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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I was hoping for full player involvement...
But four out of six ain't bad all things considered. I'm going to attempt to post a continuation today.
Posted on 2017-09-05 at 10:52:15.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I've sent the character link again...
What does "A while" look like?
I hope everyone had a good Holiday.
Posted on 2017-09-05 at 10:48:02.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: I feel a....
Disturbance in the Force.
Posted on 2017-09-05 at 10:43:31.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Hurrah!
Looking forward to it.
Posted on 2017-09-05 at 10:42:45.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: When Anna says...
You'll probably want to go ashore and find some sailors (preferably other PCs) to join you.
Posted on 2017-09-02 at 16:47:10.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I appreciate the post, Tann...
I made a couple of edits.
1. Granger's place doesn't have a large anything other than the dining area, and that's relative. So, I changed the size of the employee lounge.
2. Fixer and Casino have no relationship, so the friendly banter (big galout) would be out of character.
Posted on 2017-08-31 at 13:37:17.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: I've posted!
I have indeed.
Posted on 2017-08-30 at 18:00:22.
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Topic: Prometheans: Genesis (The Reboot)
Subject: Overwatch
March 10, 2014 20:47:10 GMT
Somewhere above the State of Sao Paolo, Brazil
The past several hours have elapsed without Afton Pembroke having to pay much attention to navigation at all. D.A.D.D.E.'s recent telemetry and reaction control system upgrades have performed perfectly and, since he has deployed from his jet off the coast of Africa, steadily guiding his flightpath to bring him in over South America on a vector from Fortaleza, south and east, toward Brasilia. Thus far, the flight has been effortless and, as such, has left him plenty of time to review the data that Project Prometheus has managed to compile on the subject he has been sent to retrieve; an A-3 dynamo that goes by the moniker, Disturbance.
To Pembroke's mind, the information is patchy, at best, and almost seems to be an amalgamation of data on more than one person. The dossier names the man Preston Smith, but there are numerous other aliases associated as well. Many of the files he accesses, too, have been heavily redacted in key areas, primarily by various government agencies, it seems, but in places, by other organizations outside of any known regime. All in all, it has been a bit of a jigsaw puzzle but, if all the fragmented pieces are truly applicable to the same man, this retrieval will certainly be an interesting one, particularly the bit about the uncontrolled electrical manipulation Smith is purported to be cursed with.
A bit of sympatico and irony, that, Pembroke thinks wryly. It hasn't gone unnoticed that he and this Smith share something of a similar affliction; he can't help but wonder if it hasn't cost the man what it has cost him... and, if a suit similar to D.A.D.D.E. might not provide Smith a solution as it has himself.
Pembroke's leisurely musings over Smith and his "plight" are quickly relegated to the back of his mind when, D.A.D.D.E.'s HUD flickers and the suit's wide-range scanners pick up on an encrypted transmission.
",all for God taking care of your little problem, D; just figured I'd try to help out while He was working on it." Through the static that seemed to permeate the communique, a long low whistle was heard. Then; "I think you covered about four miles with that jump! Goooood hang time! You're gonna come in awful close to the town, though."
"Yeah," another voice responds through the electronic humming, "a little close. Still in the wee hours, here, though, and I don't plan on sticking around long enough for the welcome wagon to show up,"
"That's him," Afton says, "It has to be.
"Isolate that transmission and get me a vector," he commands the suit.
"Acknowledged," D.A.D.D.E. responds in its dry British voice, "Triangulating."
"And do see if you can't tidy it up a bit," Pembroke requests just as dryly, "That fuzz will wear a man's nerves quite thin after a time."
"Initiating audio enhancement algorithm's. Stand by." D.A.D.D.E. replies.
"Anything," the first voice queries as D.A.D.D.E. begins filtering out and/or compensating for any interference.
"Nothing major. We're good," returns the second voice, the static significantly reduced, now, "Should hit the border in an hour or so."
"That's the end I want the track on," Afton explains, "Let's not worry about the other, as yet."
"Affirmative," D.A.D.D.E. answers politely, "Target acquired. Suggested intercept vector plotted."
"Affirmative. We'll have an extraction point for you at Bela Vista. How's the charge?"
"Building, but still negligible. If I can hit Bela Vista in the next three hours and your guys can get me shielded, we shouldn't have to worry about pulsing the chopper out of the sky."
"Copy that. We'll be ready."
"As will we," Overwatch mutters, scanning the telemetry data on the HUD and adjusting his course. He watches his target closely for a moment, and a number of calculations run through his mind all at once. The neural interface with D.A.D.D.E. picks up on his thoughts and overlays the computations.
"Open a channel to our local resources in Paraguay," he commands, "Dispatch a unit to the coordinates specified."
The suit confirms the order with little more than a beep, then after a second; "Message relayed. Local assets deployed. ETA 17:53:06, local time."
21:58:06 GMT - Less than a kilometer south of the Paraguay-Brazil border
When he hits the ground this time, Preston doesn't immediately leap skyward once more. Instead, he grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and remains there, crouched down in the tiny pockmark his landing has made while trying to contain the surge of electrical energy that arcs maddeningly beneath and now visibly across the surface of his skin.
