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Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: My experience...
Just offering insight: my experience with play-by-post is that a lot of time can be spent on character introductions and getting to know each other. In some cases, that can stymie the pace of the game, while other games actually do better for it. For example: the Star Trek games here at the Inn do well with those introductions. The D&D games tend to stagnate due to the repeat "you meet in a tavern" kinds of scenarios. Having never played this game before, I've no suggestions as to what will work, or won't.
I'll also adjust the concept of my character if you'd like. I'd envisioned him as a drifter (the consummate biker with a bedroll, a Traveling Man in the truest sense of the word). Just tell me what works.
Also, are we using the Cortex rules and starting characters are Rookies? I can create an Editable PDF character sheet if it makes it easier.
Posted on 2016-09-18 at 19:55:04.
Edited on 2016-09-18 at 20:11:47 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: This was a really crappy sports weekend for me.
All of my teams lost this weekend. All of them!
Posted on 2016-09-18 at 19:40:57.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Quick question.
Who is allowed to post as the ambassadors? Is that being reserved for you and Eol?
Posted on 2016-09-17 at 11:07:46.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: So, I've gone and done it again.
I've added Asovil's remarks to Tochi as well as her take from "afar" on the events that Olan posted.
I am open to any type of interaction between characters as each of you arrive, playing out the first few minutes of the reception, but Asovil will not breach protocol by intruding upon a superior officer's space. So, you'll need to have your characters instigate. 
Posted on 2016-09-16 at 18:19:10.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: More meat
Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:02
Waiting, she decides, for everyone else to arrive is almost as discommodious as arriving in the first place. Taking time to visually investigate the work that Ops has put into these festivities, Asovil finds herself engaged with the curiosities of each cultural spread and only vaguely hears the swish of the hydraulics opening the doors far to her left. The table is set for nine; a little squishy with barely any elbow room in a space usually comfortably sitting eight, but it works.
The science officer is seated at the end of the left side of the table as is appropriate what with her being the lowest ranking officer amongst the department heads and this not being a science vessel. The delegates would be seated to either side of the captain's chair at the head of the table, Toch'si—Asovil finds her cheeks warming involuntarily at the thought of the XO—position will be to the right of one of the ambassadors on the opposite side of the table from her's while the 2nd in command (the Andorian woman struggles to remember the name of the Chief Operations Officer as she can't recall having met him yet) would be across the table on the left of the other ambassador. Then the Chief Tactical Officer would be to Tochi's right, the Chief Engineering Officer across from him, and the Chief Medical Officer across from where Asovil sits. The end of the table opposite Captain Drake's chair is to remain empty.
"Good evening, Lt Sh'iraolnas. No bells?"
Asovil feels her shoulders tense up and the butterflies that had settled in her stomach now fly into her chest. Attempting to retain as much composure as possible, the blue-skinned young woman rises quickly from her chair and turns towards the handsome man addressing her. Offering a snappy salute, she barely constrains the smile she wishes to wear to the corners of her mouth and the light in her eyes.
"Lt. Zai," acknowledges the lower ranking officer. "Unfortunately, the creation of bells to adorn my uniform is not part of my replicator rations. And, I could find nothing in the Starfleet manual about the placement of bells on a dress uniform, so I chose to disregard the adornment in favor of avoiding another reprimand on my record."
"Not to worry," Tochi chuckles softly, gesturing at the various wind-chimes overhanging the room. "Operations has seen to all the bells we may need. And, if we may say so, you look perfectly lovely without them,"
"You, sir," Asovil can no longer keep her smile at bay and it erupts across her face lighting her from within. "Are incorrigible." Though, you sure do clean up nicely, she finishes to herself.
"I must admit something, Lt. Zai," the young woman adds with a worried tone. "This is the first time I've been invited to such an event. What is expected of me in my position and how best can I honor the Captain and this ship?"
(OOC: room for a reply.)
Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:25
Lt. Sh'iraolnas' plate consists of a raw cut of meat that reminds her of a barely cooked cut of krill-beast, a serving of some leafy vegetables lightly sprayed by a mixture of oils and dusted with herbs, and a kind of bread that reminds the Andorian woman of her people's hari. The fluted glass before her sparkles in the light showing through its translucent crystal the champagne colored liquid served as a drink. Fragrances of the food mixtures persistently pursue her attention, but the roiling condition of her nerves-induced stomach has made it nearly impossible for her to taste the morsels. All the science officer can do is occasionally sip the dry liquid and watch the proceedings, still a little overcome by the magnitude of the responsibility she now holds.
Flitting sky blue eyes dart from the face of one of her dinner mates to another and then back to the speaker in a vain attempt to observe all data-points. She catches the Captain shake his head with an amused—No, not amused, but more resigned perhaps.—smile but cannot fathom where the expression is born from. Certainly not the rhetoric being delivered by the distinguished Rytainian ambassador. Please, she finds herself thinking. Don't look at the captain right now Ambassador Threel. Worry that the Rytain gentleman might take offense should he think that the captain feels his discourses humorous fills her head.
The delegate has been speaking about the various accepting and even encouraging aspects of his people for the past few minutes. Captain Drake has obviously found something concerning the man's information either questionable, or faulty altogether. What exactly that is, Asovil cannot surmise as she has no foreknowledge of either the Rytain nor the Kuldar races. The only thing she can hope for is that those aboard the Peregrine do nothing to exacerbate the already hostile relations between the two races. The lieutenant, junior grade has been able to determine throughout the conversations for the past twenty-minutes, or so, that these two delegates are enroute to a conference wherein they are supposed to attend peace talks mediated by the Federation of Planets. Asovil determines that the safe and uneventful delivery of these ambassadors to the summit is the mission, and as such, is now dedicated to insuring its success.
"...this is, of course, our nature," Threel pontificates with a flourish of his hands. "and why the Rytain are such an ideal fit for the Federation. We believe in the sanctity of all cultures, in the value of all viewpoints..."
Crystaline blue eyes dart to Lt. Zai as the Trill tips his glass to his lips, polite consideration written all over his roguish features. At the same time, the Rytain delegate is cut off by a throaty chortle from D'Lar of the Kuldar stealing the science officer's attention and causing her brow to furrow at the affront.
"Please, Ambassador—do not sully this room with such pt'lagh," the fierce representative growls.
Feeling defensive about the success of their mission, Asovil's antennae rigidly stand atop her head as she quickly assesses Threel's countenance. The yellow-haired individual wears a look of shock like an open mask upon his orangish face as D'Lar continues. For her part, the Andorian woman finds her stomach clenching as it always does in preparation for conflict. Scenarios in which she must find something diplomatic to say while coming from a position of strength begin to play out in her head despite knowing that such behavior is not within her wheelhouse.
"The Ambassador here is a liar," D'Lar declares with barely any consideration for inflection. "Have a care not to listen too closely to his flowery words." Threel makes a motion as if to protest, but D'Lar holds up a scaly hand.
"Of course," he allows. "I am also a liar. What diplomat could ever hold such a post if this were not the case?"
