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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I've posted a reply...
Wyatt has responded. Need something from Stephanie before I can continue.
Posted on 2017-11-13 at 14:07:08.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Quick like a bunny...
"Captain Sung this is Dr. Young."
"Go ahead, Miss Stephanie," Sung rumbles into the receiver. Every time he interacts with their newest shipmates he can't help but feel a hole open up in his chest. Gorram it, but I miss Willow!
"Captain, I have a pregnant woman here who I am going to take to the ship's Med lab and I wanted to check with you to see if you have any objections, or procedures you might have for non-crew aboard the ship?"
"She one of Sarafina's?" He's not sure it will make a difference when all's said and done. Pregnant women bring back some heavy memories of his own lost loves and to top it off, Wyatt is pretty sure he's read or heard somewhere that not helping a pregnant woman is bad luck.
(OOC: Will need an answer to know how to proceed...)
Posted on 2017-11-13 at 13:55:05.
Edited on 2017-11-14 at 16:00:08 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I wrote something interesting?!
I've forgotten what I wrote. Guess I should go back and read it.
Oh yeah! THAT.
Posted on 2017-11-09 at 19:58:30.
Edited on 2017-11-09 at 19:59:42 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: This...
Made me laugh... Thanks.
OxO
xxO
xO-
Posted on 2017-11-09 at 19:57:17.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Hmmm....
OxO
-x-
xO-
Posted on 2017-11-08 at 11:11:57.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Uh-oh...
Grumpy Sung time...
Just replace the words "gangnam style" to the Gangnam Style song with Grumpy Sung and you've got it.
Sounds good... I'm looking forward to the opportunity to post.
Posted on 2017-11-08 at 11:11:28.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: I am a bit stale...
Ox-
-x-
-O-
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 14:02:09.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Updated!
Game is afoot!
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 14:01:35.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Hightower's BBQ | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday),
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)
"Sure, split up again," Blossom remarks sarcastically. "That worked out so well for us last time."
"Very true, and again I‘m sorry I was not there to help" Casino replies to Blossom's statement while looking pointedly at Vegas. "Is there any other way to get the info we need other than splitting up?"
Bloodbank glances at the netrunner and presses his lips together in derision. "Can't say, I disagree with the sentiment. Further, while I've got some STIM I could distribute, it'll only last a few minutes and won't do anything longterm. Rest and Time are the best medicine at this point and I'm afraid that's not something we have in surplus."
"I read somethin' about kidnap victims once," the beautiful Asian pipes up again with a cheerful tone that contradicts the information she's sharing. "After the first twenty-four hours, the chances of a kidnap victim being recovered alive are greatly reduced. Time is ‘bout ready to bone out, choombas."
"Once again your correct, Blossom, but has she been actually kidnapped. Starlight never said they received a ransom note did she? As far as getting some rest, I'm more worried about the rest of you. If you all feel you can continue then I'm as good to go as I'm gonna be" Casino adds.
"I'd also like to point out," the medtech jumps on the bandwagon, "that we don't know whether this teacher is our kidnapper yet. And, sending the computer specialist, field medic, and tech guru into the lion's den to recon—well, that doesn't really appeal to me.
"Mallplexes are large complexes with a number of stories and a buttload of apartments," Bloodbank picks up his drink and lifts it to his lips. "If we got in trouble in there, you people wouldn't have a clue."
"And we still haven't solved our communication issues," Blossom nods in agreement as the medic begins sipping at his drink through the clear straw. "It sucked not being able to jam with Ghlahn when we were hot-footin' about the grounds."
"I'll do whatever the team decides," Bloodbank offers. "But I have a bad feeling about the plan where it currently sits."
"It does seem a bit risky to have all our tech experts do a recon." Ghlahn unapologetically reconsiders his original stance. "If we just want to find out what kind of place it is then perhaps me and Bloodbank should have a look around."
"Ok I admit that might be a bad idea, but you're the group's sniper, so I would think you'd want to pick your spot. However, my idea is just a general one open to modification." the large solo calmly replies. "Is there anything we can do to fix that communication issue? Maybe use agents somehow or does anyone know where we can get some cheap comm's somewhere? Again, my idea is a general one and I expect it will change the more we work on it, nothing is set in stone. Sooo, anything else I may have missed to improve on the basic idea? Or does anyone have a better idea? Blossom, how do you see it other than what you‘ve already stated?"
Echo thinks for a moment, then speaks to the rest of the group, superseding any reply the netrunner might be conjuring up, "There's a way, I think, we can be more sure if we want to check him out closer before goin' in." She turns to Blossom. "Chicka, can you pull up activity from the good doc's cash cards? As in, can you see what he's been buyin'? I'm thinkin' about seein' if he's been buying up kid-friendly stuff—food and the like, or even clothes maybe. But also if he's bought any travel tics, or even rope and such from the Home & Hardware. Any sort of weird stuff or combo of stuff that you wouldn't think a teacher would buy."