",ston?! You oka,? ,st you in a clo,rst or som,! Pres," Dweeb's transmission is squawky and garbled, of course, but he gets the gist of it and hopes the helmet is shielding his own vox-mic enough to send something acceptable back.
"Roger," he responds through clenched teeth, "I'm still here, Dweeb. That thunderstorm packed a little more kick than I expected! Might have made a liar out of me in regards to what I said about my charge, earlier. I'm feeling kind of jazzed, right now. Think I'm gonna sit here and wait for it to disperse before I get any closer to your team."
"Preston? D.. ou copy?... ome i,"
Yeah, Preston grimaces, straining to stand against the upwelling electricity, I'm on my way, Just, gimme a, minute,
",and he does not restrain the lightnings when his voice is heard,"
"Well, come on, then," Preston pleads, lifting his eyes, if not his body, skyward, "Let it loose! Or show me how to restrain it, or, NNNnnnngggg!!!"
Overwatch drops down below the clouds. He positions his flight path to come in on the mark's six. Out of sight while he eavesdrops on the conversation.
The surge doubles Disturbance over and he feels as if he has to lift the welder's mask visor of his helmet in order to breathe, "No more than you can bear," Preston growls, forcing himself upright once more, "The Lord gives you no more than you can bear," He lets his head fall back in order to look at the sky without the visor in the way. That intended path of sight, though, is diverted by the sight of the armed and armored troops who now ring the edge of his tiny divot, their weapons train unerringly on him. One of those troops—or, perhaps, it is someone else that Preston can't see—shouts out a command in Spanish, He thinks it is Spanish, Can't quite make it out over this buzzing.
"No habla," Preston can't help but lie, fighting the lightning and the urge to leap out of here all at once, "Lo siento, no habla, You all really should get away from here, Muy rapido!"
"Hold your positions," Afton orders the local assets through D.A.D.D.E.'s direct link to their communications channel. "Prepare the containment pod and have it ready to move into position fast."
"Remain still and keep your hands where we can see them, Mr. Smith," Overwatch cautions the asset after switching to external audio with a thought, "and get to your knees. We're going to manage your electrical problem for you and then, you're coming with us. Your compliance will make the entire process much simpler."
Even as the power surge begins to send crackles of light through his vision, Preston squints in the direction of the voice, seeking the source of these new commands. He tries in vain to shake those arcing motes away when his gaze settles on a sleek but imposing onyx figure hovering in the air above him.
Preston Smith surveys the armed and armored Spanish troops who are arrayed in a ring around the edge of the tiny divot that he has made by his sudden landing mere moments ago. Then his focus settles upon the imposing onyx figure that is hovering in the air above him. Preston allows the electrical charge to build within him, without offering as much resistance to its building power, as he ordinarily would do. He needs to complete his rendezvous with Dweeb as soon as possible!
The words of a familiar song resonate inside his helmet that looks a bit like a heavy welder's mask. Preston is overtaken by his Rocker personae as the power surging within him continue to build—while he assessed the threat of the flying figure as well as the Spanish troops arrayed against him.
Disturbance suddenly launches an offensive as he sings Street Fighting Man by The Rolling Stones out!
Those words highlight the severe volatility of Preston Smith to Afton better than even the readings D.A.D.D.E. is spitting out. Another mental command returns the suit's communications back to the private channel.
"Prepararse," he warns the Project Team.
As Preston, aka Rocker, unleashes his power against his assembled opponents; vowing within himself to not be taken prisoner again by the Agency against his will, he bellows: "My name is Disturbance!"
Even before the last syllable of the asset's name is begun, Overwatch takes action. Electricity won't necessarily have an impact on D.A.D.D.E. due to the suit's insulated shielding, but those troops are certainly susceptible to a charged attack. The Project needs this asset in tact. He's powerful enough that properly leashed, he could do some good. Unleashed, he's nothing but a danger to humanity. Should he remain unleashed—or untreated, uncontained—he is nothing more than a threat to humanity.
Shoulder plating opens in a blink of an eye and mini-grenade launchers spit out two grenades right on top of Disturbance. The indicators in Afton's HUD display show one less sleep gas grenade and one less flash bang. The Brit is hoping that if the gas doesn't have an effect on Smith, the flash bang will be enough to disorient him so Overwatch can move in and wrap him up.
Posted on 2017-08-30 at 17:59:14.
Edited on 2017-08-30 at 17:59:47 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Altaira
If you'd rather just focus on the role-play and nor deal with the game technicalities, I'm flexible.
Posted on 2017-08-30 at 11:25:07.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: No posts yet?
I'm surprised.
Posted on 2017-08-29 at 18:31:49.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Thanks for the responses, Eol.
Roll20's chat records everything. That's what I was referring to. Ideally, this is the way I see it working:
Any situation that requires a map (combat, travel, etc.) will have a reference to refer back to roll20.net for specifics.