He laughs at his own words and wears a huge, wolfish grin, but Asovil isn't one of those who is relieved by his self-deprecating comments. She notices that Tochi chuckles but cannot find it within herself to more than turn the corners of her mouth up in a accommodating smile. The Kuldar's mind is cunning and he duels with words while walking the edge of an icy crevace, she notes turning her attention from the grayish man to the orange one. Threel's expression relaxes into a sickly smile, though a cold glint remains in his narrowed eyes. He is not amused. The Science Officer looks towards the captain for a retort, a play at saving the Rytainian ambassador some face while not offending the Kuldarian, but he is projecting no such inclination. Returning her attention to the scaly, stringy-haired ambassador whose clothing are not what the blue-skinned woman would consider formal at all, Lt. Sh'iraolnas catches his expression changing to a more serious one.
"Then again," D'Lar discloses with a bit of a rueful tone. "At least I freely admit what I am."
He does not know when to stop! Asovil's white eyebrows raise on her once smooth forehead and her antennae twitch with dismay as she sinks back into her chair. Neither the captain, nor others of higher rank and more prominent position, seem inclined to address the rough-dressed man's remarks and that is causing the strong-willed woman some consternation. A glance towards the XO reveals to her that he, at least, is taken aback as that statement raises Tochi's brows for a nanosecond as well. Good! Were I in Ambassador Threel's place, Asovil determines. I would have challenged him to a duel by now. Perhaps Tochi is about ready to rape with him. Unwittingly using the wrong terminology for engaging in a duel with the rapier Lt. Zai had described at their earlier dinner, the Andorian feels a momentary surge of hope accompany the thought.
The Kuldar takes in the expressions around him, laughs out loud, and raises his cup. "A toast, then, to putting the best foot of our peoples forward. Perhaps when this is all complete, Ambassador Threel will have me visit his home for a holiday, and he can regale his family with tales of my own falsehoods!"
This provokes some laughter, though again, Asovil is not among those who do. While the mood in the room seems to lighten, the blue-skinned young woman takes notice that Threel does not seem to let the laughter reach his eyes.
"Here, here," Tochi laughs along, raising his glass in salute. "To the Rytain and the Kuldar. May their peace be found and fostered and may their future lies about one another be of only the most flattering sort."
Leaning forward and taking up her glass as is appropriate according to Federation custom (something Asovil had learned in Starfleet Academy had been adopted from the Terrans by those other species who had joined), she hefts the glass up before her stone face and then touches the liquid to her slightly parted lips. Just a taste is all that she allows before placing the glass back at the upper right of her nearly untouched place setting.
These two, Lt. Sh'iraolnas shrewdly surmises. Are going to be a handful when it comes time for the summit. I, for one, am certainly grateful to Uzaveh the Infinite that I do not have to attempt to wrangle them. It would, undoubtedly, not end well.
Posted on 2016-09-16 at 18:14:33.
Edited on 2016-09-16 at 18:16:25 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: I'm in!
I've a concept for a character from ages back. I'm with Eol, I prefer the RP style of play, character-building, interaction, solving problems, etc.
The concept I have is a Freemason Biker with a penchant for scholarly interests but a forced history of brawny, violent resolutions. And, I will read the PDF because I like to get that involved and I absolutely love this show.
Posted on 2016-09-16 at 16:02:23.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Where are all the other wallflowers?
Send me the files, Eol. I shall magic them.
Asovil, Asovil, Asovil.
Posted on 2016-09-14 at 22:15:34.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Why is no one posting? Partay!
Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Captain's Mess - 19:00
Standing before the door to the Captain's Mess, Asovil realizes the magnitude of the captain's request that all department heads attend the reception. Stalling her entry, the Andorian scientist chews at the inside of her bottom lip while considering her thoughts. Accomplishment isn't something that's new to her. Accolades and recognition have been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. Yet, entertaining foreign dignitaries as a department head on a Starfleet vessel is very intimidating no matter the outfit she's wearing. Thoughts ring through her consciousness without compunction as to how they influence her desire to enter the chamber. What if she says the wrong thing? What if she spills? What if she doesn't realize the customs that these alien ambassadors revere are the same that she's unconsciously stepping all over? What if she mispronounces one of their names? What if she misrepresents the ship and her captain?
Swishing doors further down the corridor give the young woman a start, sparking the ignition that propels her into the recognition area in front of the portal. Sapphire eyes widen with the opening of the Captain's Mess hatch revealing the finely decorated ensemble within. With breath caught in her throat midway between inhaled and exhaled, Lt. Sh'iraolnas finds herself forced to face her fears much sooner than anticipated. The night has begun and the Andorian woman forces her insecurities deep down to be addressed later by her subconscious (most likely while sleeping), tugs at the hem of her dress coat, and takes in the small chamber with a critical and suspicious gaze.
Saber class Captain Messes are designed to comfortably seat eight. With the center dining set inhabiting the majority of the space options as to positioning are limited despite Asovil being one of the first besides the Ops team to have arrived. Directed to a seat further down the table by a helpful gold shirt, she quietly sinks into the chair and even her antennae strive to make her appear less noticeable.
Posted on 2016-09-14 at 22:12:44.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I'm on business...
I was going to post tonight, but then I went to the game thread and realized that there's nothing from Giddy and Vesper (and Ayrn, if you're RL situation is resolved). So, I'll give it this week. I'll post on Monday, as per my usual schedule.
Posted on 2016-09-14 at 20:15:45.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Ick! Ouch!
That's horrible. I'm glad you're recovering.
I was, myself, afflicted. So, you've got some time.
Posted on 2016-09-13 at 18:30:45.
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Topic: Supernatural / hunter interest?
Subject: Interest piqued!
Official.
Posted on 2016-09-13 at 18:28:00.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: So, it was the drugs I'm on.
Sorry for the confusion. I'm pretty foggy right now. By the way, if anyone is interested, these are the style of duty uniforms the crew wears:
Oh, and Eol? If you need help with that image, I'm happy to offer my experience.
Posted on 2016-09-12 at 18:51:36.
Edited on 2016-09-12 at 18:53:01 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Is it the antibiotics I'm on...?
Your posts confused me, Eol. Timestamp? That puts the delegates on the Coronado an hour before the dinner?
Posted on 2016-09-12 at 14:35:45.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Drake might just remove the entire Science Department...
This is why I write everything in Google Docs.
Posted on 2016-09-11 at 15:34:19.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Are we going to have posts this weekend?
Just checking...
Posted on 2016-09-09 at 18:24:06.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Yes! Never apologize, never surrender.
I have fluffed. Excuse me.
Posted on 2016-09-09 at 13:11:57.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Fluff, fluff, FLUFFFFFFF!
Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 2 - Asovil's Quarters - 16:35
"Computer," Asovil Sh'iraolnas states the instant she steps into her quarters. "Dim lights to eighty-five percent and set temperature to twelve point seven seven seven eight degrees celsius."
=/= Understood Lt. Sh'iraolnas. Lights and temperature settings have been changed. Would you like me to remember these settings for the future? =/=
"Yes."
=/= Settings have been updated. =/=
Chill air immediate flows from the vents placed along the walls near the ceiling and the illumination recedes as per the Andorian's command. Standing just inside the quarters, Asovil takes in her new accommodations with a critical eye.
The entryway is approximately one meter deep and houses the red-colored door and ship computer console set immediately to the right of the portal when facing it (which is to Asovil's left at the moment). Structural designers added an archway to the interior space separating the entry and the rest of the quarters in order to provide some sense of separation. Aside from the sonic shower space, this is the only figment of division within the entire room.
Just outside of the entry and to the scientist's left is the enclosure that holds the sonic shower and lavatory facilities. That's where the wall ends at a right angle and the new wall begins with a sink built into a dresser and overhead cupboards as well as a mirror and a small amount of counter space. Sharing the remainder of this wall with the adjoining back wall is a corner desk complete with upper shelves, a personal view screen, a computer console, a desk, and drawers tucked underneath the workspace. The desk area ends on the back wall with a twin bed (standard size for officer quarters) that has an open cubby for a headboard, runs most of the length of the remainder of the back wall, and ends with a built-in wardrobe. Ops has made sure new sheets, blankets, and a pillow are folded and set neatly at the center of the bed. The remaining wall (to Asovil's right) consists of a set of waist-high shelves topped by a glass atrium with a brilliant red and purple plant that rises nearly to the ceiling and a small table by which she can take meals in her room, or work on other easily manageable projects. The floor is carpeted with a deep maroon that goes well with the door color, and the single chair currently resting in front of the desk space is outfitted with powerful magnets in the footings to secure it to the floor underneath the carpet preventing the furniture from being thrown about in case of turbulence—magnets that can be deactivated to move the chair about the room. Asovil's bivvy bag sits atop the table awaiting her attention.
All-in-all, the quarters are more than sufficient for her needs, if smaller than the space she had enjoyed on the Equinox.
The giddy feelings she has been experiencing since parting company with the roguish Trill subside. There's work to be done to make these quarters her's as well as to make her presentable to the dignitaries at the reception dinner at nineteen-hundred hours.
Setting about the task at hand, Asovil unzips her bivvy bag and quickly pulls from it three duty uniforms rolled neatly into compact packages and sets them on the table. The fourth rolled up uniform she reveals is the one she'll be changing into for the dinner. These, she takes to the wardrobe and slides the door open with a push of a button. Unrolling one while keeping the others tucked between her thighs and knees, she hangs the uniforms on the provided hangers, moving through the lot of them with practiced efficiency born from years of serving within the Imperial Guard and Starfleet. Returning to her bag she produces a final rolled up article and unfurls it with care.
This is a white form-fitting gown of Andorian design that reaches nearly to the floor even with Asovil's height. Sleeveless, it has a high collar, cross-fabric design across the breasts, and a tapered waist. Slits on either side rise to the knees and a single silver buckle sits on the left hip. A gift from her younger sister, Izolao, when she left for Starfleet Academy, the dress is dear to the scientist. Holding the gown out before her, she recalls her sister's emotion-filled gifting and comments about how she's going to need to fit in with the Terran's social customs, so she might as well look the part. While an Andorian tailor had made the dress, it had been designed by compiling a number of Terran cuts and Izolao had been most certain that the gown would help her older sister acclimate. Smiling fondly at the memory, Asovil delicately hung the piece of art in the wardrobe with her uniforms and pressed the button to close the doors. Another three commands entered into the wardrobe's control panel and the interior mechanicians are set to steam clean, press, and dry the articles of clothing within.
Returning to her bag, the blue-skinned beauty retrieves her personal PADD and two picture frames, all about the same size. The PADD she takes to the desk and sets down, placing one of the picture frames on the shelf above it. Activating the power button on the side turns on the picture screen which flares to life from a central point revealing a picture of Ekassol and Jhile, her father and mother, standing before the entrance to the Crystal Caverns on Andoria. The second picture frame is placed on the top shelf at the left side of the low built-in shelving system beneath the atrium. Activating this frame reveals a number of the graduating classmates from the Imperial Academy that she had grown close to during her stint. Resisting the urge to sit and watch the frames pass through the series of pictures and videos they hold within, the young woman returns to her bag.
Toiletries, a makeup kit, some jewelry, and a couple of personal hygiene and hair care devices are all taken to the sink area and placed either on the counter or within the drawer immediately below the sink. Another trip to the bag and she produces a spare set of highly polished regulation boots, white two-inch heeled sandals to wear with the dress, and a pair of dueling boots. These are all placed in the bottom drawer beneath the sink along with the shoe polish kit.
Another trip to the bag finds the young Andorian woman pulling out three pair of rolled up regulation underclothing, two tightly rolled workout shirts, two pair of workout shorts stored in similar fashion, and a number of socks. These are all placed in the second to last drawer of the dresser beneath the sink before she returns to her bag and retrieves a pair of casual slacks, and a loose-fitting white blouse. These, too, are placed in the dresser, folded and patted down to unnecessarily conserve room.
Finally, Asovil pulls a large fine-cloth wrapped thin item from the bottom of the bag. This, she sets reverently on the table next to the sagging bivvy bag and gently pulls aside the cloth to reveal her chaka. Approximately thirty-five centimeters long, and seventy-five centimeters from side to side, it weighs about one point eight kilos. Her's has a longer central blades, spiked side-blades, and a basket hilt on the haft. More of a shortsword than a dagger, when Asovil revealed it to her first roommate at Starfleet Academy (one Mary Rooney), Mary had declared that it resembled three Earth Bowie knives joined to form an upside down "T" with the main blade protruding outward from the fist and the two others protruding from either end of the handle.
A sacred dueling weapon of her people, a combat form for which the scientist is profoundly adept having achieved the rank of a Seventh Level Duelist before leaving for Starfleet Academy, Asovil proudly sets up the display rack on top of the headboard cubby and places the weapon there, point down. In times of war, or in preparation for the Duel, she will turn it so that the center blade is pointed upward as a sign of readiness.
Stepping back to the center of the room, the young woman observes her efforts with satisfaction. Still sparsely decorated, the quarters are, nonetheless, now hers. She's claimed her quarters by distributing her personal affects about the space and the next task is to make her bed.
Military training has taught her how to cut a sheet and set a blanket so tight that if a young child were to be dropped on the hardest of mattresses, the tautness of the bedding would still spring it back into the parent's waiting arms. Finishing, she studies the lines at the corners, the smoothness of the blanket's surface that allows the Starfleet insignia to sit proudly and boldly in perfect presentation center on the bed, and the placement of the pillow. Reaching up with her left hand, she pulls the pillow a little closer to the outside edge of the bed and then approves of her work with a nod.
"Computer, time?" she sets her hands on her hips and looks about the room once more.