She looks at them all, knowing she's probably talking more at once than she has the whole time she's been with these folk.
"What Blossom said about the kidnapped is right. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of finding him. He's been gone too long to just have wandered off. If the doc is legit, peachy. If not, we need to find out and nab him quick. That's just my telltale." Echo leans up against the wall, catching her own breath after her long speech, hoping she doesn't sound like a nutcase.
Fixer looks at Echo and nods, "Let's check for the cyber trail and see where it leads before putting ourselves in harm's way, since most of us are rather depleted—and I'll check for any electronics stores between here and the Mallplex. I think we might be able to put some passable comms together, if not buy them outright. That will not take too long at all, and give us a better idea of whether or not we're chasing a lost cause in this guy."
"Got a couple hours?" Blossom asks in response to Echo's request. "I'll see what I can dig up. Can't promise nothin', but whatevs and somethings, ya know? But I'll get on it ‘cause that might just be the best move we've got at this point."
"With Fixer here, we might not need to get Blossom inside the Mallplex," Vegas smiles softly at the Asian woman. "Can't see us needing to break through any security intense enough to require someone of this doll's expertise.
"So, I say we do some eyes-on recon while this angel works her heavenly magic," he continues. "Casino, Echo, and I could go in with Ghlahn taking up a point of advantage to cover a hasty retreat if we need to dance our way out. Fixer can go along with us and Bloodbank, of course. No reason to go in hot, but if Fixer really can resolve our comms issue on the way then we'll be better set to act on any data Blossom mines."
"There's an app that allows direct communication with any others who sign onto that group. Just download the CircleMic app to your agents and I'll set up the group. Give me your agent IDs and I'll shoot you an invite," Blossom rolls the diminishing sucker around in her mouth and holds up her own agent to show a screen with a baby blue background marred by white spots displaying a group she's already set up. "Problem with this app is that it relies on the network, and it isn't exactly the most secure method of chewing the fat. It'll do in the short and short though."
(OOC: Time is 2:15 PM)
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 14:00:52.
Edited on 2017-11-07 at 14:01:12 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Thank you! That's what I was waiting for...
I've moved the game along. No abandonment...
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 13:40:28.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Moving right along...
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:35 P.M.; Beach
"Which inn, sir?" she purrs, looking up at Goncalvo from beneath her lashes. "There are some that's not friendly to people stowing away and such when a room is only paid for two."
Reaching out her dainty (if somewhat dirty) hand at about waist level she allows the tip of her tongue to touch her lips invitingly. "We could walk there together,"
Goncalvo is surprised as the woman extends her hand and agrees to his suggestion. But, he also notices her obvious look over her shoulder into the alley. It is obvious that something is in there. Her inquiry into the name of the inn might be to allow a companion to overhear and prepare. Pulling her close, Goncalvo whispers into her ear, "Time to end the act, lass. Who is it that lurks in the alley and makes you so nervous?"
Leaning into the sailsmaster, the young woman shudders but refuses to meet his gaze. With her full bottom lip extended into a pout she affects a tremor in her voice, but it is obvious to the Portuguese sailor that it is an act. She is not truly afraid of him, at least not as much as she fears whatever awaits her elsewhere. "I can be whoever you want, master."
Small body pressing against his, she is seductive in her proximity and the scent of jasmine wafts into Goncalvo's nose as her hair passes just beneath it. "Your grip is strong. I'll be the servant girl you an' yer wife need to punish."
Turning in his grip, she practically melts into him, a delicate hand against his chest seeking the skin beneath the cloth while her face finally turns up towards his. Eyes half-hooded in the act of proffered pleasure, the whore breathes heavily through slightly parted lips that offer a world of pleasures.
(OOC: Time is roughly 5:36 PM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:29 A.M.; The Rub of Del Monte
"We got pork on the spit an' beer on draft," she says without meeting his eyes. "If'n ya want wine, we gots that too. There's fresh baked bread comin' outta the oven in a moment if yer so inclined t' wait, an' we've some goat's cheese if you like the bite of it.
"What'll it be, sir?"
Hard, narrowed eyes peer at the girl through the veil of smoke Fin blows into Tortuga's clinging air. "A bit o' the pork, cheese, an' bread, snippet," he rasps after a moment, his breath and a faint breeze teaming to dissipate the lingering smoke, "an' a mug o' yer beer. Ye can bring th' food when th' bread's done but I'll be takin' th' beer quick's ye can fetch it."
Dipping her head, the serving girl turns and quickly weaves about the tables and through the peeling doors.
The Sun Dog's quartermaster nods curtly at the serving girl's response, his eyes scouring her, as she turns to go, for any sign of a slaver's mark. He'd seen none as she had approached and, likely as not, given her station as a serving wench, any such brand would be in a place easily covered by blouse or skirt. Regardless, Fin looks, Fin always looks,
As the child skitters away, disappearing back into The Rub's interior, Fin draws on his smoke, again, and reclines into the chair in such a way as to balance its lopsided legs before letting his gaze, once more, sweep the bustling street below. Awaiting the serving girl's return, his eyes are keen for the appearance of a long-hated, familiar face and his hearing piqued for any other news of note that may waft from the crowd.
Low conversation from the next table drifts tantalizingly close to being comprehensible but is carried away on the wind and drowned in the cacophony of the street. Left to his smoking, Fin cannot help but be lost in his dark thoughts. After what seems like an eternity of basking in the flavor of tobacco and the sticky breeze that lazily kisses his bronzed skin, the Dog's quartermaster is drawn from his reverie to the doors as they spit out the waif of a girl with a tin mug in hand practically spilling over with frothing beer.
Thunk, splosh, the mug is set before him almost too late as the wench spins about and quickly makes her way back inside. Perhaps luck is smiling on the foul-tempered man, or maybe his God-given instincts for self-preservation are at play, either way, as she leaves his table Fin's narrow eyes are drawn to a table near the other end of the balcony.
Five men occupy the seats and ten eyes appear to be fixed upon him right up to the moment when his two meets theirs. Quite suddenly, the five men find their conversation, drinks, and the settlement's skyline more interesting than the quartermaster. One, a wide-faced individual with ruddy features and a shaggy mane of dishwater blonde hair, braves another glance Fin's way and though it is furtive, the quartermaster is fairly certain that there's recognition behind that gaze.
Again, Fin Crowe searches his memory for the identity of the man and once again, he cannot place him. To the best of his recollection, Splotchy-Face is an unknown.
(OOC: Time is roughly 11:36 AM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:08 P.M.
Maggie weighs her options, she doesn't want to stand on the bottom of a boat, that would expose her to unwanted attention from the many eyes in the area. She prefers to work in the shadows and is never comfortable with strange eyes lingering on her too long.
She glances again at the tall, thin building with the bell tower; while it would giver her a nice aerial view, if she could get up there, she would be at a greater distance away and might not be a good idea.
She looks at the pyramid of stacked crates and nods as she chooses this as her most obvious choice; yes it would probably attract a little attention, but currently no one seems to be paying any attention to the covered crates. With a glance around to see if anyone is paying her any attention, she strides over to the crates and quickly, but steadily, makes her way up so that she has a good look at the warehouse area. She looks for any sign that might giver her any clue of where she might go to find information on warehouse owners.
Now comes the boring part of the work. Sit. Wait. Watch. Sometimes for hours on end and even as long as days on end. Of course, she couldn't very well sit atop crates for days and she doubts that Anna will give her that much time to get this all sorted out. A ship cannot sit in harbor for long before the crew begins to search for another captain.
Settling in for the long haul, Maggie is engrossed in the activities surrounding the unloading of a wagon by three black men hoping that the boss will show when she's caught off-guard by a the clearing of a throat behind her. Twisting about, the red-head sees a tall, lean man wearing a smallish tri-cornered cap, a brown coat with tails, and a dingy white shirt collared by a loose black tie. His pants are knee-length, dark brown, and plain but fairly well-kept and his cream stockings nearly reach the cuffs of his pants. He wears worn leather shoes with dark-gray iron buckles on the outer sides. Forehead creased beneath the cap, he stares at the first-mate with a deep scowl on his thin lips but contradicting half-hooded eyes.
He is accompanied by a man of average build wearing a black tri-cornered cap with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied off by a black ribbon. He wears a white, high-collared blouse with billowing sleeves the underarms of which are stained yellow from sweat. Dark blue pants cuffed at the knee are tucked into gray stockings. These, in turn, run into the black hob-nailed shoes that are also worn and dingy. A baldric runs across his chest to the left ending in a large pouch. At his waist, a broad, black leather belt is home to a flintlock pistol and a sheathed saber. He carries a rifle in his hands with a bayonet attached to the end.
"Pray tell," the willow-man sneers condescendingly at Maggie once he has her attention, "what do you pretend to be about?"
(OOC: Time is approximately 1:40 PM.)
Leaving Shark Tooth behind him, the Bosun moves off down the docks in the opposite direction from where he had gone earlier. He doesn't stop at the first ship he sees, but keeps moving, looking for some sailors standing away from the ships. A little farther down he sees what he is looking for, what appears to be a couple of low-ranking officers sitting on some crates a little ways away from some ships. They appear to be just enjoying some time ashore. As Cracker approaches, another man arrives and the three men turn and make their way off into town. Cracker can hear a bit of what they say and it isn't hard to deduce where they are heading—they don't just want their feet on the terra firma, they also wan the other sweet rewards that time ashore can provide and are going to start their search in a nearby tavern.