In combat, players will roll initiative. This will set up the Turn Tracker which will dictate who's move it is.
Players make their character decisions, move their tokens on the map, roll their skill checks, etc. in roll20.net. This will all be tracked on the roll20.net chat for my reference.
Now, right off the bat I see some challenges which—while I think the idea is cool and love the concept of the additional player involvement and map presentation—could slow down combat situations dramatically.
First, you only get to resolve your character's action for that turn. This means that you'll need to return to roll20.net frequently to make sure you aren't holding up the game, or have open communication between the person before you and the player after you to keep the process moving.
Right now, I make all of your character decisions during combat. I receive a simple explanation from you as to what you want to do offensively, defensively, and then if you see another character in trouble. Then, I roll through the combat and write up the whole thing. You have very little involvement, but it is quick (relatively) and I put up a story post detailing the results. This would reeeeeaaaaallly slow that process down unless everyone was on top of things. And then, this will only reeeaaaly slow things down. 
Second, the roll20.net system is not natively built for the REALITYbites system. That means that it may not function as I need it to, but from the looks of things, it can through some modifications and setup of macros on my part.
Either way, we haven't fully transitioned to using the roll20.net stuff, nor do we have the need for it, and the only post I have is from Eol (thank you).
Posted on 2017-08-29 at 18:28:32.
Edited on 2017-08-29 at 18:29:48 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: This is a new thing for me (Roll20).
I'm not 100% sure it will work well with a PBP game, but we'll give it a shot. Glad everyone is on board with the idea.
I am sorry, but I definitely don't have the time to run a live game. My boys asked me to run one for them and trying to hack out time to do once a month is proving to be nigh unto impossible. But, they are the reason I joined roll20.net, so you can thank them if it works.
Posted on 2017-08-28 at 09:45:20.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: It is!
However, I am hoping that their chat function will record rolls and such while we keep the actual storytelling and RP here. This is a test. I've not yet tried it to see if it will work. Though... Fin may be able to test it for us sooner rather than later.
Posted on 2017-08-27 at 22:58:37.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Nice post!
I like it.
In an effort to allow you players to remain involved in combat situations, I've opened a roll20.net account. I am in the process of adding your characters to the Flesh & Blood game setup there. If you are unfamiliar with the site, it allows for shared maps, you control your token (figurine) on the map, I can layout fog of war, I can designate your vision, etc. You'll need to go sign up for a free account (you can pay for one if you want, but you don't have to). I've sent each of you a game invite using the email address you have here.
Now, the way I want this to work is for people to make their own combat rolls. Hopefully, it will work in combat rounds so we can still just move through combat scenarios, but you'll have more involvement. We'll see if it works.
Posted on 2017-08-26 at 20:46:57.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I'm making some changes...
In an effort to allow you players to remain involved in combat situations, I've opened a roll20.net account. I am in the process of adding your characters to the Flesh & Blood game setup there. If you are unfamiliar with the site, it allows for shared maps, you control your token (figurine) on the map, I can layout fog of war, I can designate your vision, etc. You'll need to go sign up for a free account (you can pay for one if you want, but you don't have to). I've sent each of you a game invite using the email address you have here.
Now, the way I want this to work is for people to make their own combat rolls. Hopefully, it will work in combat rounds so we can still just move through combat scenarios, but you'll have more involvement. We'll see if it works.
Posted on 2017-08-26 at 20:35:20.
Edited on 2017-08-26 at 20:46:35 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Not a problem. Focus away!
I will come up with a post soon. I've caught up on my other games.
Posted on 2017-08-25 at 12:00:52.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Game has been updated.
I've reunited everyone. While you role-play the reunion, Blossom will start watching the video playback from the day that the boy went missing forward. That's a quite a few hours of video to scrub. If asked, she'll share that she's searching for some additional freeware that will help with the process... some facial recognition software that will locate the boy on multiple video streams.
Posted on 2017-08-25 at 11:59:52.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Moving right along...
West 43875 St. 52 High -- Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:13 AM 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)
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After slipping on a rung, which causes his chin to slam into another one hard enough to make his teeth clack and see a few stars, Fixer grabs the ladder firmly and, moving carefully, he leaps to a landing on his feet which, naturally, slide out from under him, he bounds back up and moves to get quickly out of the way.
Impacting his left elbow and hip in the fall, Vegas winces with the pain. Echo's knee is still pained from when it struck the ladder and the fall results in her landing awkwardly on her right wrist and forearm. Rolling off of the Chairman mimic, she mutters her apology (a barely audible, "Sorry.") and scrambles to move off down the tunnel, obviously following the pattern that Vegas has been operating under where he brings up the rear.
Bloodbank slows to a stop at the sound of the impact of his teammates slamming to the ground. He turns to see if they are injured. Tensely watching the pair untangle themselves and then rise gingerly, yet hurriedly, to their feet, the medtech makes a quick assessment and determines that if they are injured, treatment can wait until they have achieved a more stable situation.
"You guys sure do know how to get down a ladder quickly, Are you alright?" He says to them trying to lighten the situation. "Make sure you didn't drop anything from the fall."