=/= The time is now seventeen hundred and five hours. =/=
Moving back to the table, Asovil picks up her bivvy bag, folds it neatly, and steps across the room to the sink where she deposits the item in the bottom drawer. Stripping off her uniform and underclothing, the accomplished Andorian folds these articles and places them on the bed before making her way to the sonic shower and lavatory. The process of relieving herself and showering is quickly accomplished as her Academy training kicks in once more.
Toweling off, Asovil slips into her regulation underclothing, brushes her teeth, drops a quick mouthwash tablet into her mouth, and proceeds to return her hair to the straightened condition she prefers it in, removing the natural curl with one of the multi-functional devices she's brought along. Never having been one for makeup, she applies a very small amount; just enough to accent the contours of her cheeks, shadow her eyelids, thicken her lashes, and further define the edges of her lips. Starfleet Regulation prohibits displays of jewelry except for the purpose of religious requirements as with the Bajorans, but small diamond studs in her ears are perfectly acceptable. Finishing this process, the young Andorian woman studies herself in the mirror. That will have to do, she sighs, not at all happy with the results of her labors.
"Computer, time?"
=/= The time is now seventeen hundred and forty-seven hours. =/=
Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, she considers the possibilities for how she'll kill the remainder of the time she has until the dinner. There's a lot she could do, such as making a log report on her interview with Chief Crane. She hasn't been able to do that yet as Tochi—the thought of the XO warms her skin, immediately causing her no end of mortification—had invited her to dinner. Then there's communicating with her family. She has yet to inform them of her new assignment and can only imagine the litany of questions that will be thrown her way once she does. Dreadful, invasive questions that she would rather avoid at the moment knowing full well that they will rattle her calm and deliver her a mood of strained nerves for her introduction to the ambassadors.
"Then, that's decided," she says as she makes her way over to her desk and drops comfortably into the chair. "Mother and father can wait another day. What they don't know,"
Activating the computer screen, she moves through the commands to bring up her official department logbook. Accessing the log entry portion, she pauses, blasted by a thought that makes her feel cruel and selfish.
"Lt. Sh'iraolnas to Security."
=/= Security, here. What can we do for you, Lieutenant? =/=
"I have confined Chief Crane to her quarters. Will you please see to it that she is provided with meals at the appropriate times for Alpha shift assignment?"
=/= Affirmative, Lieutenant. Is there anything that we need to be aware of concerning the situation with Chief Crane? =/=
Asovil considers the question for a moment, chewing once again on the inside of her bottom lip. Lauren Crane seems truly reticent and obviously emotionally distraught over the consequences of her actions, but the condition of the Chief is in no way a comfort to the Andorian woman. Quite the opposite, actually. Lt. Sh'iraolnas has been witness to unfortunate antics propagated by emotionally distraught personnel during her education as well as in service to both the Imperial Guard and Starfleet. Just trusting that Lauren won't misbehave is folly, but expecting that a person in her situation could do something foolish thinking nothing of it except to satisfy their own guilt would be the anticipatory course expected of a Starfleet officer.
=/= Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas? =/=
"Yes," she abruptly responds. "I apologize. I was considering your question.
"I would like to make sure that all off-ship communications for Chief Crane are suspended during this restrictive period. All internal communications must be routed through me first, just to be certain that no further activity is suspect. Should she leave her quarters, or should she have any visitors, I want to immediately be informed.
"Aside from these orders, I don't see any necessity to divulge further situational details at this time."
=/= Affirmative, Lieutenant. We'll see to it that your orders are carried out. =/=
"Thank you."
Sighing once again, Asovil closes her eyes and takes a couple of slow, deep breaths. Setting herself to the task of filling out her log report, the Andorian calms her mind and soul while switching modes to pursue a more analytical approach. Logging department events is a task she finds helpful in judiciously assessing situations and interactions. Approaching the subject matter with a scientific outlook means that facts are presented and opinion is relegated to theory. This approach has served her well throughout her career, and in this case, she hopes that the log will reflect the same succinct delivery she takes pride in. She is careful with the words she uses, rereading the entry three times over before committing it. Her personal belief is that a log entry should not be edited once it is committed. Whenever she comes across such an entry, she questions the validity of the content. As such, she makes it her duty to provide clean, truthful, and fact-filled logs. The rereading of this particular entry requires five edited sentences, three word spelling corrections, and a minor grammatical error caused by a stuttered musing while the computer was recording. In the end, it is something she can take pride in.
"Computer," she settles back against the seatback and places both hands on the desk, stretching her back and shoulders. "Have any changes to my calendar been made?"
=/= None at this time. =/=
"He's probably busy with the preparations for the dinner," she mutters of the captain and the lack of appointment for her official briefing.
Turning in the chair she places her hands on her bare knees and looks towards the wardrobe. "Computer, time?"
=/= The time is now eighteen hundred and twenty-two hours. =/=
"All right, then," Asovil slaps her thighs and springs up from her seat, approaching the wardrobe in a couple of steps. The cleaning, pressing, and drying process has concluded. Opening the doors, she retrieves her dress uniform and holds it up against her body to inspect the work done by the ship. Neat and straight, the uniform jacket is blue with gold trim and a black swatch across the top of the shoulders and collar. The pants are black, cuffed just above the boot, and straight as well. Her polished black boots will finish off the ensemble.
Dressing, the science officer takes great care in making sure everything is in order eventually stepping over to the mirror to further investigate her appearance. Satisfied that at least the uniform looks presentable, she attaches her insignia to the left breast and places her lieutenant, junior grade, pips on her collar. Taking another deep breath, Asovil takes one step backward and relegates herself to a final once-over.
"This will have to do," she mutters with a frown while smoothing her jacket from the waist down with both hands. Her antennae reflect her doubt by drooping a little.
"Computer," she asks again. "Time?"
=/= The time is now eighteen hundred and forty-three hours. =/=
Closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, Lt. Sh'iraolnas breathes to settle the butterflies in her stomach. This is nothing more than a fancy dinner for people you don't know. Nothing to be this concerned over. Though the thought is accurate, she knows that deep down she is worried about a number of things. She wants to represent her ship and captain well, she finds herself struggling to engage in small talk more often than not, and Lt. Zai is going to be there with that crazily engaging smile of his. Failing to temper her nerves, the young woman settles her mind with the determination to do her best.
"It won't do to be late," she mutters and turns to the door. "Time to do your duty."
Posted on 2016-09-09 at 13:10:24.
Edited on 2016-09-09 at 13:19:13 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Repercussions!
Asovil would rain down the fires of Hell upon her head like a dumptrunk load of hail the size of Jupiter! Boom! BOOM! Ya, that's right. Don't mess with the Andorian woman. She whoop yer butt right into shape.
Sorry... RL spilling over into games. FIGHT! I mean, I'll be posting a fluff piece on Asovil here shortly.
Posted on 2016-09-09 at 10:17:58.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: So looking forward to the next posts!
Eol, I will definitely be using the rumor mill to make Asovil's life miserable. Muahahahahaha! 
Great interaction Booboo and Ody! Funny thing is, if you rewatch Trek (pretty much any of them) then you'll see that they almost always throw something in their episode about ship life. So all of these interactions are fabtastic!
Olan, I don't think that Asovil will bring a downer up at the reception dinner. She feels things are contained for the moment and don't need immediate attention. She is content to wait and deliver her report during her official briefing. If you want to schedule that briefing, that'll be helpful.
And, yes! Happy Anniversary, Star Trek!
I have a fluff piece in mind for Asovil getting back to her quarters and preparing for the dinner, but aside from that, I'm waiting on the posts leading us into that portion of the day.
Posted on 2016-09-08 at 12:15:27.
Edited on 2016-09-08 at 12:20:59 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: In case you all were wondering...
The game has been updated. Some of you have received PMs with information you can choose to use in your posts. Others... well, you just have to suffer through in ignorance. Muahahahahahahaha! 
Looking forward to your posts!
Posted on 2016-09-07 at 11:33:58.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Why, thanks...
I appreciate the kind words, Eol and Booboo (I too, wonder what it means, Booboo).
Welcome back Haemish!
Posted on 2016-09-07 at 11:31:16.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: There's something very wrong with you, my friend.
I've posted an end to their dinner.
That was quite enjoyable. I find it difficult to write for a woman's point of view, but I had fun expanding my horizons with that exercise.
Looking forward to the reception, oh, great and marvelous Captain!
Posted on 2016-09-06 at 14:35:48.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Ending the Dinner Encounter...
Stardate 2365.02.08 (Monday - 42136.2)
USS Peregrine ; Deck 5; "The Aerie," Tochi and Asovil's table - 16:17
"Anyway," Tochi grins a more sheepish than wicked expression, having feigned a surveillance of the room before letting his gaze frame her, once more, "What, were we saying?"
"You were speaking about Dirven's auspicious Risa memories and playboy mannerisms," Asovil reminds him without so much as a hesitation. Forking a cooling piece of chicken into her mouth, the Andorian puts a hand up to cover her lips as she speaks around the food, the thought just popping into her head. "We are to wear bells to the reception tonight?"
Tochi blinks, his brows knitting in momentary confusion and Asovil wonders if she has once again muddled something up. The befuddled expression morphs into a slow smile and he chuckles a bit.
"Oh," the Trill says, shaking his head, "No, not actual bells. It's an old Terran expression. We're not precisely sure of the origins of the phrase, but it's intended to indicate that we'll happily attend."
"Terrans have far too many expressions to keep track of," she frowns in thought. "Perhaps someone should program the universal translators to take into consideration such idioms."
Grinning, Tochi arches a brow, "You really haven't spent much time in the company of humans, have you?"
"I've been with Starfleet for four Earth years," the Andorian replies with a pained expression. "Prior to that, I did not spend time around Terrans. I find them a bit like Romulans, to be honest. Most are pretentious and desire to be respected for their intellectual and physical accomplishments while enforcing a highly human view of things on the whole of the Federation. The Prime Directive tempers this indulgence somewhat, and there are humans I have encountered who are kind, caring individuals that seem to have somehow managed to exceed the limitations of their species," Asovil trails off as she considers what she's just said. "My experiences are very limited, yes. And I am pleased to be serving within Starfleet so that I may grow in my knowledge of the Terran races and their behaviors. I am, perhaps, not truly qualified to deliver such a profound analysis."
(OOC: further discussion as is appropriate,)
"But we digress from more entertaining subject matter!" the beautiful blue Andorian proclaims, setting her utensils across the plate to indicate her completion of the meal.
",Right," the Trill grins in response to Asovil's prompting, "Dervin and his embarrassing tale.
Well, as we told you, some of our best memories of Risa come from him, and that's probably due to the fact that he visited the place quite often. His lascivious nature was a contributing factor, to be sure, but, more than that, it was the beauty of the planet, itself, that called him back time and time again; the certainty that he'd be able to find some lovely little thing with whom he could, ahem, enjoy that beauty was, typically, just an added bonus. Now, we say typically because, a good portion of the man's dalliances were just that, brief flings that ignited quickly, burned hot, and then flickered out in a matter of weeks or days, but there was one woman that we can say Dirven fell madly in love with and, in his attempts to woo her, is where we find an embarrassing moment that may come close to matching yours."
"I'll be the judge of that, Tochi," Asovil smiles. Her heart rate since the captain's departure has begun to return to normal and she finds herself enjoying the Trill's company again.
Tochi sips at his juice, then, and smiles as he continues, "Her name was Talla and he met her at Temtibi Bay. We think he was initially drawn to her, not just because of her beauty, but because he had never seen an Andorian enjoying the warmth of the Risan suns the way she seemed to be." The scientist's eyebrows climbed her forehead and her antennae twitched at the revelation. "To him," the XO continues. "There was something undefinably magical in her very presence on that beach, and he was smitten with her just as quickly as he was inspired," the Trill chuckles at that, adding, "And it was really quickly. We think he had the first three verses of Blue on the Bay written before he had so much as introduced himself.
"At any rate, Talla wasn't as instantly impressed by Dirven's charms and musical talents as many of his previous paramours were—"
"Oh, come," Asovil laughs lightly at the retelling. "Surely Dirven's charm succeeded!"
"—A fact," Tochi continues prompting the impatient Andorian to wait on his further storytelling. "That made her all the more intriguing, we think—but she was gracious enough to entertain his company. That first day, they simply walked along the beach together and talked for an hour or so. Any attempts he might have made to seduce her, subtle and cunning as they may have been, fell completely flat but, surprisingly enough, he was undeterred in his pursuit. At the end of that encounter, Dirven returned to his rooms alone without even the thought of seeking out anyone else to share the rest of his night. Rather, he spent that night with his piano," he nods at Asovil's mug where it sits on the table. "Some Andorian Ale, and thoughts of Talla. He had all but completed Blue on the Bay by the time morning came.
"As smitten by her as he was, of course, Dirven returned to the beach in hopes of finding her there, again," Tochi sips at his juice, smiles a bit, and setting the glass aside, continues on. "And he did, if not as quickly as he might have liked. Again, she showed fairly little interest outside of polite conversation. They chatted for a short time, that morning, but were interrupted (as Dirven recalled it) by a group of Talla's friends who had come to collect her for a trip to the Subterranean Gardens. As she and her friends took their leave, Dirven asked her if she might like to meet on the beach that evening if he promised to play a song for her that he'd written. With a bit of coaxing from her friends, and to Dirven's delight, Talla agreed and a time was set to meet. Dirven knew that the song would have to be something truly special and, even as quickly as he'd composed Blue on the Bay, he was sure it would be. However, he couldn't very well bring his piano to the beach, so, the hours that Talla and her friends spent in Risa's gardens, Dirven spent in his rooms rehearsing the piece on his mandolin."
"I'm sorry, but what is a mandolin?" Asovil inquires, intrigued at the mention of something new. "I know of a piano from the Academy. One of my roommates played. An amazing sound, if I do say so myself. She was able to produce some stirring compositions. But this mandolin is something I've not heard of."
(OOC: answer, or ignore.)
"So, the time came and Dirven returned to the beach. He found Talla and (to a disappointment that he hid fairly well, we think) her friends at a spot that was just a bit more crowded than he might have hoped. Sea turtles were supposed to be coming into the bay and onto the beach around moonrise, that night, and as it turned out, the resort staff had organized an impromptu party to entertain the guests who had gathered to await the spectacle. When the staff saw that Dirven had arrived with his mandolin in hand, they were overjoyed, thinking, perhaps, that he had showed up to entertain all of the guests rather than just the one, he'd been hired to play Temtibi Bay, more than once before, you see," The Trill offers a faint shake of his head, dismissing that last as being unimportant to the story.
He sips, smiles, and then continues. "Anyway, as he was truly trying to impress Talla, and refusing the staff's requests for him to play would likely have been considered rude, Dirven gave in to the coaxing and launched into a set that he had intended to end with the song he'd written about her. Being the showman that he was, the farther he got through his set, the more people were drawn from other parts of the beach and, by the time he'd gotten to the point where he was going to wrap the unplanned concert up with Blue on the Bay, there was quite a sizeable crowd. During his performance, as the crowd grew, he had strolled out onto the trunk of one of those Sakanar Palms that leaned over the beach, using it as a makeshift stage as it would let him better see his audience and vice versa."
Again, the Andorian woman has no idea what a Sakanar Palm is, but this time she pretends to with a smile and a knowing nod, not wishing to further interrupt the tempo of the tale.
"So, he's standing there on the palm, and when he finds Talla in the crowd he announces the song. ‘Thank you, Thank you,'" Tochi imitates Dirven's voice. "‘You've been a wonderful audience. The turtles will be coming into the bay, soon, I think, and I know most of you came here tonight for them and not me. If you good people don't mind, though, I'd like to play you one last song,'" The XO grins a bit, almost chuckling but not quite. "At this point, Dirven is moving to actually sit on the palm's trunk," he explains before continuing with his impersonation of the past host. "‘I was inspired to write this, on this very beach, just yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, by a glimpse of beauty so magical and pure that it spoke to my very heart and soul,' He's got himself seated, now, and he's locking eyes with Talla as he shifts his weight and readies his instrument, ‘I call it Blue on the Bay and, I humbly dedicate it to Talla zh'Tisia.' He strums out the first few chords and is just about to start singing when he makes the mistake of shifting his weight, again," Tochi's grin has broadened and there is the hint of a blush showing just at the edge of his spots, "He'd shifted just a bit too much, we imagine, and found himself slipping off of the trunk. He was already rather embarrassed that he was about to fall off the tree and onto the beach, of course, not the ideal way to end a concert, but as he slipped, his swim trunks caught on a jutting piece of bark. So, slip, rip, and flip, and there's Dirven, tumbling to the beach, wearing nothing but his spots and an abashed smile."
"No!" Asovil gasps and instinctively covers her open mouth with her right hand, feeling the unease that Dirven must have felt herself.
Tochi chuckles now, the blush blooming a bit more as he recalls feeling that embarrassment. "As humiliating as it was, though, we believe it was that moment that, finally, for whatever reason, endeared him enough to Talla that he and she went on to have quite a passionate relationship that lasted years as opposed to the days or weeks."
He shrugs a bit, still smiling, and regards the Andorian sitting across from him, "So, embarrassing enough to count, Asovil?"
The woman bobs her head in affirmation, hand still over her mouth though the humor of the situation has gathered about the edges of her azure eyes and dark blue lips.
"How in the Universe did he ever recover?" she finally musters, looking at the Trill with wide eyes that are quickly filling with mirth. "And I can only imagine how Dirven managed to ‘persuade' Talla with that presentation.
"Truly, you've outdone me, Tochi—" she pauses and looks slyly at her dinner companion. "Or should I say, Dirven?" Her stomach fluttering, Asovil realizes that she's blushing a darker shade of blue. Tales of misfortune have developed the beginning bonds of friendship and the realization causes the usually well put together scientist some confused feelings. While she has been immensely enjoying the outing, she now quite suddenly finds herself feeling awkwardly shy. Unsure as to the origin of the feelings, and unfamiliar with conducting herself while these feelings are in control, the Andorian beauty quickly downs the rest of her ale and allows herself a moment to relish the warmth of the alcohol coursing through her system. Setting the mug down, she purses her lips and then chews at the bottom for a second before picking up her napkin and delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth.
"I want to thank you, Tochi," she can't help the shy look she gives him from beneath her white lashes. "I had thought my assignment on the Peregrine to be a lonely one bereft of career satisfaction and to be blunt, fulfilling engagement of any kind.
"You've not only provided me with a proper welcome, but I hope," here's where her voice falls away and she takes stock of her words once again. "I hope that we will continue our conversations while you teach me to fence, and perhaps, over future meals."
Awkwardness rushes over her like an Andorian Avalanche and she drops the napkin on her plate while rising quickly from her seat. Tugging at the bottom of her uniform top, she takes a deep breath, "Thank you for your time and company, Tochi Zai. I must excuse myself to prepare for the reception tonight. I shall attend with proverbial bells on."
(OOC: response, if so inclined)
Flashing a gorgeous, toothy smile at the XO, Asovil Sh'iraolnas strides quickly and purposefully towards the doors, so intent on making a graceful exit that she entirely misses Leah's wave good-bye.
Achieving the corridor beyond, she pauses long enough to force the flush in her cheeks back to the oblivion she prefers it to remain. You are a scientist, Asovil Sh'iraolnas, not a naive schoolgirl to be won over by a pleasant meal and an absolutely, undeniably, amazing charm! Feeling a chill of delight run down her spine, the Andorian quickly takes up her step again. It is time, she decides. To see myself to my quarters and do just what I said.
Posted on 2016-09-06 at 14:32:01.
Edited on 2016-09-06 at 19:48:04 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: That's it!
Asovil is growing out her underarm hair then!
Posted on 2016-09-06 at 13:42:55.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: You got 99 problems, but adventure ain't one of them...
Outside The Rat Pack Night Club | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:39 AM PST | Combat Phase 2
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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Fixer's Uzi burns through half the rounds in his magazine, the hot lead cutting through the storm water to riddle the driver and rear door of the passing vehicle. He mentally keeps count as he feels the recoiling weapon spit each round out of its chamber. This is the first time he has fired the weapon at another living person. Target practice is something, but this is different. An emotional numbness courses through him. Fixer surprises himself at how calm he is. Though the adrenaline flows through his veins, he does not feel the expected emotional guilt at possible having taken a life. At the same time, Vegas fires his weapon at the passing car in a half-hearted attempt at retaliation for the cowardly attack, but his main focus is on protecting Starlight. Casino watches his three round burst have the desired effect as well.