Cracker thinks about heading to the ships, but reconsiders as this might work just as well, so he follows them into a tavern only a couple of blocks away called the Three Headed Goat. He sticks to his usual pattern and closes one eye as he enters the darkened interior and then switches eyes once inside. As usual, his vision quickly returns to normal and the establishment unfolds before him revealing a thinning commons room with a few tables either occupied by one or two individuals or altogether empty. Usual sorts fill the remaining seats—sailors and dockhands, even a couple of people Cracker would classify as more City than Street. A few whores work their trade in an attempt to land clients who are willing to pay for more than just company, but they are sticking to the outskirts of the room leaving him free to move in the wake of those he follows inside straight to the scarred oak bar. As the three order their ale, Cracker does the same, motioning to the elder bartender with a thinning ring of white hair about his liver-spotted bald scalp and a dangling waddle beneath his spiky white stubbled chin. The smile that the boatswain wears isn't feigned, he's been wanting a drink all morning. Fishing a couple of farthings from his purse, Wiley passes them over to the grizzled man and accepts his amber-colored ale.
Raising it in salute to the other three he says, "Ah, one of the two main reasons to return to shore!"
The other three raise their mugs in response and one adds, "And to the other reason we will hopefully be enjoying soon!" He passes a look towards the whores at work in the tavern. Cracker allows his eyes to follow the others gaze and alight on a very nice, if a bit young, prostitute.
"I have been at sea for awhile," then he grins a bit, "but not so long you forget some things!" He takes a swig of his drink and asks the nearest of the three, "Where you gentlemen coming from?"
The closest—a fellow with a bulbous nose and a burn scar on his forehead that leads into a stringy mop of unkept hair—grins at the use of the word "gentlemen" revealing three large gaps amongst a mouthful of thin, yellowed teeth. Next to him, a younger man with a tall and athletic build, broad in the shoulders and heavily tattooed, leans forward to reply, "The Dirk of Denmark."
"Aye," Toothless hoists his mug and pauses in taking a swallow to add, "may she ferev'r sail."
"An' you?" This from the third man; a fellow with a close matte of curly black hair, a flat face with Italian coloring and wide-set brown eyes. "Where do you hail from?"
"I'm on a ship what needs a load. I'd love to stay ashore a bit, but," and here Cracker stares a bit at his mug, "...sitting in a tavern is a good way to spend one's pay, but doesn't make more. The quartermaster on ship is lookin' for work, but will they find it? Always great when your—lovelihood—oh my..." he seems to lose focus as a very lovely young lady passes through the tavern and pointedly catches his gaze with an inviting one of her own. His companion's eyes follow his and not one of them doesn't share in the appreciation. "Ah livelihood—depends on some other's labors. We'll see what he finds or I might be lookin' for somethin' new."
"If'n yer quartermaster's worth their salt, you'll be fillin' yer purse soon enough," Toothless takes another long pull on his ale and uses the back of his hairy left arm to wipe the froth from his mouth.
"Heh," the younger man stretches his back and looks about the room. "While you old dogs are yappin' away like women in a knittin' circle, I'mma gonna git me some alone time."
Slapping the shoulder of Toothless in good natured fun, Tattoo quickly guzzles the remainder of his drink and slams the dented tin mug to the countertop with an exuberant belch. "Wench! Prepare yerself, for the ocean's ‘bout to get a little rough." Two of the whores rush to meet his challenge and rather than turn one of them away, the young sailor wraps his arms about both waists and laughingly drags them towards the back hall.
"What ship did ya say yer from?" the dark, curly-haired fellow leans forward and eyes Cracker with a dull gaze waiting on his reply.
(OOC: Time is approximately 1:25 PM.)
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 13:39:46.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Excellent...
Roger, you normally take a break for the Holidays. Are you planning on doing so this year?
Posted on 2017-11-07 at 10:42:19.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Travel
I am currently traveling for work. Have not abandoned you all.
Posted on 2017-11-03 at 09:01:58.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Travel
I am currently traveling for work. Have not abandoned you all.
Posted on 2017-11-03 at 09:01:25.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Travel
I am currently traveling for work. Have not abandoned you all.
Posted on 2017-11-03 at 09:00:38.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: FYI
We've lost Hammer to RL. I'll be NPCing Vegas.
Posted on 2017-10-27 at 10:43:25.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Personality?
Welcome aboard Roc. Glad to have you.
Posted on 2017-10-26 at 16:19:55.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: You're on, Grugg.
O--
-x-
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Posted on 2017-10-26 at 00:26:52.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Updated!
The game is afoot... or is that a leg? Maybe just the thigh?
Posted on 2017-10-25 at 18:49:35.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: One in the hand, three on the dock, and a barely moving clock...
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:33 P.M.; Beach
Again, her sharp chin follows her eyes as they move to look back at the alleys and streets of the settlement, "Won't take but a li'l time."
Goncalvo watches the woman swish her hips. He has to admit she is a very attractive woman. In fact she is, perhaps, a bit too attractive to be a street worker. There is no doubt in his mind that a rendezvous with her could leave him with a very wide smile. A part of his mind whispers 'she is not what she seems' and though it is a whisper, he hears it clearly. Perhaps he would find rapture in between her legs; then again, perhaps he would find himself nursing a sore head from a blackjack.
"T'would be a pity to deprive my wife of a chance to discover your treasures. She is a lady of breeding and would never deign to a meeting in a dirty alley. Come with me, she is in our room at a fine inn nestled between clean, comfortable sheets made from the finest cotton. Take my hand and I'll lead you to a night you will remember for some time." Goncalvo extends his hand to call her bluff.
Catching herself before she turns her head into a full look over her bare left shoulder, the girl makes a feeble attempt to disguise her action with a flip of her hair and an embarrassed dip of her bedroom eyes.
"Which inn, sir?" she purrs, looking up at Goncalvo from beneath her lashes. "There are some that's not friendly to people stowing away and such when a room is only paid for two."
Reaching out her dainty (if somewhat dirty) hand at about waist level she allows the tip of her tongue to touch her lips invitingly. "We could walk there together,"
(OOC: Time is roughly 5:35 PM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:14 A.M.; The Town
With a rustle of whirling skirts, Raisa turns about in anger and strides into the watching crowd. Nearby, a bird cries—a crow, harsh and just as angry sounding as the whore looks. Sounds rush back into Fin's senses and a quick look about shows that many a person is studiously about their business as though they hadn't just witnessed what they'd witnessed.
The Sun Dog's quartermaster, one hand yet resting on the hilt of his blade and the other, now, perched easily atop the butt of the pistol tucked into his sash, lofts an irritated snort at the whore's warning and spits into the dirt at his feet. "Storms don' brew up on their own, Raisa-luv," he says to the retreating woman's back, "Stirred by outside forces, they are!
Aye! I may be bringin' th' storm, but it were the likes o' LeRoux an' Kidane tha' summoned it!" The hand resting on his pistol lifts, then, and Fin throws a dismissive wave in Raisa's direction before spinning on his heel and storming off in the opposite direction. The brand on his chest burns and itches as if it newly pressed, the cawing of the crow echoes in his mind along with Raisa Taïa's admonition, a grimace sets tightly over his mouth and he squints skyward, checking the sun's position in the sky.
Kidane'll know yer here ‘fore the hour is closed an' if ya know what's bes' fer you an' the crew you sail with, you'll be long on the wind afore then.
, An hour, Raisa had said.
Storms c'n do a bloody fair sight o' damage in an hour, Crowe muses, his eyes tearing from the sky and settling back to the street before him. If Kidane's lookin' ta face th' maelstrom, let's make it easy fer ‘im ta find, But th' black bastard'll be goin' nowhere near me crew!
His eyes scan each face and shadow and nook as he strides along the street in search of a tavern or grog shop in which to await Kidane's promised coming and, as he walks, his fingers busy themselves with the workings of a fresh smoke.
As is the case with most every port, finding a drinking hole isn't difficult. The Rub of Del Monte is a right proper establishment. Consisting of a lower dining hall with three gaping openings that allow wobbly tables to spill out onto the street as well as an upper balcony and enclosed dining, The Rub appears a lot more seductive than it actually is. Teeming with sweaty, smelling humanity all seemingly shouting out in lively banter, there's barely a path wide enough for the serving girls to navigate between the bar, the kitchen, and the tables. Further, as Fin steps into the masses the odor of ripe flesh far outweighs the occasional wayward aroma of food.
Pushing through the sharp elbows and solid shoulders, the Dog's Quartermaster eventually finds the stairs and whether it is just luck or the look on his face, those lingering in his path step aside providing him with final purchase of the enclosed dining.
Here, the air hangs heavy, thick with humidity and pipe smoke. Captains and officers of ships, merchants and city officials, as well as a few Spanish soldiers have taken control of this floor and their eyes come to rest on the lean sailor with wariness. But, if Crowe is to keep an eye out for trouble, he needs a clear view of the street, so across the floor, between the tables and chairs, and to the white washed folding doors he strides the whole while being well aware of the scrutiny he's under.
Stepping onto the balcony just as a slight breeze descends upon it, Fin catches the scent of the ocean as well as a faint aroma of mint, or is that jasmine? Either way, it is a brief distraction as he ascertains the best available strategic position.
