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Recent Posts

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1
Wushu OOC / Re: WUSHU OOC
« Last post by RUNE on March 21, 2019, 07:20:54 PM »
Going out of town for the weekend and have a busy start to the week when I get back, but im going to try for an Amorru post tonite or tomorrow before I head out. Happy posting everyone!
2
The Darling IC / Re: S1:Ep2 - Blasting Off Again
« Last post by Barnaby Goodweather on March 21, 2019, 06:42:01 PM »
His crew raised valid points. Why were they sent all this way, asked to risk life and limb, for a bunch of silly clocks? "They's payin' us. End o' story. That's how this works. Keeps gas in the tank and food in our bellies. