13 at 15:01:54.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I know busy...


I've been broadsided at work. It's all good, but busy nonetheless.

Posted on 2018-02-13 at 15:01:24.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I know busy...


I've been broadsided at work. It's all good, but busy nonetheless.

Posted on 2018-02-13 at 15:00:55.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Awesome!


I look forward to it, Espatier!

So, as you can tell, I didn't get around to posting today, but neither did Tann or Aletheia (though Tann did PM me to tell me what to do with Casino if I posted before he did).

Tann, Aletheia, you both have a little bit longer to make it happen! I'll try to post this weekend. Most likely Sunday.

Posted on 2018-02-09 at 18:29:47.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Sorry you're sick!


I just posted. Thanks for the info, Roger.

Posted on 2018-02-09 at 18:27:03.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Day 1, Whitefall - Necessity, Rocinante, 9:30 PM PT


The ride and drive back to the ship is uneventful. Sam and Wyatt notice the deputy watching the Slaughterhouse as well but he makes no move to engage or even make eye contact with either of them, so Wyatt chooses to the do the same, guiding the mule down the street to meet up with Asher on their way back to Roc.

Sung spots Ma reading up in the observation dome. His discovery causes a short detour as he is inclined to hike the small staircase which draws the scarred woman's attention to him.

"How's the girl?" he puts towards her.

Ma nods her head and gives a small hand gesture that Wyatt knows means all is well, but Ma is worrying. Ma always worries. She writes a brief note on her pad and shows it to the Captain, ‘Doctor is taking good care of her. You should talk to her though'."

"Well, we got another dilemma," Sung quietly remarks while removing his hat and running his free hand through his black hair. "I picked up work, but we leave t'morrow night so we've got t' find a solution fer the girl's predicamen'. Think on that, will ya, Ma? I'm not too keen on becomin' a wet nurse while tryin' t' earn a livin'."

Ma gestures a quick, three-step motion with her hand denoting things stacking up. Another note, ‘Mrs. Wilson has family on Bellerophon. Offering to pay us some upfront and to stock our larder. Sister will pay us more on drop off. By any chance, would our job take us anywhere near there?'

"Might," Wyatt considers. "Course, I doubt it'd be an on the way sort o' thing. I'll talk with Sam ‘bout it an' see what we can conjure up."

Dipping his head in polite thanks to the woman who holds the crew together, the captain of the boat strolls back down into the dining room and through it to the forward hall. There he is met by Doctor Stephanie, who is making herself a tea. "Ahh Captain! Good evening. I hope your evening was prosperous?"

"Well ‘nuff t' keep us flyin', Miss Stephanie," he states and draws up near the counter to continue the conversation he knows is coming.

"Good. Good to hear. Chloe is doing well. She is responding well to rest and nutrition. Has Patricia already filled you in on Mrs. Wilson offer?

"Shìde," Sung delivers and removes his hat to run his fingers through his hair. "Bellerophon's close t' Pegasus, which is where we're headin'. Sam an' I'll work on a flight plan t' see if we can swing the whole thing. We got passengers comin'. We got t' concoct a story ‘bout Chloe that don't reveal nothin' t' no one, if'n we're gonna transport the whole of ‘em."

"Right. Well, I want to go in the morning to the local Church and see if I can see the Father. I don't like assuming he is a , bad person by birthright. I will be discreet. A number of the staff here go to church in the morning so I will mix in with them. I should be fine without an armed escort."

"Miss Stephanie, it's always better t' assume someone's a bad sort an' set yerself straight once they prove otherwise than be taken unawares with yer pants ‘round yer ankles." Scrutinizing the woman's face through narrowed eyes, the captain adds, "You sure you gotta go? I don' see no advantage to it an' I'd rather not stir nothing up were it possible. We're due t' burn atmo late evening t'morrow."

(OOC: Wyatt will accept her answer. He's learned just how stubborn doctors can me by dealing with Willow.)

Leaving the ship's doctor to her tea, Wyatt makes his way to his bunk. Dropping down his ladder into the homey chamber, he tosses his hat on the bed and immediately moves to Cortex terminal.

As the screen flares to life, Sung removes his gun belt and hangs it on the back of the chair. "Let's see what I can find on ol' Saul Potter," he mutters as he drops into the chair and stretches the tension out of his shoulders.

Typing in a general search, he scans the results, muttering along with each discovery, "Wealthy family, Sihnon, Joined the Independents, Huh. Londinium Naval Office. Go figure." Scanning further down, Captain Sung brings up an Independent recruiting video showcasing Saul Potter.

"Not everyone in the Core believes that unification is the correct course," beams a blue-eyed, blond-haired woman with angular features and a dazzling smile. She sits behind a desk behind which is displayed a scene of chaos Wyatt has witnessed many times over the years. Bureaucrats throwing things, practically rioting and engaging in physical altercations with each other, all in the austere setting of the Great Hall of Congress. The footage was used throughout the War to cement each side's reasons for engaging in the slaughter.

Wyatt continues to watch as the reporter delivers a biography of Saul Potter that highlights his service to the Independents despite his family ties with the Central Planets. A decorated naval officer who eventually accepted the role of aide-de-camp to one Admiral Roland Sharpe—Wyatt pauses the playback and settles back in his seat.

Admiral Sharpe. That's someone Wyatt hadn't thought about in a long, long time. Every one of the Brown Coats knows who Admiral Sharpe is—or was—and what he did for the Cause. That's why Potter rang familiar. Sung can only assume that he's heard their names spoken in the same circles; famous Admiral Sharpe and his sacrifice for the Independents. And now, their passenger is, by all appearances, the former aide-de-camp to a war hero, a man every Browncoat respects, a legend. Locked in a state of awe, Sung finds himself absently reactivating the video feed and half listens as the reporter continues her discourse on Saul Potter.

"And that, that heroism, proves that you don't have to be from the Rim to fight for us. Join to—"

Shaking himself from his wonderment, Wyatt stops the playback again and leans forward. Typing in new commands, he focuses the search on Admiral Sharpe and breathlessly devours the content that is presented.

Admiral Roland Aloysius Sharpe was a senior officer in the Londinium Navy before the Alliance Parliament put all military forces under a unified chain of command. To his credit, Sharpe retired, refusing to serve the new Parliament of the Union of Allied Planets. Instead, he joined the Independent Planets and was given the distinction of being the senior naval officer for the Independent Planets Space Navy.

During the Unification War, Sharpe was one of the key individuals who turned the Independent rebels into a fighting force able to resist the vastly superior Alliance for five years. He led the small Independent Navy throughout the war and commanded from his flagship "the Arms of Grace."

The next bit of news pieces covers the conspiracy around the Admiral's current situation. "Assassinated," Wyatt mumbles, remaining intent on the screen. "Assassinated, assassinated, went into hiding, ran away, being held prisoner by the Alliance, committed suicide," breathing out in disgust, Roc's captain scrolls deeper into the search and confirms what he could remember. "Vanished. Ain't no one seen, ‘er heard from him since."

Pausing his skimming on another recording, Sung commands it to play and stands up to stretch out his lower back.

"Despite the tense excitement spreading throughout the chamber in the early hours of this hearing, one big question remains," a darker-skinned man explains wearing a Central Planets-styled gray suit and looking over-worked and tired. "Where is Admiral Sharpe? Speculation over whether or not the infamous leader of the rebellion's navy would show seem to have been just. No one seems to know where he, or the crew of the ‘the Arms of Grace,' his battleship, are."