As luck has it, a small table with flaking sky blue paint across its surface and red embellishments stands welcomingly at the far end of the space. Two chairs painted to match the table flank it and a potted plant hangs just behind and over the rail obstructing the view of whomever is seated in that position from the street. There are eleven patrons at the four larger tables taking up space across the platform. These appear to be more of the same from the interior dining area. These, too, look towards Fin with curious wary detachment while he strides to the smaller seating—a location that he finds is empty primarily due to the unevenness of the chair legs and the wobbly table. A little discomfort is a small price to pay for a position that allows him a wide view of the street and the series of folding doors separating the balcony from the inner dining hall.
Drawing long drags on his cigarillo, Crowe glowers at any who meet his eye and broils in his own stewing thoughts. Testing his position's ability to give him warning of the arrival of trouble, the Quartermaster is wrought to watch as three members of his crew stop a polite distance from the edge of where the balcony's rail obstructs Fin's view of them and enter into a discussion that he cannot hear. In this case, though, it is obvious that they are discussing whether to brave the crowd at The Rub, or to seek entertainment, drink, and food elsewhere.
Emanuel Tenorio, a Mexican man denied of height but gifted with brawn suddenly grins at something Aleksi Rautio says. Aleksi has his back to Fin, so the quartermaster cannot begin to fathom what is so humorous, but Ljudevit Zec—a Croatian with ratty blonde hair, a scar that runs the whole length of his square jaw on the left side of his face, and a bent nose—stretches his neck with a roll of his head and responds to the jest with a very deliberate pointing towards The Rub. Rautio shakes his head in return and points further down the street while whatever he has said in response is countered by Emanuel. The diminutive Latin places his left hand on his Finnish shipmate's shoulder as he walks by and out of sight into the open air dining area of The Rub of Del Monte drawing Zec with him by an invisible rope. Obviously exasperated, Aleksi shakes his mop of dark hair animatedly as he turns and follows, his expression lost within the thick, curly beard he always wears.
Just as the Dog's crewmen vanish from sight, the folding doors open and a young black woman of maybe fourteen steps out with a tray bearing four dented tin tankards. Wearing a white, low cut blouse with the billowing short sleeves pulled down off her shoulders and a green and black skirt, she is barefoot and shaved nearly bald. A look that does nothing to dampen the cherubic beauty of her face. Making her way to the table next to Fin's she replaces the tankards already there with the new ones and glances furtively towards her new, lone patron in the corner. With all of the old, empty containers back on her cracked and stained wooden tray, she quickly swishes past the inquisitive hands of a thick looking man she had just served and brings herself up in front of the Dog's gloomy quartermaster.
"We got pork on the spit an' beer on draft," she says without meeting his eyes. "If'n ya want wine, we gots that too. There's fresh baked bread comin' outta the oven in a moment if yer so inclined t' wait, an' we've some goat's cheese if you like the bite of it.
"What'll it be, sir?"
(OOC: Time is roughly 11:29 AM.)
----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), The Sun Dog, 12:55 P.M.
What else did Cracker expect? Nothing else. But he'd had to ask. He quickly turns to Chimwemwe, "Chim. Keep your eye on this guy so he doesn't limp off somewhere. But if you see Kellen, tell him he needs to take my shift. If you don't see him, YOU need to take my shift. But make damn sure someone is keeping one eye on Blackheart and another out for the Doc."
"Aye," the tough as nails African man nods and turns his hollow gaze on their injured guest.
With that resolved, the boatswain moves to follow the first mate back into the boat from which he had just escaped.
* * * * *
Back in the longboat with Cyril rowing once again, Maggie stews in her juices until the group reaches the beach. Striding away from the boat, she says, "There's a gent here goes by the name Davenport. We had ourselves a ^&*@ing visit with @#^&ing Grover who's supposed to be a prominent man, or some other bull%#^&, but before we go making deals, we need to know more about this Davenport. Rumor has it that he and %@#&ing Grover are butting heads. Either of you swabs have any ^&#$ing idea how we go about this?"
Cracker shakes his head, "I've never been here before. I spent my time today down at the docks looking to see if there were ships leaving—the nicest ship I saw seems to be headed towards the Carolina coast."
Maggie groans and allows Cracker to tell her what he has learned while out earlier in the day; she doesn't really care about that, unless it leads her to this Davenport.
"But," Cracker finishes his report, "I can't say who they were working for or who was organizing anything in this town. At least one dock hand seemed to be afraid to talk to anyone. Might say somethin' about the boss. But otherwise I can't help you any."
"Well what @#^&ing good are you Cracker," Maggie says as she strides away from the boat. She stands for a moment, her hands on hips as she surveys the dock area.
Bruised and battered, Shark's Tooth remains a sullen shadow next to the boatswain and offers nothing to assist in their task.