Fixer numbly watches as the pimped car swerves through a course of actions and into the oncoming lane of traffic. Time seems to slow as the boosters smash headlong into a non-combatant's van. Crunch of steel on steel rebounds through the air. Those in the van aren't part of this meaningless conflict, the same with those caught in the crossfire, but this too means nothing to the technician at this time.
Feeling only a small consolation that his bullets have riddled the hood and windshield of the passing car, Vegas considers the future of their run, especially if Starlight dies it might be next to impossible to collect a reward for finding and returning the missing boy to Santa.
Peering about reveals that Starlight is hit, but the threat is not confirmed to be finished and Brayden had taught him that in a firefight, finishing the threat comes first before aiding an injured comrade. The techie rushes over to the boosters vehicle to inspect the interior. Relying upon Casino and Fixer to provide any necessary coverfire, the dapper Solo turns his back to the conflict and rushes to attend the wounded Starlight.
He finds her still alive, in spite of all the blood resulting from a shot through the Trapezius Muscle (the muscle between the shoulder and the neck). The small hole just inside her coat's neckline is pumping blood in a rhythmic flow that is likely matching the beautiful woman's heartbeat. Her baby blue eyes are wide and filled with pain, fright, and frustration. Blood spatter from the gunshot wound speckles the underside of her jaw-line and dots her right cheek in sharp contrast to the lightshow from her active Techhair®.
"Son of a bitch!" she groans against the pain upon Vegas' sliding arrival. She struggles to pull herself up on her elbows and winces as she collapses partway into the red-washed, rain-soaked concrete, barely supported by the newly arrived solo. "What the hell was that?"
(OOC: Vegas' response.)
Vegas did his best to stop the bleeding and keep their employer alive in hopes of collecting a payday for the safe return of the lost boy.
Traffic is backed up and the line of cars on both sides of the street is growing. Most drivers and passengers near the scene are either taking cover below the dash and window lines of their vehicles, or bailing from the cars altogether and high-tailing it into nearby buildings. The doorman at the Rat Pack has vanished, and the doors to the facility are closed up tight. There are neither individuals to helps in the situation, or it appears to cause more conflict.
Quickly recalling a lesson of old, "Don't go into an unknown situation with a half full mag," Fixer keeps his uzi pointed towards the vehicle as he strides forward in a crouch, swapping out the magazine in mid-stride and placing the half-empty back in the holster that he pulls the full one out of. He is prepared to end this threat if need be. To his left, the techie can see Casino approaching in similar manner with his MPK 11 held at ready.
Fixer takes the right side of the hammered car limping with pain while Casino takes the left. The two men move cautiously at first, and when no movement or gunfire is evident, they almost simultaneously press the vehicle in a rush. Front-end impact has torqued the frame and bent the fenders over the doors. The tinted windows on the right side are shut, the front bears a large crack that mars its otherwise glistening surface through to about half-way, but the back window is solidly closed and intact. The driver's side window bears a single bullet hole with the spiderweb of impacted glass spreading from it in dramatic prose. The rear window is half opened still, but Casino is witness only to the back of the driver's seat wrapped in red synth-leather.
Vegas' experience with patching up wounds is practically non-existent. In the past, there have always been medtechs on hand to deal with the trauma. One thing he does know is to put pressure on the injury and this he does by pressing the butt of his left palm into the woman's shoulder eliciting a sharp cry of pain in the process.
"For the love of all," Starlight hisses through her teeth, her little body tensing with the shock. Her right hand feebly reaches up and pats around her ribs and then breast. "Where's my frellin' agent!" she groans and allows her body to go limp in Vegas' soaked lap. "If my agent isn't damaged," she breathes listlessly. "An AV should be here any minute now."
(OOC: Vegas' response.)
The fixer raises her head and looks into the dapper solo's tired-looking blue eyes. "Get me on that AV, choomba. I'll be fine. But I want a—" she coughs and a weakly wipes the rainwater from her lips. "—a frellin' report on the run. Santa is looking for a letter."
(OOC: Vegas' response.)
Casino rounds himself on the window and levels his submachine gun inside. Immediately, automatic weapons fire erupts in his face from the booster lying nearly prone in the back seat. Heated metal whips past the solo's face with such proximity that he feels the tingle against his flesh as he reflexively arches backward away from the attack. The defensive posturing saves his life, but he doesn't come away unscathed as two of the rounds slam into him; one in the right bicep and the other off of the upper left shoulder. The impact staggers the large man backward and drops him to the asphalt with a splash, agony tears angrily through his entire right side, down through his chest and up into his jaw while a dull pulse thunders down his right side. Through the sudden blazing fire that threatens to devour his senses, Casino is able to maintain a hold of his submachine gun, but lying on his back just outside the door, he has no clear shot of his latest assailant. Grinding his teeth, he raises his weapon and grips it with both hands, flips the switch from three-round burst to full auto with his thumb, and peppers the door with his own volley.
Standing at the right rear fender of the crunched vehicle, Fixer can see that the driver of the van is injured, but still alive. The van appears to be a delivery vehicle without passengers and the driver—a Hispanic male wearing blue overalls that are now spattered with blood from the head wound he sustained— is rolling his head slowly from side to side while remaining strapped into his seat. The exchange of gunfire quickly rips the techie's attention from the van to the left side of the pimped ride where he see's Casino roll backward and then vanish out of sight. The thunder of return fire is cause for Fixer to hunch his shoulders and slide his back down the wet metal of the car as he slumps to the ground hearing the impacting rounds strike the interior of the door next to him and press their way through the window in a massive cacophony of shattering glass and rending steel.
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Maintenance Tunnels | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 1:39 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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"Onward, then?" Bloodbank calmly asks. When no one objects, he proceeds with the plan and
the quartet begins again walking through the tunnels. Bloodbank keeps his eyes straight ahead, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other as he walks, following the general movement of the group. If one was to look closely at him, however, it is evident in his eyes that despite his calm outward expression, there is a fierce mental deposition in his mind.
Long ago, after a horrid job that he will never share the particulars of with anyone, he had sworn to himself that he would never, ever again, turn his weapon upon someone that did not deserve it. He had told himself that he would rather die than travel down that road again. And yet, tonight he finds his sights trained on some guard whose only crime against him is trying to prevent the group of them from illegally bypassing security and entering a restricted area of the city integrate. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten his pledge, or had chosen to ignore it and was the same cruel, violent man that he had tried so hard to pretend does not exist. He doesn't know which possibility is worse; the fact that he is unable to leave his violent tendencies behind, or that deep down he doesn't want to change.
Ghlahn looks at the door next to the exit sign and voices his thoughts, "Getting out of the tunnels gives us more options. But, if there is a sec-team on the other side of the door we are finished." After a moment's thought he adds, "I vote we leave the tunnels."
Bloodbank blinks, the group has stopped in front of a sad old door and without realizing it, he has stopped with them. Glahn's statement has brought him out of his dark brooding, however, and now his full attention is on the door in front of them.