"What's the word on how this affront is going to be handled by the Parliament, Sameer?" A black-haired woman in a pale pink blouse shows up on the screen in a split view.

"Well, Leslie," Sameer raises his brows and shakes his head while offering a practiced frown, "nothing good, I'm afraid. The Parliament has stated that any leaders of the failed Independent faction who do not show up for the Amnesty Court are to be considered terrorists. I'm afraid that's how Admiral Sharpe's illustrious career is going to end, Leslie, as a fugitive."

Drawn back into his chair by the end of the report, Sung closes out the video and adds "fugitive" to his search options. Immediately, almost with a sense of urgency, a module pops up in front of him with a rotating image of an aged Admiral Roland Aloysius Sharpe with the words, "25,000 credits" flashing slowly below him. Options to view the pictures of the rest of his crew are also ready to be used, but Wyatt's focus is on the hardened and harsh-looking features of the great man while feelings of patriotism and loss resurrect in his chest.

He's not aware of time passing as he watches the slow turn of Sharpe's profile image. The Alliance hasn't been kind in their depiction of him. Mandarin characters label him a coward, a terrorist, a scoundrel, and more hurtful adjectives about his character. Allowing the flowing icons to burn into his eyes, the captain and loyal Browncoat burns with the interior fire only a warrior defeated in an unjust battle can stoke.

"You've two choices, Mr. Sung," the Law states from across the smooth, dingy desk that sits between them. "You can stay here an' face the noose,"

Wyatt can still feel the shackles about his wrists; heavy and thick enough that even in his righteous anger and loss-filled pain, he is still woefully aware of their presence. Looking up from his scarred hands, a much younger Sung asked, "Or?"

"Or," the marshal sinks back into his chair with the creaking of ancient spring coils. "You can git the hell off my planet an' join up with the Independents."

Even then, Wyatt's stare had a hard edge to it. He wasn't quite adept as he is now at keeping his cool when under pressure, but he could manage. "What do ya mean? I got land—"

"You had land, Mr. Sung," the lawman corrects. "Had bein' the operative word here. You kilt a bunch of folk today, an' though they certainly deserve what you gave ‘em, I have t' answer to a higher authority. I guarantee you that this higher authority ain't gonna see things the way I do."

"How's that? Them boys murdered—"

"An' you murdered them boys!" the lawman growls while the fire burns brighter within the young widower. "That's how them Alliance lawmen are gonna see it. You ain't got no right t' hurt them boys, let alone kill ‘em. No matter what they done."

Leaning forward, the sheriff wipes the anger from his rugged face and draws a more compassionate expression up in its stead. "Wyatt, I heard you an' Hayword talkin' ‘bout the war effort an' I'm highly sensitive to yer plight. Take my offer, son. Take my offer an' don' come back. Make yer life, an' their deaths, mean something."

"Make yer life, an' their deaths, mean something." Those words followed Wyatt through the war. Even now, they seem to echo through the metal walls of Roc's crew quarters jarring the captain from his reverie.

Coughing into the hand he's using to wipe the haze from his face, Sung blinks his vision back into alignment and presses his tongue against the dry roof of his mouth. Drink is how he used to deal with situations like this and the powerful urge to fall back into the bottle struggles against his willpower.

"‘Hem," coughing again, he rolls his shoulders. "Focus on somethin' else," he commands, leaning forward once more and losing any further urge to even think more about the past, about their new passengers, or Admiral Sharpe. "Pegasus. Tell me ‘bout Pegasus."

Typing in his request, Captain Sung scans the information presented to him by the Cortex. "Moon of Bellerophon—knew that, Terraforming didn' go well. Hmmm. No' much cover." Rolling his gaze over the reports of acidity levels by Alliance scientists, he registers the mention of scrub growth, lichen, and crabgrasses. Buried amongst what the ‘Verse could surely care less about is the mention of the base that Wyatt thinks he remembers. "Construction never completed, Bettin' this base has somethin' t' do with our destination."

There's not much more about the base as the Alliance seems to have clamped their fist around any useful information and withdrawn it from the Public's view. One thing that is revealed by the search into the moon is that Saul was correct about the apogee of Pegasus. Whitefall and Pegasus are as close as they ever get to each other and for the next week travel time between the two is severely reduced. Two days ought to be enough time even when flying dark. Realizing their job just became easier, Wyatt's nerves release their hold on his stomach and a fluttering of relief makes its tingling journey out through his extremities.

"Thirty-five years ‘til this happens again," he muses. "By Buddha, I hope we're still flyin' when it does." Clearing the screen, Captain Sung pulls up his ship communications system and drops in a few of the articles covering the apogee, the information he'd found on the moon and the base, as well as his thoughts about their destination on Pegasus. Then, rounding off the message, he adds his thoughts concerning Chloe and Bellapheron so that Sam can consider everything as he looks at potential flight plans. Not finding it necessary to put a signature of any kind to the message, and having already buried the experience thinking about Admiral Sharpe brought about while not wishing to revisit it, Sung sends Dash the information and switches off his screen.

Blinking at the small green pinpoint light center on the console, he whispers, "Willow, I hope yer well, This is fer you."

Rising from the chair, he slides it back beneath the Cortex link, walks to his vanity and pulls the sink into operation. Turning on the water, Captain Sung takes up the small tin cup he keeps in the basin and fills it to the brim. Tossing the warmish liquid down his throat, he closes his eyes and prays that it will be enough to satiate his desire to drink himself into oblivion. It isn't. But his promise to Willow is, and Wyatt takes a deep breath before setting about readying himself for bed.


Posted on 2018-02-09 at 18:26:27.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Indeed. Nice posts all around.


Sometimes it takes a little time to get the ship launched. You all are bearing with the process rather well.

I've updated the game and am looking forward to your posts!

Posted on 2018-02-09 at 16:56:04.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 6:16 P.M.; The Sun


"In the meantime, Goncalvo," Anne switches directions like an Atlantic petrel on the winds, "now's the time ya share with me the spoils o' yer journey ashore. I don't know yet whether we need t' make a hasty departure, but I wanna know we can an' where t' go when the time's upon us."

Goncalvo takes a seat across from his captain. "Well lets see, there were several interesting ports talked about," New Orleans, Charleston, Mexico City, and others come up along with the routes throughout the West Indies. "...and so you have your pick of places to raid. Perhaps by the time we return, your sister's actions will have been forgotten." Goncalvo cracks a wry smile, "As for gentlemen wanting to see knickers, I have to disagree. Knickers only get in the way of a proper spanking."

"I wouldn't know," Captain Cole says flatly. Having strangled the life out of the banter, the red head refocuses the conversation. "I aim t' make this port a viable location for us, Mr. Goncalvo. If we need t' lay low fer a while, I'd rather do so somewhere in the West Indies. Find me a place an' ready the Dog t' make sail quick should we need t'."

(OOC: Time is roughly 6:16 PM)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:08 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

As the girl skitters away, Fin's attention returns, in full, to the man across the table and he leans back in his chair a bit. "More important than where I'm from, Mister Oken," he suggests, "is wha' ye might be needin' a bloke like me fer, an' wha' sort o' coin ye'd be offerin' fer my services."