"Damn it!" Maggie says with a shake of her head, "Alright, you two worthless sons of %&#*@*^, see if you can dig up anything from the dock workers unloading these ships. I know you already asked, but maybe you will get lucky this time." She peers about and thinks for a moment before striding off, "I'm going to look around."
"Uh," Sharky forces out as their first mate begins to depart, "When we be meetin' again, sir, an' where we be doin' it?"
(OOC: Maggie's response,)
Receiving his orders, Wylie winces as squinting in the sweltering warmth of the merciless Carribbean sun causes his swollen eye to throb, and begins to trudge through the sand towards the docks.
"What're we supposed t' be doin'?" he asks Cracker in genuine confusion. "Thar be a reason I'm ne'er up fer the quartermaster vote. I got me no skill in that end o' the work."
(OOC: Cracker's response, if any,)
Ignoring the general grumbling that comes with orders given, the lithe and volcanic-tempered woman lengthens her stride to gain distance between her and the two scallywags she's brought with her. Achieving the wooden planks of the docks before them, she ignores the looks she receives from a few of the dockhands and considers where best she might learn more about Davenport. What makes sense is that he would be known by other captains or quartermasters, but she's not likely to find those on board any of the ships anchored here. Unlike her sister, most spend their time ashore whenever they can and tracking down those types in the maze of varying establishments throughout the settlement would likely be a waste of time. After all, if one of them approached her asking after the Dog's business contacts, she'd tell them to pound sand. The next logical place would be amongst the warehouses used to store goods and keep them from cooking in the sun. Those are at the far end, past the majority of the ships, and on the fringes of the settlement. And it is to those that she makes her way.
Arriving at the birth of the dock's gangway, Sharky sneezes and wipes his nose with the back of his forearm while groaning at the pain spreading through his bumpy face, "Shouldn' ‘ave allowed tha' swab t' rough me up so much.
"So, we spreadin' out then? Me to the left, an' you t' the right?" Motioning towards the direction Maggie is rapidly advancing on, the gunner adds, "There be plenty o' hands t' jaw with."
(OOC: Cracker's reply,)
Height is what will present Maggie with the vantage she seeks over the warehouses, but on the nearly flat docks there's not much in the way of height to work with. Quickly scanning the scene before her, the red-headed woman notes possible perches.
Stacked one on top of another are crates that build a small pyramid. They have a tarp over them with thick rope bindings to keep it from blowing too much in the wind. Crates of that size are normally quite sturdy and it doesn't appear like anyone is concerning themselves with them at the moment, so, they present an option whereupon she might gain a couple of meters.
Alternatively, a rowboat is turned upside down sitting atop a couple of sawhorses. While not as tall as the crates, it is further away from most of the activity on the dock and closer to the warehouses location. Still, standing atop an overturned boat might draw some attention, but is that entirely a bad thing?
One last position for surveying is a tall, thin building directly across from the first of the warehouses with a bell tower at the front of it. Sitting in that bell tower would provide her an aerial view of the warehouses but it might be too far away to really do any good.
(OOC: Time is approximately 1:08 PM.)
Posted on 2017-10-25 at 18:48:57.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Here.
Posted on 2017-10-25 at 13:45:15.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: We have lost another player as well...
I completely understand, Duncan. We'll keep a lookout for your dingy... I'm referring to the life raft. Sheeze!
Hammer has informed me that he is no longer playing as well due to RL. I've not heard from Elious in some time so I'm going to assume that he, too, is no longer a part of the game. The crew is shrinking...
I'll think on what I wish to do with those characters. I can easily write Blackheart out. His leg just makes him unfit. Sharky might turn into an NPC for the time being. I'll have to see.
I hope to have time today to update the game. Sorry for the delays.
Posted on 2017-10-25 at 13:44:45.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: You cannot take the sky from me... Again.
I'm here. Whatever you need to do, my friend. It's a bummer about V and Mmv. Tell them that I'm extremely disappointed. 
Posted on 2017-10-25 at 13:41:20.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I appreciate it...
I've reached out to Elious. We'll see what happens. Keeper has posted, so I appreciate that.
I've moved the game on, though it is purely discussion. Keep in mind that these responses are based on the die not necessarily because the GM took over the characters. Are they good, are they bad... you decide...
Posted on 2017-10-18 at 22:51:41.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Opposition
Hightower's BBQ | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 1:57 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)
School records have Dr. Carey's current address. That isn't a problem. Directing her avatar to seek online for additional information, the wardriver plugs in parameters that filter the search to public records of property ownership and rental agreements. No other residences, "He's got one address and that's where the school has him listed, so I'd say that's the best lead we got. Twenty-Four Fifty, West Park, that's a mallplex, about, here."
The video on the wall changes from Dr. Carey's sallow face to a public map of the city. West Park Mallplex is about fifteen minutes from the school, but down a few levels placing it in a less affluent neighborhood.