Testing her weight on her injured knee, Echo carefully gets to her feet and starts moving down the tunnel, stopping briefly to answer the medtech as she passes. "I'm fine," she lies, "but you should see to Vegas—he didn't have as soft of a landing as I did. But hurry, they may yet find our secret escape."
Trying not to limp, Echo makes her way down the tunnel a hundred yards or so, taking up a position near Ghlahn.
"See anything we should be worried about on this end?" she asks the sniper, gingerly rubbing her injured wrist and arm.
(OOC: Ghlahn's reply, if any,)
Still wincing from the pain in his left elbow and hip, courtesy of the falling Echo, the Dapper Solo walked off the pain for a few feet as he brought up the year, before calling out to Blossom:
"Hey Doll," Vegas calls out to the Asian beauty while ignoring the comment from the skull-masked edgerunner. Wind having been knocked from him when Echo landed on his chest, he manages to make himself heard while waving off any concern Bloodbank might have for him after the nomad's comment. "Can you find us a different route to elude any pursuers that will provide us a way of escape?"
"On it!" Blossom calls back cheerfully, already working the keyboard from her wrist bracer.
Storm sounds from outside the tunnel retreat to the roar of an aerodyne engine as it descends while light spills fully into the tunnel. Will the sec-teams' reinforcements follow them into the sewers or will the determination of what the edgerunners risked their lives for be of more value? Blossom enters a command that sends her system's avatar dancing and skipping away with twirls. Find me a widget that plots map courses, my little mei mei, she thinks, glancing up through her sunglasses at the light announcing the pending arrival of more enemies. Her damaged Killer construct stands stoically nearby.
Quickly studying the first few lines of the glowing holographic map displayed solely in her vision, the wardriver makes a quick judgment call. "That way! Turn down the way we came in, but take your first right after that."
Echo and Ghlahn are already positioned at the corner of the tunnel through which they had originally arrived. Both peer down the length of the slightly curving corridor, but light is a resource not readily available. (OOC: Going to assume here that Echo will use her flashlight, but that Ghlahn isn't worried about light so he'll take the lead.) While the leather clad woman retrieves her flashlight, the cocksure sniper breaks from his position and moves at a fast pace away from her, his Nomad .44 rifle held at the ready before him.
Deciding not to hinder herself with her own flashlight, Blossom sticks close to the nomad, taking in the odor of wet leather with each breath and wrinkling her nose at the scent of it. At least I'll know when Echo is nearby, she mentally comments.
Others produce lights as well and the team moves as rapidly as is assumed intelligent down the path that their netrunner has outlined. Before their next turn arrives, Blossom's avatar returns with a widget that she claims is safe and the wardriver stumbles a bit as she multitasks in moving and opening the code.
"‘M alright," she mutters as she bumps into Echo's shoulder and distractedly loses her footing for a brief moment when her boot slips in the sludge.
By the time the corner is achieved, she has adjusted a couple of lines of code to eliminate all exits of close proximity and provide them with a path that will put them out at least a mile from their current position. Glancing up in time to step over a broken piece of cement, Blossom enters the tunnel and then sets the widget to work within her recently acquired map. Brown eyes flit along the proposed course until she is satisfied that her work is done and then she glances back over her shoulder to softly call back to Vegas.
"Got it. Got our way out."
The declaration leads to a spring in their steps and quicker progression through the dank passageways of the impressive sewage system. Ghlahn leads off with enough distance between himself and the others that the sweep of their flashlights has little effect on his cybernetically enhanced vision. Echo follows with Blossom practically riding her back and Fixer in close step behind them. Bloodbank is next, keeping a watchful eye on his companions, and Vegas brings up the rear. Each of the edgerunners keeps their preferred weapon in one hand and a flashlight (except for Ghlahn) in the other.
Despite moving at a faster pace than they had been able to without a clear path in mind the group's progress is still much slower than a person's would be while walking on the streets above. The sniper's forward position and ability to register heat signatures keeps them from stumbling upon a clearing bot working its way through the tunnel and devouring larger debris that might clog drainage. At one point, Blossom's path turns out to be blocked by a group of gangers who have claimed a junction room as a hangout.
Again, it is Ghlahn who keeps the group from alerting the gang members with their flashlights when he catches sight of a change in temperature within the tunnel indicated heating units. Motioning Echo to hold everyone at a safer position while he investigates. Perhaps, if the gang members wouldn't have been drunk or sleeping he would have experienced trouble. As it stands, he is able to sneak close enough to register the number of people within the room at close to twenty hanging out with camp lights, camp chairs, kegs, sleeping bags, and pizza boxes. Drug paraphernalia is also very present. Walking the company through the snoring and stoned gangers would be akin to tiptoeing through a minefield blindfolded, so the red-headed gunman returns and reports.
Blossom reworks the widget's programming and within five-minutes a new route is plotted that extends the time below the Streets a bit but avoids any chance of disturbing that den of trouble despite having to backtrack ten minutes to a new junction.