"You are as direct as your means of dealing with Mr. Kidane indicates," Oken flatly eyes the pirate. "I am making a character judgment, Mr. Crowe, even by sharing this table with you. Do you understand?"

Crowe answers with a nod as even as Oken's gaze. Aye, he doesn't bother to speak out loud, I reckon I un'erstand well enough.


"Rushing this potential relationship will do neither of us any good, least of all, my employer. And it is for the sake of my employer that I'm conducting this meeting. You'll do well should this meeting prove fruitful. Patience shall prove a virtue, indeed."

At that, a bit of an ironic smile plays on Crowe's lips. I waited a good lot o' years ta send Kidane ta Hell, he manages not to say aloud as another curt nod accompanies the bit of his reply to which he does give voice, "Ye'll find I got th' patience o' Job when it comes ta business, Mester Oken."

"This Sun Dog vessel of which you speak," the dandy continues his uncomfortable stare, "You say that a Captain Cole commands. Do you have his ear, or is it to him that I should be speaking?"

Rustling skirts and a stirring of the warm air surrounding their table announces the arrival of the serving wench who places two earthen mugs and a dark brown bottle on the table in front of them before making a hasty exit.

The pirate's gaze abandons Oken's only long enough to track the girl's retreat and, in so doing, quickly surveys the Rub's common room, once more. The aristocrat's presumption that Captain Cole is a man mildly intensifies the sardonic set of Crowe's features as he turns his storm-blue eyes back toward Oken, but he stops short of challenging the man's speculation. Instead, he simply reaches for the bottle that the serving wench has left and pours a healthy sample into each of the mugs.

"Th' Capt'n trusts me judgement," Fin rasps, returning the bottle to the table and nudging one of the mugs in Elias' direction in a single motion. "I c'n arrange a parlay if ye'd pr'fer," he continues, lifting his own mug and indulging in a sip as he settles back and offers a shrug, "but, seein' as Coles' ears an' mine hear much th' same, ye'd be savin' us both a piece o' time choosin' ta converse wit' me."

Silence descends over the table for a moment as Mr. Oken considers the tanned and weather worn man sitting before him. Finally raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips as though bored with his speculations, Elias produces a lacy white handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabs at his right temple. "Fresh from London, this Sun Dog of yours. Whose flag does she fly, Mr. Crowe? The Empire's? The Company's?"

(OOC: Assuming something ambiguous,)

"I see. But the late Mr. Kidane knew you and you he, so this is not your first visit to this part of the New World. Are there any others amongst this Captain Cole's crew who might have combustible history in these locales?"

(OOC: Assuming an encouraging comment of some kind,)

Pausing once more, Mr. Oken watches Fin take another sip of the rum before continuing, "Despite your impressive performance with Mr. Kidane and his men, you must understand that I need to test the mettle of your compatriots before I'll feel comfortable suggesting that my employer trusts his business to you.

"This is the offer on the table, Mr. Crowe. There will be no negotiating." The dandy waits for a few breaths to gauge the quartermaster's likelihood of interrupting. (OOC: assuming none,)

"A debt needs to be paid, Mr. Crowe, and I want you to collect it. Barbados is where you'll manage this task as the dishonorable fool who owes my employer has fled to the Isla del Barbado where he now seeks passage to the Old World to escape his debt. Bring him to me alive and you'll earn one hundred guinea as well as the right to another job. Bring him to me dead and you'll receive twenty-five guinea and I'll consider the future at that time."




(OOC: Time is roughly 12:15 PM.)

----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:05 P.M.

Lost her temper, that was what she has done. Cracker is not much of a gambler—unusual for a pirate—but he'd put a pretty penny (or whatever poor pennies he can actually put together) on the fact that someone had stepped on that pretty red-headed temper. Some idiot probably tried to treat her like a lady, he thinks with a bit of a grin as he moves quickly down the road. He continues to keep his eyes open for information—either about the ships in port or his fiery superior officer. He whistles a bit as he heads back to water. Sometimes life amuses him.

Cracker's walk slows a bit as he comes to realize that he has no idea where he is. He's on an island! How hard can it be to keep track of the sea? He finally comes to a stop in the middle of a pleasant little courtyard. The place seems peaceful and appears to have all of those features that make the land home to many. But, alas, he is not here to find a home... or even the lass that had worn those knickers, he smiles as he glances at some of the hanging laundry.

Shaking his head, he looks up to the sky. He knows which direction the harbor faces. If he can see where the sun is he should be able to tell which way is South. Shadows play across the courtyard and he is able to assume directions from the deepening creep that's swallowing the patio and causing the clucking chickens to fight for the little remaining sun.

He glances quickly each way, sniffs the air for a hint of the sea, and heads to the Right. It is right, after all, right? He enjoys the sense of the land under his feet and heads off, doing his best to keep his eye out for the sun, signs of an uphill climb, or a likely person with whom to speak should he need to. Fortune smiles on the boatswain, though, and he finds himself soon upon a path of simple deduction that leads him quickly back to a main street and that, then, towards the harbor.

Despite attempting to keep his eye on his surroundings, William is oft distracted by the site of a shapely woman working, walking, or otherwise just existing. Before he realizes how much of an eye he's not kept out for potential threats, the sandy shoreline is already in view and seabirds scream in the nearby light blue skies.

A few paces later and Cracker arrives on the edge of the line of buildings adjacent to the street. From his vantage, the Sun Dog sits sleek and promising with her sails furled and her masts slicing the horizon. There's no sign of the longboat at the shore, but William can see it pulling towards the Dog with two people at the oars, and he's pretty sure one of them is Shark Tooth.

(OOC: Time is about 2:20 pm)

----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:05 P.M.

Buildings rise up on either side of the street blocking her view of the landscape thereabouts and everything is crammed together so tightly, she can't tell one establishment from the other. Situationally stumped, there's no other option but to keep walking as she sure as hell isn't going to ask for directions to the nearest dive. Staying on this small road isn't going to help her situation any but traversing into the open where she can only imagine that her description is more readily flowing amongst the locals and the law isn't appealing. The question becomes, how is she to find Crowe and continue her mission without getting captured?

As she slows her pace and walked towards what she can only hope is somewhere safer, she passes her keen, sharp eyes over the facade of every building, every bit of brick and stone and glass, looking for something, anything, that might help her out of her current situation. She can only guess that some of these are houses, and of a classier sort than she'd ever had, or ever would have. Not that she wants it, per se, but for a single brief moment she wonders what her life would be like if all she had to sorry about was whether her tea would be served hot enough. And as soon as the thought came, it leaves with a wrinkle of her nose and a snort of derisive laughter. Let the soft frilly ladies with more stuffing than stuff in their heads have that life. She has better things to do...

Like get to Crowe, and back to the ship, and out of this bloody mess.

The abandoned building would be good enough to hide in, but she is nowhere near ready to hide like a frightened rabbit. And it looks more like it'd fall in on her and hide her bones under a pile of rubble, rather than keep her safe. No, she'll pass on that, thank you.

When her eyes light upon the dressmaker's shop, her stomach knots and roils. But, she muses, it might be just the thing I need,


Maggie makes her way with purpose to the door and sucks in a deep breath before trying the handle. Already, her body stiffens, her face softens, and she carries herself as if...

She glances around to see if the shopkeep is available and takes a breath, reached into her coin purse and the feel of the coins in her hand. After all, everyone speaks that language when it comes down to it.