"I agree," Echo adds with a tired tone. "I'm feeling awfully claustrophobic in here."
The pale, yellow light cast upon the door provides it with an eerie, almost foreboding look to Bloodbank. It is the first door that they have seen in awhile and as such, the Med-tech is inclined to agree with Glahn and the leather-clad nomad woman.
"We're doing no good wandering around the tunnels," He says, staring hard at the chipped metal door, as though trying to see through it. "I agree. Let's get out of here, and find out where we are."
"You've got my vote, chombattas," Blossom states with entheusiasm. "But, I'd suggest you all put those masks back on and ready yourselves for trouble while I work on the door security. ‘Cause, the way things are going t'night, ya know?"
(OOC: Responses and Actions.)
Taking a lollipop from her jacket, the bubbly little netrunner unwraps the candy with casual familiarity as she walks right up to the security box. Stuffing the wrapper in her pocket with her left hand, she pops the grape-flavored delight into her mouth and then retrieves the pink and black link cables from the same pocket she has deposited the wrapper into. Plugging the link cables into her left-hand bracer, she activates the smart keyboard. Tiny pulsating bulbs of light begin dancing across her link cable the instant she pushes the connecting end into the security box. Mental commands activate her optics bringing to life the NuCybe "glass" that covers her almond-shaped eyes beneath her heart-shaped pink sunglasses, revealing the contained cyberworld of the security card reader.
(( Run Wardrive Routine )) Blossom's icon springs up from the ground, a beautiful anime woman with pink hair pulled up in ponytails on either side of her head wearing a cute little schoolgirl's uniform. The icon puts its right hand over its mouth and giggles, then spins about with her arms out and exclaims, "Ready! Go!"
(( Run Stealth )) The cute little icon throws her hands in the air and yells, "You can't see me!" as a sheet of black energy drapes her figure and conceals her digital imagery.
(( Analyze Defenses )) Command entered.
The icon of a Japanese Anime dog leaps forward before her eyes and begins sniffing around, almost immediately returning to bark out a caption (( Codewall )). Instantly, the screen in front of the wardriver's eyes flows with a stream of ones and zeros depicting the wall.
(( Run Codecracker ))
The dog vanishes in a swirl and a beam of light shoots directly from the outstretched arms of Blossom's hidden icon to strike at the wall of churning binary code. Impacting the center of the wall, the light spreads quickly throughout it, changing the color of each of the numbers from a blue on black to a white on pink before the wall disintegrates before her.
"I'm in," she mutters around the lollipop. Behind the vanishing wall appears a wide box that resembles an old-fashioned code device. Willing her icon forward, Blossom approaches the box and spins the first of the dials, then the second, then the third, until all are spinning in sequence. Stepping backward in the void, Blossom runs the Codecracker command again. The light beam strikes the spinning device and each of the dials settles on a number with a click that resonates through the wardriver's head.
(( Exit ))
The digital world before her instantly dissolves, her optic screen peeling back in relaying extraction to vanish within the NuCybe rim set into the orbital bone of her outer eye sockets. With another mental command, the netrunner deactivates her smart keyboard and it retreats back into her hand bracer. Retrieving the link cable from the box, Blossom skips backward out of the way of the combat types while winding the cord about her hand.
"There you go," she pipes up. "I configged our way outta here."
Echo is the first to respond, "Nicely done, Chica!" she quickly steps forward and grips the handle. "You boys ready?" she asks, looking back at Ghlahn and Bloodbank.
(OOC: assuming a yes,)
Pulling the door open a crack, the pretty nomad peers through and into the night. Cold, wet wind slaps her face and blows in through the door, penetrating the hall beyond. "We're clear," Echo informs everyone while opening the door further. "At least for now."
Immediately outside the door is a steel grated platform approximately one and a half meters across by the same wide with three foot high steel rails painted by the ferociously falling rain. A set of ten stairs made from the same material lead down to the left and deposit those traversing them on a drenched sidewalk some three meters below. starscrapers rise up about the street, vanishing into the storm clouds like monolithic giants of luxury and wealth. The street is wide, four lanes total, two going one way and two the other. Street vehicles splash through the rain, motorcycles, cars, trucks, vans, the variations are plentiful. Overhead, just below the cloud cover, two lanes of AV vehicles make their way through the night. Sound ordinances mean very little to the traffic and horns blare in the night accented by thunder from the storms raging above. The sidewalks aren't teaming with people so much as providing a swatch of safety from vehicular traffic for the few who are braving the storm.
Lighted rain slickers, en vogue air purifying masks, Techhair® styles blowing in the wind, and Air-Shield 150® umbrellas projecting various holographic patterns over the heads of their owners are all visible. A nearby passer-by looks up at the door with squinting Asian eyes that are illuminated green by designer EyeBrite® contacts. He's wearing an Icon America rainslick with emerald colored light strips accenting the cut and has an Electro-Mag Leash with which he's walking a full-sized poodle wearing a matching rain slick. Without so much as acknowledging what he's seen, the man moves closer to the street and passes by.
Hovering neon signs point to a tunnel to the right some hundred to hundred and fifty meters away, reading I-5; Night City / High City, North; and Night City / High City, Central. Near the mouth of the tunnel sits a bus station, lit up like a concert stage with digital advertisements playing across every surface displaying everything from winter clothing lines to the latest agent model. On the same side of the street that the team has emerged, approximately halfway between them and the tunnel, a series of public elevators are in use by various traffickers, bright, blue and red lit tubes that rise up from the concrete surface providing means for foot traffic to reach higher levels of the integrate without having to hike the many, many stairs lacing the alleys and footpaths of the city. Left of the party is such a stairwell.
Covered to protect the occupants, the right side allows downward access while the left is pressed against the smooth surface of the adjacent building providing upward flow. Each of the stairwells also provides a wide escalator lane. Here, too, advertisements are displayed over each entrance and down the length of the stairs. Just past the stairs, the drenched, yellow awning of a sophisticated hotel front is welcoming a black van from which steps a series of well-dressed people who have obviously been enjoying their evening out. Armed and armored guards stand along the carpeted pathway leading into the hotel just underneath the awning, providing protection to the establishment's guests.
Across the street, more buildings tower over the sidewalk. As is the case in almost every street level environment, the most readily accessed buildings are storefronts, hotel lobbies, and restaurant dining rooms. Over these are the conapts, condos, and full apartments of the High City Residents, offices, and clubs that host the elite of society with entrance fees to match. Occasionally, holes open up in the gray, boiling clouds spilling forth their contents to reveal the underside of the upper streets, or a view of the starscrapers continuing to climb into another layer of clouds.
"We're about five clicks from the school," Blossom reports, her optic display activated and synched to her agent. "That way," she points to the right, towards the tunnel. "Do we take the direct route, or make like mice in a maze and wander frenetically all about to throw potential tails?"
Posted on 2016-09-06 at 13:23:46.
Edited on 2016-09-06 at 13:26:00 by Bromern Sal
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