At another time, Ghlahn spots some laser tripwires in place near surface junctions. Consulting Blossom's city map reveals a corporate compound overhead and it is easy to deduce that the tripwires are part of a larger security system protecting the corp from infiltration. Again, Blossom sets to work calculating an alternative path and again, the path adds time to their journey and backtracking, but they are able to avoid additional trouble. Additionally, as an added bonus, the distance between the Bartholomew School and their exfil point grows making it less and less likely that their point of emergence will be predicted.
Blossom's alterations to the trajectory plotting widget's code includes a point of exit in an alleyway. By the time they emerge, morning light has already licked the topmost towers of the Starscrapers overhead and crawled its way down a good portion of the structures. As is typical, the alley is still dark—not quite dark as night, but darker than dusk. Checking the time in their visual augmentations, each edgerunner is able to see that the time is now 8:23 AM.
(OOC: I'm going to take some liberty on making a decision for the group. Please inform me if it is incorrect.)
Time to touch base with Casino and see how Starlight and he fared. The problem at hand being that the big man has no agent, so it's back to the Dark Net and the recruiting site to drop a message to both. The next step is to find a place to catch some shuteye while waiting for the replies. This is accomplished by checking into a coffin motel.
Ten NCD's per hour limits the amount of time the cashpoor group has as much as the need to check message responses on a regular basis, so it is decided that two hours is the maximum time the edgerunners will allow for a catnap. By 10:30 AM the team is gathered again in the lobby of the coffin motel and Blossom reports on the messages.
"Starlight is laid up at an undisclosed location. She was hit pretty hard. She wants a report—" the team has yet to provide any kind of report other than they have hit the school and have made it out. "—stat."
The problem is that the team has nothing really to report at this point. Security records have yet to be reviewed. Vegas is the next person to report as he's heard from his partner. They have a place to go to meet up with the large solo and grab some food.
Hightower's BBQ is a street-level restaurant sitting between an Administration of Conservation Programs office suite and an advertising agency called Tanity Marketing Partners. Overhead, the building holds a hair, nail, and skin care services provider called Blackcat Strut; a Veteran's Affairs office; and a software development firm named Inware. More businesses continue as the building climbs, but the team is more interested in reuniting with the blonde bruiser and getting some food in their bellies than reading the holographic register.
Aromatic pepperoni and melted cheese assaults the groups' senses of smell the moment the door is opened. Greeted by a traditional looking decor of white and red checkered tablecloths, low-hanging pendulum lights over each table and booth, and a worn-looking brown faux-wood front counter, stomachs emphasize their eagerness with grumbles and mumbles. A spectrum of patrons fill the room from city employees to people in business casual attire. Strings of melted cheese hang from their mouths where they are sucked in with relish, grease drips from the end of broad triangular slices that have to be folded over just to hold, and large plastic glasses of soda entice the worn and hungry outsiders.
"Welcome to Hightower's," a young black woman with her pink-streaked hair pulled back tight into a bun smiles brilliantly when the team steps in front of the counter. "What can I get for you?" Her eyes flight across the wet and dirty alternative outfits and exposed weapons, but the smile remains on her face. A quick glance about the dining room reveals that the group has won more than a little attention, but as is typical, anyone caught looking immediately returns their attention to their companions or meal.
"Got a Casino in this establishment?" Blossom steps right up to the counter and presses her bare belly against the wood as she leans forward and peers into the kitchen.
"Uh," the girl retracts her chin into her neck and looks dumbfounded. "We've got pizza, and a salad if you want."
On queue, a large man with white-blonde hair and a receding hairline sweeps into view. He's not wearing the dark blue apron that the girl has on and is, instead, dressed in tan slacks and a white with red pin-striping button-up shirt. For all intents and purposes, this Viking has no neck and his bulk is impressive if a little heavy around the middle. He would be more intimidating if he wasn't sporting a large smile that showed teeth with huge gaps between them. Vegas immediately recognizes Casino's friend, Granger Hightower, owner of the pizza joint.
"You are the friends of Kei—uh, Casino—yes? He said you'd be arriving. Please, come around," he motions to the hall leading back to the restrooms. Making their way into the hall, the team witnesses a door set into the wall on the left opening and the older man motions them in.
The kitchen is a hot place with the ovens running, pushing the pizzas in their black pans along a conveyor belt after the orders are assembled by a series of compact robots. But it isn't in the kitchen that the reunion takes place.
"I am Granger and this is my establishment," their host says over his shoulder while leading the group through the kitchen towards his office. "Casino showed up at about four this morning a little worse for wear. None of my business. I don't ask questions. Just know that he's not in the best of moods and is especially unhappy with you, Vegas."
Opening the door to his small office, Granger looks inside and then glances back at the group. Sighing, he steps aside and offers entrance with a gesture. "It will be a tight fit, but it is the best I can provide. Please, try not to disturb anything."