While waiting for the shopkeep, she browses the clothes, looking for something simple and basic, something a servant girl would wear, maybe with an apron. Her story forms as she touches the fabrics. She just hopes she can be convincing enough, or that her gold would, at the very least, be. Offerings at the front of the shop are definitely for the more discerning individuals and it is about two thirds of the way back down the narrow showroom floor, stifling with the heat, that the first mate finds the assortment of skirts, blouses, and aprons she's looking for.

"Can I, help, you?" A thickly accented and deep voice draws Maggie's attention away from the fabrics to the back of the store where a thin black man has emerged wearing an apron of tanned leather with many pockets across the front. The Cole girl cannot place his accent and it is difficult to understand what he's saying, but she can surmise.

(OOC: Assuming a comment about purchasing an outfit,)

Blinking large bloodshot eyes in dismay at what's standing before him, the fellow attempts to pull himself together enough to reply, "The masta o' the store be at a fittin' bu' he no be objectin' t' me makin' a sale, I t'inks. Tell me miss, where be ya from tha' ya don' ‘ave proper clothes?"

(OOC: Time is roughly 2:12 PM)


Posted on 2018-02-09 at 16:54:20.

Topic: An old face returns?
Subject: Brilliant!


I am beyond excited for this return. Aragorn's got nothing on you!

Posted on 2018-02-09 at 15:35:01.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: FYI


I hope to have a post go up tomorrow. Last chance to get your posts in.

Posted on 2018-02-08 at 18:57:06.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Someone in the Cosmos hated that player...


Lady Dark, to answer your question: Okay, so Maggie is lost and trying to find Crowe. What are the buildings she's walking past? Are any of them clothing stores? Either men's or ladies? or any place where the shopkeepers wear a uniform?

Small sitting area beneath a tree (little lot) | street | large boarding house/inn
Run down building (doesn't look safe) | street | Private Garden
Residence | street | Empty lot
Private Garden | street | Residence
Residence | street | Residence
Boarding House/Inn | street | Residence
Street | Street | Street
Small Smoke Shop | Street | Paper/Book Shop
Blacksmith | Street | Shipping Supply Shop
Brothel | Street | Restaurant/Tavern
Dress Shop | Street | Restaurant/Tavern
Grocer/Market | Street | City Official Office
Tailor | Street | Guard Outpost

FYI - I'll look to posting tomorrow. Been swamped at work.



Posted on 2018-02-08 at 18:54:25.

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


So, I plan on posting tomorrow. Just giving a heads up.

Posted on 2018-02-08 at 18:46:24.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Excellent.


I encourage color. If I don't think something fits, I'll edit it, but I try to be a collaborative GM.

Posted on 2018-02-05 at 08:59:16.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: No prob...


I can completely empathize.

Posted on 2018-02-05 at 08:58:12.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I have posted again, everyone.


There is a lot of detail for people to interact with. Don't forget that you can insert your character's actions and statement throughout. I just write as far as I can to keep the story moving, not to restrict character interaction. I can always fix timelines and such as you've already seen.

Posted on 2018-02-03 at 01:35:19.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: West Park Mallplex | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:55


Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Echo stays near the door, allowing the medic to move past her—all the better for her to cover the only presumed exit. She looks about the room, noticing the cloths covering everything, the chips, the paintings, the small, but effective, handgun trained on them, etc. Her eyes stop on what is obviously a computer under one of the sheets and she finds herself wishing Blossom was here to hack that piece of hardware. Damn.

"As you can see," Dr. Carey states while still keeping his weapon leveled at them from his waist. "There's no reason for Ms. White to be concerned. I will be back no later than Thursday and I've already arranged my substitute as well as a backup should Lynn fall through. So, I see no reason for further concern."

"If I may," Bloodbank steps forward and removes his mask showing raised brow and a soft expression. "I'm in the medical profession, Dr. Carey, and you look like you could use some rest. Maybe some medication to help you sleep? Something, you're practically falling over as we speak."

Suspiciously eyeing the armored young man, Phil finally shakes his balding head very slowly, "No. No stimulants. I've got to keep my he—"

"My subjects!"

Startling the wary edgerunners (OOC: Make COOL checks to keep from drawing weapons or responding with hostility,) a woman with streaming blond hair practically cascades from the bedroom, swinging the door wide and grandly sweeping into the room. Atop her head is a plaspex crown of silver decorated by colored chips of synthetic metal. She wears a lacy white cotton nightgown and carries herself with a bearing of dignity and nobility that belies her outfit.

"Kneel before me," she declares excitedly, wide eyes falling upon the edgers.

To Fixer, the woman seems more'n a bit crazy, and the crown is worthy of the streets, but she seems harmless and might be the key to getting Carey to put the gun down and take some meds. Fixer isn't sure that the muscle in the group understands what it means to kneel. So, he takes it upon himself to see where such action will lead.

Taking half a step towards the "queen," just enough to no longer be in the back, he drops to one knee, slightly dipping his head while declaring, "Your Highness graces us with her presence."

Now all he can do is wait to see what either the queen bee or the teacher will do. Sometimes, in the quest for information you have to do weird crap. Call this weird.

You'd think he would fit right in at Camelot with all those knights I read about as a kid. Yeah, right. Lady, this building's elevators may go to top floor, but yours sure don't. Echo mentally grimaces.

Vegas literally jumps at the woman's immediate and hurried entrance. He's not proud of it and as soon as he realizes the condition the woman is in, the Sinatra fanboy feels badly for reflexively gripping his Mark II in its shoulder holster beneath his overcoat. Slowly releasing the weapon, he considers Fixer's bold response. Ol' Blue Eyes didn't kneel and neither will he no matter why the techie figures it'll help.

Stepping forward with the intent to put an immediate end to this tomfoolery, Vegas is stopped by a grip on his left bicep. Glancing towards the hand's owner, the crooner is surprised to see Bloodbank shaking his head.

Momentary distress washes over Dr. Carey's long face and his pistol wavers from its steady position for a moment while he considers what to do in response to the woman's arrival. Decision made in a second flat, he forcefully breaks from his stance and rushes to her side where he wraps his right arm over her shoulder and takes her left in his left hand; a position that affords him the ability to still point the weapon in the general direction of his visitors.

"My wife," he explains somewhat icily. Then, to her, he speaks gently, "Dear, please. If you go back in the room and lie down I'll bring you some food."

"Some kind of dementia," Bloodbank whispers just loud enough for those closest to him to intercept. "Best not to agitate the situation by challenging it."

Vegas glances towards the still kneeling techie, "What about adding to it?"

Mrs. Casey shakes her head and thrusts out her bottom lip stalling any further comments from the medtech, "No. I wish to be told how much I am loved by my subjects."

"Toni, please," Phil begs into the blond hair cascading over her ear. "This situation isn't safe."

"Why is only one kneeling?" Toni Casey raises her eyebrows imperiously and sinks back into her husband's chest. "Why are the lights so dim, Phil? Why am I so cold?"

Glancing furtively past the blond's crown, Dr. Carey's gaze darts to each of his visitor's faces while his right arm wraps tighter about her drawing the barrel of the weapon off its mark. "It's all right, honey. Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

"Uh," the medtech takes a half-step forward and raises his right hand in visual protest, "Doctor Casey?"

"Yes?" Phil pauses and suspiciously looks towards the man.