"So, I don't think that's Kansas, Toto," Blossom remarks while settling back in her chair and picking up a piece of processed pork to shove in her mouth at the same time as removing the diminishing lollipop. "I saw that place on a Vlog just a bit ago, I think. Some junked out hyperpsycho plowed himself and his input into the outside wall going, like, one-ten on a crotch-rocket. Took three ragdolls with ‘em who were camped off the street in a shopping cart motel. Brutal and messy.
"Good news is," glowing green lines appear on the map crisscrossing intersections and running off the screen. "That the Pub-Trans runs within walking distance. We could be there within," Blossom checks the time displayed on her private optic view, "...two hours. Give'r take."
Fixer looks on, something nagging at his brain. Then it clicks. "I remember that place, I used to deal down there." Eyes swivel in his direction. "In tech, you bozo's, there was a guy who used to—maybe even still does—get hard to find parts, manuals, most of what I couldn't find myself. And yes there was the usual riff-raff in that area, needlers, dealers, users, boozers and bums—not exactly Club Med, but I didn't detect any high tech security systems or even spot any security at all, it was more of an out of the way derelicts delight, not to say it hasn't changed in the last year or so, but that's a first hand account of what I dealt with. What Doc is doing in that area is anybody's guess." Fixer pops his last O-ring into his mouth, and waits for the consensus of the others.
As Casino looks at the area map on the wall he can see quite a number of entrances and the mallplex's loading dock. Too many to cover all of them; they'd need someplace high. As he continues to gaze an idea starts to form.
"Ok Fixer, you said you dealt tech there before. What do you think about you, Blossom, and Bloodbank doing a recon inside the plex? Find out if it's become a banger club's territory, where Casey's apartment is and if he is not there, when he will be back. Check to make sure no new sec has been put into place and anything else the three of you can think of that I know I'm missing." Pausing Casino then looked to Ghlahn, Vegas, and Echo.
"Ok, as you can see the place has a s***load of in's and outs and no way we can cover them all from ground level. I suggest while Fixer, Blossom, and Bloodbank are doing their recon we four split up and do our own. I'm thinking we need to find two high level spots in buildings, one each, in the northeast and southeast corners of the plex to watch as many entrances as we can. That way we can provide cover since we have the best long range weapons. Blossom, Echo, Fixer, Vegas, and Bloodbank will do the actual snatch and grab if the doc's there and we cover their exfil from a number of exits once they have him—if they get him—depending on what exit is best to use at that time. Ghlahn, you and Vegas take the southeast corner, Echo and I will take the northeast"
Catching a his breath, he adds, "Ok, anyone have anything to add or a better idea? And I can see your all banged up. Might be better for you all to get some rest before we do this."
Echo looks to the others, her eyes resting last on Casino. The solo is clever in thinking they needed to cover more, and from up high as well. There's more to this man than just brawn. Good, we'll need it for what's to come next.
"I'm on board with this plan, unless someone has a better one," she says, moving to stand by the solo, but not too close. "And if we're going to do this, we need to get it going as soon as we can, but I know some of you choombas are hurtin'—do we have any way to fix up and rest up quick so we can go in as close to our best as possible?"
Ghlahn remains his usual impassive self, ""Sounds like a solid plan to me. A bit of rest might be a good idea. Maybe we get a early start in the morning."
"Sure, split up again," Blossom remarks sarcastically. "That worked out so well for us last time."
Bloodbank glances at the netrunner and presses his lips together in derision. "Can't say, I disagree with the sentiment. Further, while I've got some STIM I could distribute, it'll only last a few minutes and won't do anything longterm. Rest and Time are the best medicine at this point and I'm afraid that's not something we have in surplus."
"I read somethin' about kidnap victims once," the beautiful Asian pipes up again with a cheerful tone that contradicts the information she's sharing. "After the first twenty-four hours, the chances of a kidnap victim being recovered alive are greatly reduced. Time is ‘bout ready to bone out, choombas."
"I'd also like to point out," the medtech jumps on the bandwagon, "that we don't know whether this teacher is our kidnapper yet. And, sending the computer specialist, field medic, and tech guru into the lion's den to recon—well, that doesn't really appeal to me.
"Mallplexes are large complexes with a number of stories and a buttload of apartments," Bloodbank picks up his drink and lifts it to his lips. "If we got in trouble in there, you people wouldn't have a clue."
"And we still haven't solved our communication issues," Blossom nods in agreement as the medic begins sipping at his drink through the clear straw. "It sucked not being able to jam with Ghlahn when we were hot-footin' about the grounds."
"I'll do whatever the team decides," Bloodbank offers. "But I have a bad feeling about the plan where it currently sits."
(OOC: Time is 2:02 PM)
Posted on 2017-10-18 at 22:49:50.
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