True to his description, the office is a mere three to four meters square with a two and a half to three meter high ceiling. Illuminated with a series of LED bar lights, everything has a sickly white hue to it. The desk is immediately to the right of the door, clean with a flat two centimeter thick keyboard and a two centimeter thick, curved flatscreen high-definition monitor hovering above a hover plate by about ten centimeters. A digital map of the area around the restaurant is displayed on the next wall with live feeds of traffic and weather. There are two other chairs in the room besides the executive chair Casino sits in at the desk. Aside from that, there are a few pictures on the walls showing an older woman who is likely around Granger's age as well as another couple with a baby and a toddler.
Pressing into the room, the worn team looks upon their wounded teammate once again.
"Can I borrow his wall screen?" Blossom asks Casino, not waiting for a greeting or any other pleasantries. Seeking permission also appears to be rhetoric as she immediately calls up her keyboard from the bracer on her wrist and types furiously. Seconds later, the screen flickers and the map is replaced by video footage from the school's security cameras.
(OOC: Time is 1:00 PM)
Posted on 2017-08-25 at 11:55:18.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Post made!
I've updated the game, so all you's scallywags can get t' posting!
Posted on 2017-08-24 at 12:10:20.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: A couple of the characters are really close in time stamps now, but there's still some discrepancies
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:15 P.M.; The Le Porc Fattest Tavern
As the ale flows, the others become more talkative. It may have taken several hours but Goncalvo has gathered valuable information. "I thank you for the company gentlemen but I must be getting back to my ship. You know how captains are about the crew returning late." The drunk captain almost manages a remark but his eyes drift shut instead. Concalvo thanks the bar maid and then heads out the door and back to the long boat. He intends to share what he has learned with the captain.
Heat still boils the very air around the sailmaster and the streets of the settlement are just as busy as when he had arrived hours past. It is stifling, but not too unlike his native Spain along the southernmost coast. Remaining free from jostling is also a stifling task due to the traffic along the way back to the water. Nothing missing, Goncalvo is left waiting for the longboat to return. He can see it in the bay, still bobbing next to the sleek lines of the Dog, but there's not a soul in it.
"You seem the lonely sort," a soft voice sings behind him, drawing his attention.
She stands, perhaps, ten feet from him, a small woman of petite build with frizzy brown hair that sits atop her head and ragged skirts. White was once the color of her blouse but it is now soiled and gray, thin and drifting in the wind. Plain brown eyes stare up from beneath too of long lashes, flitting up and down his frame but refusing to rest upon his face.
"Do ya wanna be un-lonely?" she timidly asks with a simple and barely recognizable jerk of her head back towards the buildings. "Jus' a few pennies for a sailin' man whose been too long at sail?"
(OOC: Time is roughly 5:32 PM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:12 A.M.; The Town
As he draws nearer, the dark-skinned woman breaks from the crowd and approaches, the troubled expression still playing on her dusky features. The moment she is free of the throng in which she has been standing, a spark of recognition is struck in Crowe's memory. The tobacco pouch is forgotten and returned to its place in his belt as he tries to kindle that spark into a more enlightening flame, Everything about the woman is familiar—from the hue of her skin to the way she dresses and moves—despite that familiarity, though, Fin can't quite place why or precisely from where it might have come. By the time the space between them has been diminished enough for her to reach out a hand and press it against his chest to stop him in his tracks, the only thing he manages to recall with any sort of certainty is a name, Raisa Taïa.
"Why are you back?" The woman's voice hisses in his ear as his gaze dips, momentarily, to where her dainty, black hand rests close to the brand hidden beneath his shirt.
A wolfish grin starts to tug at the corners of his mouth and his eyes glint a bit bluer as they lift to find hers. "An' why wouldn' I be, Raisa-luv," he asks, his gravelly voice softens a bit with the smile. The hand that isn't resting on the hilt of his blade lifts to capture hers and pry it gently away from his chest. He keeps her hand trapped in his as his grin moves slowly from wolfish to shark-like; "If I dared believe it, I'd think ya din't miss me,"
Eyes narrowing, Raisa presses her lips together and defiantly meets his gaze, "I didn', but I know someone who did—someone who's been lookin' forward t' this reunion fer some time now."
His hand tightens a bit around hers and his eyes let go of her just long enough to scan the streets around them before he begins walking again, not quite forcefully hauling her along beside him as he continues his progress into the town. "Don' mind refamiliarizin' me wit' th' place, do ya, poppet?"
Tugging her hand free with no exaggeration of effort, the woman stops dead in her tracks and forced Fin to turn from his progress once again to face her. "Yer no' listenin' to a word I'm sayin', Fin Crowe."
More than a few heads turn, but the glances are fleeting and cautious enough that though Fin can be sure there were many he catches but a few.
"He swore he'd see you dead fer what you did," Raisa continues in a lower tone. "He'll do it too. He won' rest until he's avenged LeRoux."
(OOC: Time is roughly 11:13 AM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), The Sun Dog, 12:25 P.M.