"Yes?" Toni starts as a moment of clarity strikes her eyes and she gazes upon Bloodbank just before her expression returns to complete boredom and she drops into a slack-jawed stupor.

"Wha—?" Colin "Bloodbank" Stobb involuntarily shakes his head as if to clear it. Both of them? Is she really a doctor or is this another of her delusions? Sweeping his companions with a gaze to register their assessment, the young medtech offers Vegas an opportunity to regain some control.

"I'm sorry, chap," the crooner takes his turn in restraining the medtech with a hand on his bicep while making a gamble. "We didn't realize you are both in possession of doctorates. I believe my friend here was specifically speaking to you, old man, not your wife."

Phil Carey hesitates and then nods. "My wife, Toni, she's very sick. If you'll excuse me a moment."

(OOC: Assuming no one stops him,)

Vegas barely dips his head in acknowledgement and as Dr. Carey leads Dr. Carey back into the only other room in the flat, the altered solo moves quietly across the floor keeping the thin blonde man in view.

"Do you see any signs of a child?" Bloodbank whispers.

Vegas shakes his head but keeps his eyes on the activities in the other room. A moment later, he shifts and politely turns his gaze partially away. Phil Carey emerges from the bedroom with the weapon still in hand but hanging limply at his side as he uses his free hand to close the door behind him.

"My wife is also a Phd. Computer science," he states in a disparate tone. "Unfortunately, she is unable to work due to her, condition. Ms. White is aware of the situation, but no one else at the school knows and I'd appreciate it staying that way."

"What happened?" Colin can't help but satiate his curiosity.

"She usually isn't as bad as this," Phil glances forlornly towards the door he just shut. "I've had to pretend to be sick for several days to look after her. I can't leave her alone when she's like this or she'll go wandering off and who knows what could happen to her then.

"She used to be brilliant, you know? A hotshot programmer—we met at University. But, she isn't very strong-willed and loves virtual reality fantasy experiences. She'd play them all day, every day, and eventually lost touch with reality. And now, well, now,

"She's usually capable of managing for the most part. She's got a little job in a burger joint down on the second floor flipping tofu-burgers, but that's all she can manage. She used to be so brilliant—so wonderful,"

Phil's eyes swell with tears and his long, skinny nose turns a deep shade of red as he rapidly blinks to keep the liquid at bay.

(OOC: Any other character wish to interact,?)

(OOC: Time is 6:03 PM PST)

----------------------------------------------

Wolf Point Plaza | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:34 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"Wolf Point Plaza it is." The sniper gathers his things and turns to head out. "Let's try to deplete my ammo supplies a bit less this time shall we?"

Breaking from the group, Ghlahn adjusts his bag and shouldered rifle in one roll of his arm and looks to his left, and then his right, before setting off across the street. The red light provides him safety in his passage and the people are so caught up in their usual routines to pay him much more attention than what's necessary to get out of his way. All in all, the walk to Wolf Point Plaza is uneventful and soon enough, the Cee-Metal soldier finds himself approaching the street level entrance to the building.

Security is light. At least as far as Ghlahn can see. Broken camera casings hang over the building doors, doors in place to keep the elements out, but not to act as barricades for the unwanted souls wandering the streets. The glass is laced with chicken wire—a means of keeping even broken shards in place developed centuries ago. There's no additional security in the wire; a strong kick could break through it and tear it from the frame. Security would be in place in individual shops, perhaps for floors if residents can afford the price tag or the floor is owned by a corporation to house employees.

Strolling up to the doors, M'haru Ghlahn reaches out with his bare hand and takes hold of the cold, wet steel handle, pulling it open with a tug that swings it wide. Beyond the doors the hall is more of a cobblestone corridor street approximately ten to fifteen meters wide with a rustic steel rafter style ceiling about five meters overhead bearing recesses approximately one and a half meters deeper. To his right is an open medical clinic: Med-X Clinique. To his left is an electronic fuel cell replacement store with a bright neon light sign depicting the logo Green Life with a green leaf icon emitting a halo of electricity. These two storefronts run the length of the initial corridor and lead right into an intersection where if this were a building in the High City a holographic catalog would be, but instead, a large podium stands with a digital directory. A cursory look shows an elevator bank to his right, down the connecting hall with a stairwell next to it while escalators to the adjacent floors lie down the next hall.

Also shown on the directory are the shops down each of the intersecting hallways. To the right: Thinkwell Counseling Services, Boom n' Bump Entertainment, Clone Crate, Galaxy Brew Coffee, O'Casey's Pub down one side with the elevator and stairs between Clone Crate and Galaxy Brew Coffee. Down the other side: Horizon Caravan Rentals, Base Decoration & Decor, Wolf Point Civic Center, Peaceful Rest Mortuary, Dom's Diversions, and El Experiencia Espiritual Restaurant. To the left, towards the escalators, down past the electronic fuel store side there's Gregory's Pizzeria, Affordable Tires, Rubin's Grocery, an empty and available cube partition, and The Painted Tiger Chinese Restaurant. Down the other side, there's Home High & Low Depot, Little Collectibles, Arctic Storm Ice Cream, Shifted Polarity, Heartland Pharmaceuticals & Vitamins, and The Mad Vine Restaurant.

The fifth floor should provide a decent position if he can get access to any of the circle-facing cubes. Pressing the digital touch screen with his thumb, Ghlahn brings up the fifth floor directory which provides the following businesses facing the circle from far south to the north: Dynamicworks Temp Agency, Silverecords Agent Sales, The Parlour Restaurant, The Smoke Vault, Wolf Point Plaza Mid-City Water Treatment Center, The Golden Shrimp Seafood Restaurant, United States Marines Recruiting Office, Pipe Cleaners Plumbing, National Urban Farming Center, Spring Forest Medical Clinic, The Citadel Cinema, Sapphire Oasis Spa. South to north on the other side there's Tropic Cove Pool, Night City PD Auxiliary Station, Sports Guys Style & Cuts, The Hot Spice Restaurant, Resonance Travel Agency, The Solar After Dark Restaurant, Vegas Odds, Night City PD Wolf Point Plaza Holding Facility, an empty cube, F.B.I. Remote Station, and Oceanside Academic Maintenance & Cleaning Services.

The fourth floor won't be as ideal, but it will still be functional. Switching to this floor's directory, M'haru Ghlahn studies the list of cubes, scanning from south to north, street-facing first: Pacific Palms Hotel (a coffin hotel), Night City Mid-City Fire & Rescue Station 132, The Metal Camel Bar, The Pepper Chicken Restaurant, Sanura's Sight Psychic Readings, Broadwater Surgical Center, Hall of Color Paint & Wall Coverings, The Calculating Blade, Morris Glass, Johnson & Spence Optometry, New Forest Garden Indoor Park, The Compass Business Offices while down the other side from south to north are the Velvet Bee Cleaning Services, Eden Clinic, The Sugar Dream Desserts & Pastries, Seven Wonders Miniature Golf, Rubio's Mexican Food, The Square Steakhouse, Red Cab Relay Center, Enusat Lodge #245 California Free & Accepted Masons Temple, Little Whiskers - Pet Shop, East Valley Dental Clinic, The Open Hollows Residential Cube, Curiosity Antique Books, Happyland Gun & Munitions Shop.

The sixth floor would be better, possibly. Switching to the sixth floor directory, the sniper studies the layout, again from south to north. This floor appears to be primarily residential. Autumn Blossom Duplex Cube, Wolf Point Plaza Mid-City Athletic Center, Quiet Treasure Duplex Cube, Serene Palace Private Suite, Western Temple Duplex Cube, Wolf Greens Soccer Field, Sand Cove Indoor Park, Upper South Avenues Duplex Cube, South Groves Apartment Cubes, Cherry Blossom Duplex Cubes, Goose Feather Duplex Cubes, Wolf Point Plaza Postal Station - Mid-City, and on the other side; Thornbush Grounds Indoor Park, Willowbranch Private Residence, Morning Star Private Suite, Little Vineyard Indoor Garden, Green Haven Farmstead, Dandelion Farms, Moonlight Gardens, Highland Gardens, Sierra Park, Westview Elementary School, Cabinwood Estates Duplex Cubes.

Now, the choice has to be made.

(OOC: Time is 5:45 PM PST)

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Tranquil Grotto | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:34 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

No other questions are raised and the party accepts the plan as its been finalized there on the street corner.

Striding away, Casino begins scanning the streets. He's still hot off the presses, so to speak, and despite his newly acquired mask, he may still be recognizable for ambitious bounty hunters and cops. He needs to be alert.

Brown eyes dart from one masked face to another searching for signs of recognition, interest, or suspicion. Grinning half-masks, dopey looking emoticon full face masks, skin masks, cheap medical masks, old-fashion gas masks, everyone wears a mask to protect what little health they have from the heavy pollutants in the air, their identities, and their skeletons—their secrets.

This time, Casino's passage through the masses of humanity is like that of a cutter through swelling waters. Tranquil Grotto presents itself as a conglomeration of various prefab cubes painted a soft eggshell white dulled by weather, marked with unsightly birds' nests and droppings, and graffitied by street tags wherever a delinquent could gain purchase. The geometric forms practically collide in a seemingly misshapenned tower of child play blocks and yet, each section ultimately compliments the full facade. Though not one of the fabled Starscrapers that rise up above the clouds into the thinnest reaches of the atmosphere, smog hides the uppermost stories from the Mid-City street view.

On the map, Casino had spotted a section of the building that would provide him with the best vantage. The main entrance is not on that section. However, his hope that the Grotto would provide the least security difficulties appears to be legitimized the closer he gets to the large white and green marble face surrounding the series of double doors leading inside.

All of the security camera globes surrounding the entrance have been tagged, broken out, or completely removed leaving scars in their place. Drawing closer, the large leather-clad solo spots the remains of savaged biometric scanners next to each of set of doors. In their places are equally violated keypads. Judging by the swinging door of one of the sets, the building's owners have given up on keeping the riff raff from the interior.

Glancing at the outcropping buttresses of the Tranquil Grotto's arm he's looking to gain access to, Keith "Casino" Story pulls the door open and strides into the dank stench awaiting him. Ammonia mixed with urine immediately assails his nostrils. Humidity trapped in the narrow compartment separating the exterior from the interior lobby by another set of doors makes it to feel heavier, stickier, coaxing his leather to cling to his flesh like a forlorn lover. Filtration systems on his cheap, discount mask struggle to keep the flavors of the chamber from tickling his tongue as he presses forward through the next set of double doors determined to remain on his course.

True to buildings such as these, Casino finds himself in a large, u-shaped lobby with dirty and stained white and green tile floors, more of the marble wainscoting that was on the exterior of the Grotto and calming, light green walls and faux wood vaulted and recessed ceilings. More street tags decorate the walls, broken picture frames hang from advantageous positions along each of the longer stretches showing photography from around the world—special scenes of serenity pools and sunsets, beaches, and astere pastures. But these pieces of art also bear the mark of hooligans and their lack of respect for other people's property. Center in the lobby is a booth like those found at movie theaters only designed to be higher class; maybe even a bit pompous. Thick glass provides the occupants inside the booth with some semblance of protection but the solo wouldn't bet in favor of the panes withstanding any of the higher caliber weapons he carries.

Making a quick assessment of the elevator locations on either side of the booth, the edgerunner walks towards the left arm of the U. Glancing into the booth as he passes, Casino spots a lone figure sitting in a wheeled swivel chair reading a tablet computer. A fair-skinned black man with salt and pepper, short cut hair worn in a high fade and a snow white goatee, the man is wearing a set of blue with white pinstripes coverall. The name patch over his left breast pocket reads, "Harvey" in red thread over a white oval field and it is obvious right away that he isn't interested in the solo's business at the Tranquil Grotto. He doesn't even glance up.

Much more narrow than the central lobby, the arm Casino makes his way down is barely four meters wide, tops. A fake plant in a cracked pot stands in the middle of the hall to his left, but aside from that pathetic attempt at decorating, the hall is empty. At the far end, it breaks to the left taking the edger down another short corridor and into the leg of the building he's interested in. Finding himself in another, smaller lobby, Keith approaches the wall bearing the three elevator banks where a soiled paper hangs taped to the pale green paint.

HOLOGRAPHIK DIRECTORY BROKEN. READ PLACK.

In contempt of the spelling errors, Casino finds himself able to decipher the sign's meaning and peers about for the plaque it references. The individual who is responsible for finding a solution to the problem is generous in his description as the plaque is nothing more than a chalkboard hanging on the wall behind him in a small recessed area upon which more poorly written directions have been placed.

A decent vantage point for an overwatch position would be the fifth or sixth floor with his optic splice. Figuring a sprint down stairs and not waiting for the elevator if he needed to break from his position to provide support, Keith draws on his experience plus his high school public education and attempts to calculate the time it will take him to descend six stories at a full sprint and hit the street. If he's done his math right, it's between three and five seconds per floor. Clenching his jaw against the pain rolling through his arm, the wounded edgerunner assesses the variables on the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors.

On the fourth, he has to contend with Hope Park, a cube for rent, Songbird Meadows Park, Level Nine Security Station 426, Wildflower Duplex, and Freedom Pool while the exterior section—the section he needs to pay closer attention to—includes Oak Wood Duplex, Rebirth Apartments, Sunset Dog Park, Pleasant View Residential Suite, Moonlight Duplex, and the Seaside Grounds Park.

The fifth floor spread is Ladybug Meadows Park, Nirvana Heights Apartment Cubes, High Garden Private Suite, Savanna Garden, Moss Forest Apartment Cubes, Windy Grounds East Park, with the circle-facing prefabs being Windy Grounds West Park, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 5, Whitewater Estate, Whitewater Private Park, and Tranquil Grotto Elementary.

Reading the scribbles indicating the sixth floor's occupants, Casino finds the interior to contain Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6a, Old Stone Private Residence, Canyon Crest Private Residence, Emerald Moss Indoor Park, Sunnyside Duplex, and Robinwood Private Residence, while the exterior holds Windy Oaks Private Residence, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6b, Clearview Meadows Park, Pioneer Duplex, Truth Square Duplex, and Pleasant Shores Gardens.

Turning back to the three elevator banks, Casino makes up his mind.

(OOC: Time is 5:44 PM PST)

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Infinity Towers | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:34 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"Ok, seems to me the three best spots are first, directly east of the mallplex; the Wolf Point Plaza. If one of us is able to gain a position within that building at a slightly higher altitude than street level, they could effectively keep an eye on the main entrance, the delivery bay, courtyard, and potentially two other entrances. Ghlahn, you want to try that one?" Casino pauses to look at the party's resident sniper for his approval.

"Wolf Point Plaza it is," the sniper gathers his things and turns to head out. "Let's try to deplete my ammo supplies a bit less this time shall we?"

"We can always try, sport," Vegas smiles good-naturedly and nods the man away.

"Ok," Casino continues, "second is the Infinity Towers at the corner of 4329.45 Dawn Ridge Road and West Park Circle. If we can somehow again get an overwatch post high enough, the watcher could potentially see the entire north side of the building and potentially even the west. However, if I were a betting man, that will be the best secured of the three buildings and not gonna be easy to get into. Might be best for you, Charlie, and your drone. That ok with you?"

Cred Stick Charlie considers his study of the group Starlight has put him in with, but he's drawing a blank on what drives each of them. Besides the actual masks they're wearing, these operators are keeping their personal motivations pretty well bottled up.

"I have a suggestion... Let me go with the sniper," Charlie says, watching M'haru Ghlahn walk away from beneath the dripping brim of his hat. "Let me be his eyes, ears and intel person. Let this HOG (Hunter Of Gunmen) do what you solos do best and that is observation, surveillance, target acquisition, and overwatch, so that he can make a clean kill. I'll be his guard and the only thing that he has to worry about is listening to the radio while making the shot when it counts. Agreed?"

"Whoa!" Bloodbank raises his hands to slow the direction of the conversation. "We aren't operating under the assumption that we're going to shoot this fella, are we? We don't know what we're going to encounter when we get there."

"It's just a precaution," Vegas chimes in, a thoughtful eye on the newcomer.

"Besides," the fixer continues, "the drone views are from from above and not horizontal like your sniper here. It would be more advantageous for me to be at the Wolf Point Plaza and move the drone between the other two stations to assist the hunter / killer teams. At 11,000 feet, the drone asset abilities widen, I should be able to track many different targets so that we hopefully don't lose track of the rabbit on the run. That is the way that I feel that I would be used most effectively as part of your team; effectively giving combat support to you killers and your happy hunting."

"That makes sense," the medtech considers, "though I don't like the constant consideration of putting this guy on ice."

"Sounds solid to me," Vegas acknowledges with a nod of appreciation.

Casino listens to Charlies suggestion and right away finds a flaw, "So, let me get this straight so I'm not misunderstanding what your suggesting. You set up with Ghlahn and fly your drone between my position, his position, and the Infinity Towers is that the nature of your idea?"

Charlie simply says, "Yes."

"Ok," the mountain of a man replies calmly, "then that leaves the Infinity Towers uncovered for what, three to four minutes, each sweep? A lot can happen in that time frame. If he bolts out of any of those exit ways by the time your drone makes it back, our target could be gone. What then?"

Considering the comments and the strategy behind them, Cred Stick Charlie finds it easy to assume that the rough-looking solo doesn't mean to be anything other than helpful in determining the best strategy to proceed with and that's something that the fixer can respect.

Charlie smiles and agrees with Casino, "Your right... that would take about three to four minutes. I'll just cover position number two then, if that is still okay with you."

Giving Charlie a nod, Casino looks to the rest of the group before continuing, "Lastly, the Tranquil Grotto Building at 3600.45 Ableman and West Park Circle. This location could provide a view of the rest of the leftover entrances and is the least secured of the three. Considering I'm not easy to hide because of my size, I'll try to secure overwatch there. Any other questions we all are thinking?"

When all is said and done, despite his offer, Charlie finds himself walking alone after the knit-capped and native warrior combat mask that could very well be taken as an insult to his People. He's a good distance behind the skinny man and won't likely catch up, not that it would matter if he did as he's got the longest walk of them all; all the way around West Park Circle to the Infinity Towers.

Passing by the Wolf Point Plaza, Luther notes that Ghlahn appears to have already entered the building as he's nowhere to be seen. With rain drizzling steadily from his fedora onto his shoulders and across his kit, the Native American fixer continues on his way winding and wending through the throng of beings going about their Saturday evening activities. Though it's a long walk, he eventually finds himself approaching the deceptively sleek shaded glass exterior of the Infinity Towers Skyscraper.

Using the drone places him at an advantage the others won't have. Charlie doesn't need to gain a position of altitude himself; all he needs is a bit of privacy. Scouring the face of the sloping architecture, the fixer considers his options.

Flying the drone from inside the building could encounter interference depending on what kind of transmissions are running through those silvery walls. However, if there is one thing he knows, it's that in this compact world one of the lures drawing people out of the corporate urban sprawl on the outskirts of the integrates is the outdoor spaces regularly placed on each floor of these towers. Street levels don't usually provide outdoor gardens or parks, but the higher levels do. Rolling his eyes up the face of the smaller protruding leg of the building, Cred Stick Charlie finds a possible roost on the third floor overlooking the circle. There, cut into the sheer surface as though someone had decided to extract a parallelogram from the side of the building is a large enough space to indicate a park or garden he might be able to gain access to. The upward slope of the ceiling would provide ample room for take off and landing without the threat of interfering wires or a low-hanging roof.

Alternatively, he could remain in the rain, seek a position amongst the squatting homeless around the building, and try to pull off the whole thing like he didn't care if anyone is watching, or seek risking signal interference from a room within the Towers.

(OOC: Time is 5:53 PM PST)


Posted on 2018-02-03 at 01:31:55.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject: Ewww...


Lotsa rats. Amorous homeless person. Drug deal going down. Catfight with actual cats. Pack of wild dogs. Wendingo.

Posted on 2018-01-30 at 17:46:49.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Fantastic!


Looking forward to it.

Posted on 2018-01-29 at 09:46:37.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Not the Will Wheaton Curse!!!


They are fickle.

Posted on 2018-01-29 at 09:45:45.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject: I have posted.


Looking forward to everyone else's posts.

Posted on 2018-01-29 at 09:42:22.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Nomad! Ick! Sorry to hear that, but glad you're better.


I appreciate the posts. Again, Lady Dark, welcome. You did well with Maggie.

I've posted. Now, it may seem like some of you don't have much to go on, but I encourage you to think like you're at a tabletop game. I hate to admit it, but both Lady Dark and Nomad rolled 1's when making a Streetsmart check. Unfortunately, this means that you're a little lost.

Posted on 2018-01-28 at 23:17:00.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 6:12 P.M.; The Sun


"Well, blast him from the cannons fer gossipin'," she snarls and drops like a ragdoll into the armchair and snatching a dirk from the table at the same time. "And what do you think I should do ‘bout it, Goncalvo? How would you suggest the capt'n deal with ‘er sister killing a government bootlicker an' ‘is lacky soldier?"

The Captain's fury is as evident as her frustration after telling her of how he had heard of the situation. She fires off questions at him and he thinks for a moment.

"How would I handle it? That is an interesting question. The crewman first if I may. A man with no tongue finds it difficult to wag one. That may be a bit harsh for he did only reveal it to a member of the crew and a senior one at that so perhaps that is a bit harsh. Five good lashings should remind everyone that silence is oft best. As for your sister, that is a conundrum. You cannot allow her to go around killing government officials or soldiers no matter how much they deserve it. But, she is your second and a public punishment might undermine her authority. Then again it might show you play no favorites." Goncalvo thinks for a bit and then adds with a sly smile "A good spanking perhaps?"