"We are going to do this job right?" Maggie says, her excitement evident in her voice. She isn't usually the thinker of this pair, but she thinks this could be a major boon for them. Anything that might bring them more coin, and better trading relationships was always welcome. She knows that having a favorable relationship with a trader, in a port like Tortuga, is a good thing. They can often steer you towards good prospects to 'hunt' in the future.
"You think so, do ya?" Anna graces Maggie with the contemplative look of one who knows something the others in the conversation do not and are not asking the right questions to win over.
"F***ing yea, I do!" Maggie responds a little testily, which she often gets when it seems as if Anna is addressing her like she was a child. Anna loved to play this question/answer game where she would answer her question with a question, and try to get Maggie to make the right response; at first, it always irritated her. She was glad that they were in Anna's quarters and not in front of the crew; Maggie seldom raised her tone, or showed any disrespect, to her sister around the crew. She respected her sister and her position as Captain, and she wouldn't do anything that might give the crew members reason to doubt their Captain's decisions.
"So, we're t' jus' flip up our skirts and offer ourselves t' the firs' sweet talker we come across in port, Mags?" the captain instructs by patiently posing questions, something she's done as long as Maggie can remember.
See, another question. Maggie visibly pauses and tries to calm herself, she knew that was what Anna expected of her. It was a technique that Anna always used, and it usually worked.
"No," Maggie responded after a few seconds, "of course not." She was calming herself and starting to consider the options and what her sister might be working at here.
"We need t' get a better picture o' the tides before we become bedfellows with anyone," Anna takes up the quill from the cork holder in the writing set on her desk and delicately runs the feather along her lips. "We need t' see ‘bout this Davenport. We need t' see ‘bout the others as well. Any others. How're we going t' go ‘bout that, my dear sister?"
"Well, there's nothing that says we must have only one 'bed' partner." Maggie grins at the thought. It wasn't a bad idea to play rivals off against each other, and let them fight it out while the sister's benefited.
"Well," she went on while trying to think of an answer to Anna's last question, "we could try and contact this Davenport guy and get a feel for what he's like." She raised her left hand and brushed it absently through her hair; Anna would recognize this for her sister's frustration at not being very good and coming up with 'plans'.
"Do you want me to go check him out?" Her questioning tone left no doubt that she wasn't sure if that was a wise choice or not.
"Aye, Mags," Anna nods into the feather. "I want you t' figure the lay o' the land an' quick like lightnin' as we're no' t' have much time fer it. Gather what men ya need t' do it." Lowering the quill, Anna levels her stare at Hellfire Maggie, her younger sister and only living family. "Ya need yer head ‘bout ya in this, Mags. Fire'll sink yer ship."
(OOC: Time is roughly 12:27 PM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 11:35 A.M. - Port of Tortuga - The One-Eyed Parrot
"Time ta get yer ta der Dog," grunts Shark Tooth. "Ta git Mr. Hughes ta fix yer laig proper."
Cracker steps into the One-Eyed Parrot and lets his eyes adjust to the light. He is looking for a good meal, or at least the best meal this establishment can manage. As he stands in the entrance he has visions of beef and bread and ale even as he knows stew of questionable origin and biscuits are more likely. But a sailor can dream.
As his eyes adjust, he leaves his reverie behind and starts to step into the room for whatever reality might serve up. But what it serves up is an odd assortment of people on one side of the room and... Shark Tooth and an injured man on the other side. The Shark doesn't seem to have noticed him and for a moment thoughts of quickly fleeing to another public house flit across his mind. But he shakes the idea out of his head because he knows he can never just ditch a shipmate in need. With an inward groan and a glance at the kitchen, he moves towards the two who seem to have half a tavern to themselves.
As he approaches, Shark Tooth seems to hear his steps and turn warily in his direction. When he turns, Cracker gets a full glimpse of the fun that he has been having. His shipmate has clearly had a tough go of it and the man on the table even worse. Stopping only a couple of feet away so that their conversation won't be overheard by the other side of the room, Cracker shakes his head saying, "Ah, Sharky, what'd you go and get yourself into?"
"Well, this fine sailor here was being set upon by a ship's worth of ruffians and I thought it a bit unfair, so I helped out." He grins a battered and bruised grin and, pointing towards his swelling face, adds, "see? I kept all of these blows from hitting him? A victory I call it!"
When all Cracker does is shake his head and inspect the man on the table, Shark Tooth takes a more serious line. "It may prove to be a victory. My gun crew needs a man. This is Daxon and he is interested in the Dog. If a few bruises gets a good crew, it is worth it!"
The boatswain looks over the man on the table and can't help but notice the bloody rag tied around his leg and the look of pain on his face. Hopefully he'll end up a good gunner, because right now he looks more like a gutter rat. "Looks like he needs the surgeon before he'll be manning any guns."
Shark Tooth grins a bruised and battered grin. "You said it! Yeh see the need! Help me get Daxon back to the Dog, Cracker."
Cracker looks at his shipmate and sighs audibly. "I wouldn't leave a mate like this, but..." and here he can not help but glance at the kitchen, "you owe me a good meal next time we get to shore, Sharky." He moves to the side of the new sailor named Daxon and assists the man to his feet. "I'll welcome you to the Sun Dog, Daxon, if we can get you there. Come on, let's get you to the doc."