"Gentlemen are all the same," Anne remarks with less heat. "Don't matter whether they're in court ‘r on deck, they all wanna see a girl's skirts up aroun' ‘er head.

"Yer idea fer Anraoi ain't a bad one. Arrange it with Crowe when he returns." Flipping the blade in her right hand, she peers thoughtfully at the rafters. "I think yer right ‘bout the public loss o' face. I'll have t' find somethin' tha' Maggie hates. Somethin' she absolutely despises doin' an' make ‘er do it as punishment.

"In the meantime, Goncalvo, now's the time ya share with me the spoils o' yer journey ashore. I don't know yet whether we need t' make a hasty departure, but I wanna know we can an' where t' go when the time's upon us."

(OOC: Time is roughly 6:16 PM)

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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:05 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

"Please," gesturing at a chair, the aristocrat waits for Fin to seat himself before following suite across the table. "I heard the man you just gutted call you Fin Crowe. My name is Elias Oken and I am very familiar with Mr. Kidane's skills, which yours have surpassed. This intrigues me, sir, for I may have coin for a man of your ability.

"Pray tell, from where to you hail and on which ship did you arrive?"

The question calls something of a bemused smirk to Crowe's lips, Far's I know, he muses, eyeing the man, me Mum were a Scotch whore an' me Da were jus' as likely a dandy f*^k like you. I were whelped a slave by th' bastard airin' out ‘is guts up on th' balcony an' his shyte-heel master, Le Roux, on an isle not far from this'n, He speaks none of this aloud, of course; the rules of power tell him it is never a wise thing to give a stranger (even one offering coin) too much information about oneself. "Here an' there," Fin finally offers with an enigmatic grin, "Mos' recent outta London. I come in on Th' Sun Dog, under Capt'n Cole, jus' this mornin',"

His gaze averts from the dandy across the table just long enough to catch a passing serving wench by the arm. "Bottle o' rum, poppet, an' two mugs," he says, inclining his head toward Oken, "Me mate, here's, buyin',"

Eyes dart from Fin to Oken with startled fear that Fin can easily register as a fire his table companion caused, not his grip on her arm. Mr. Elias Oken nods a slow dip of his head and the girl rushes off to complete the order.

As the girl skitters away, Fin's attention returns, in full, to the man across the table and he leans back in his chair a bit. "More important than where I'm from, Mister Oken," he suggests, "is wha' ye might be needin' a bloke like me fer, an' wha' sort o' coin ye'd be offerin' fer my services."

"You are as direct as your means of dealing with Mr. Kidane indicates," Oken flatly eyes the pirate. "I am making a character judgment, Mr. Crowe, even by sharing this table with you. Do you understand? Rushing this potential relationship will do neither of us any good, least of all, my employer. And it is for the sake of my employer that I'm conducting this meeting. You'll do well should this meeting prove fruitful. Patience shall prove a virtue, indeed.

"This Sun Dog vessel of which you speak," the dandy continues his uncomfortable stare, "You say that a Captain Cole commands. Do you have his ear, or is it to him that I should be speaking?"

Rustling skirts and a stirring of the warm air surrounding their table announces the arrival of the serving wench who places to earthen mugs and a dark brown bottle on the table in front of them before making a hasty exit.

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:08 PM.)

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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:53 P.M.

Maggie slows her pace a bit more and heaves a heavy sigh. "But you boys are. Now, and by differen' f**** paths, ye ken?"

"Aye, sir," Shark's Tooth barks quickly in response.

"You," she gives a nod to Sharky, "let th' Cap'n know I'll be... a bit delayed. An keep it t' yer f**in self why, less she asks direct like. I need t' find Crowe and make sure I'm no' goin' ta be draggin the law back in me nets when I make it back to th' Dog."

"Aye, sir," Shark's Tooth swallows the desert built up in his mouth at the thought of keeping information from the older of the Cole sisters, but he isn't stupid and defying Hellfire Maggie's direct orders isn't highly advised.

"Now!" She growls, as the storm of her emotions passes over her face.

After the first mate rounded on him in a fury, Cracker pauses for but a moment and nods his head. He has no idea what had just happened. Hellfire has always been full of brimstone, but what the heck had brought that on? Something, clearly, had happened. But he has no idea what.

What he does know is that he is heading back to the Sun Dog. He quickly looks at Sharky, nods his head towards an alley and takes off that way at a trot. He quickly slows down to a fast walk to better blend with the crowd. He is no longer chasing the first mate, nor trying to keep up with her, so there is no need to run. He is just heading back to the ship.

Puzzling over what might have happened—he's been ordered not to speak of it, which won't be much of a problem since he doesn't even know what "it" is. But apparently, the first mate has run afoul of the law. Clearly she doesn't want the law on the Dog's tail, and those had been soldiers or guards he had seen earlier heading towards the docks. That was probably all about Maggie Cole. But what has she done?

Lost her temper, that was what she has done. Cracker is not much of a gambler—unusual for a pirate—but he'd put a pretty penny (or whatever poor pennies he can actually put together) on the fact that someone had stepped on that pretty red-headed temper. Some idiot probably tried to treat her like a lady, he thinks with a bit of a grin as he moves quickly down the road. He continues to keep his eyes open for information—either about the ships in port or his fiery superior officer. He whistles a bit as he heads back to water. Sometimes life amuses him.

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Not wishing to make a scene, Maggie also slows to a walk—determined, angry, and definitely not someone a citizen would want to engage with, but a walk nonetheless. Searching for Crowe means searching for a dive. The quartermaster doesn't usually frequent higher end establishments and the type of information he would be looking for is more apt to be found from those who abide in such squalor. The problem she faces as she strides down the back street is that she has no idea where she is.

Buildings rise up on either side of the street blocking her view of the landscape thereabouts and everything is crammed together so tightly, she can't tell one establishment from the other. Situationally stumped, there's no other option but to keep walking as she sure as hell isn't going to ask for directions to the nearest dive. Staying on this small road isn't going to help her situation any but traversing into the open where she can only imagine that her description is more readily flowing amongst the locals and the law isn't appealing. The question becomes, how is she to find Crowe and continue her mission without getting captured?

--------------------------------------------

Cracker can be a huge help when on board a ship and at sea, but ashore in a new city without having had any real opportunity to discover landmarks and bearing points, this settlement is a veritable maze and he's a rat stuck within. Despite thinking he was just going the exact opposite direction than the shore while chasing down Maggie and Shark's Tooth, he has now discovered that the streets wind, interconnect, and change direction. Furthermore, they are quite tied together like a giant knot. Having just broken free of the others, the boatswain had rushed down another alleyway, dodging past stray chickens and cats as well as stirring up a dog into a frenzy of barking. But now, he is confoundedly lost.

Looking about, William can see that there are forested hills peaking through the gaps in buildings on two opposite sides of the street leaving to openings of blue sky in between each—something that places the boatswain's decision at a 50% chance of taking him to the shore.

If there's anything good about his predicament, it is that he is in what appears to be a very quiet courtyard with a dirt floor amidst an array of buildings that appear to be primarily residential. Clothing hangs from lines draped between balconies like flags drifting in the salt air and birds chirp harmoniously all about, but no people are apparent.

(OOC: Time is roughly 2:05 PM)


Posted on 2018-01-28 at 23:15:13.

 


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