"Aye Cracker! Yur Hep Me Git Mah Heartie Ta Dah Sun Dog 'N Ye Be Gittin Yur Sharky Meal Fer Shur!" Shark Tooth grins against his pain and moves to do his part.
"Me name is Daxon, Thank you for yer help. Ole sharktooth here has been one saving grace. T'is good to meet more of yer mates. What do you do on the ship?"
(OOC: Cracker's response,)
Blackheart's leg throbs as the three men move from the tavern. Beat up and wounded, Daxon and Wylie glance about but their concentration is more on their own cautious movements and avoiding impacting their injuries which result in stabbing pain lancing throughout their bodies whenever they fail. Cracker, on the other hand, is very much in full control of his senses and scans the lopsided tavern crowd with impunity as he bears a good portion of the potentially new gunner across the worn and stained planks of the establishment. The promise of a future meal does nothing to satisfy his hunger for the moment, Shark Tooth's involvement in another man's troubles is alarming enough that the boatswain does not feel comfortable letting his guard down. No one in the Parrot's patronage turns their curious gazes from the trio, but who can blame them? It is quite the spectacle. To the Dog's junior officer, they seem nothing more than curious.
Passing through the door and back into the fully oppressive heat, Cracker keeps one eye shut and the moment he passes into the penetrating light cast by the equatorial sun, he closes the open eye and opens the closed. It's an old trick he learned from a sailor on in the British Navy to adjust more quickly between light sources such as when coming up from below deck into the bright sunshine during a combat situation.
Peering first to the left and then to the right, the ex-navy man can see no immediate threat. It would appear to him that those who had dealt out the sever punishment to his brother and the possible new recruit have no further interest in the matter. Turning the hobbling Blackheart in the direction of the bay, Cracker and Shark's Tooth practically drag Daxon on the long-haul, again, drawing many a curious glance, furtive though they may be.
Sand is a merciless floor upon which to walk when not burdened. When assisting a man who is essentially rendered one-legged, the tiny dead bodies of ocean creatures and shells under boot become downright bothersome. Worse; when the beach is achieved, the longboat is barely making its way back from the Dog with a single passenger to deposit on shore requiring them to wait for ten minutes or so before the bow cuts into the sand.
"Ho, thar!" Cyril Daumier is the sailor manning the longboat. A friendly Frenchman with a long, narrow face and a prominent nose, he usually works the sails. "Who's this an' wha' in the bloody ‘ell ‘appened t' you Les mecs?"
(OOC: Whatever reply, by whomever,)
The passenger, a large man with no neck whom none of the three men on the beach have seen before, disembarks without so much as a nod in their direction. He doesn't even look back choosing to trudge willfully across the beach as he departs.
Shaking his head and clicking his tongue, Cyril turns away just a little too late to hide his smile. Holding the longboat steady, he waits until Daxon is loaded and the others are situated before pushing the vessel into the surf and quickly splashing aboard (an act that sends droplets of seaspray across his passengers).
"Ya think tha' Captain Cole will fancy takin' on a wounded man, hmmm?" Daumier puts his back to the act of rowing. He eyes Blackheart with half-hooded eyes the mood of which cannot be discerned by the others. "Je suppose que cela dépend de combien de temps nous sommes à l'ancre, non?"
(OOC: Whatever replies are appropriate. Remember to check your character sheets to see if you speak French before using Google Translate to see what he said.)
Ten minutes later and the longboat draws up alongside the Sun Dog. Cyril reaches out and grabs hold of the rope dangling next to the thick rope ladder dangling over the edge and raises his eyebrows. "Does he need t' be ‘oisted up, perhaps?"
(OOC: Decision,)
On deck, the sun almost directly overhead, Cracker catches the eye of one of the sailors on watch named Chimwemwe, a man of average stature with skin as black as the night who prefers to fight with a mooring hook, and asks after Hughes.
"He be ashore," Chim replies, looking both Shark's Tooth and Blackheart over with his beady eyes. Nodding to Daxon, the man asks, "Who be him?"
(OOC: Answer as you see fit,)
(OOC: Time is approximately 12:33 PM.)
Posted on 2017-08-24 at 12:09:39.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Excellent.
You do that! Hang 'em high... sorry. Wrong genre.
Posted on 2017-08-23 at 11:27:42.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I've returned...
I'll be catching up over the next couple of days. So, prepare yourselves.
Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:50:38.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I have returned.
I'll be catching up over the next couple of days (both work and games).
Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:50:09.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I'm back.
Have I lost anyone?
Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:49:34.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: OK... I'm back.
I have returned from a very hot vacation to the beaches of Fripp Island in South Carolina. I'll be catching up on my posts over the next couple of days (also catching up on work, so...).
Eol, grab that bull by the horns and twist sharply to the right. When you hear the snapping of cartilage, you'll know you've killed it. That's when you stab it repeatedly with a sword and then kick it really hard... a lot.
Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:49:11.
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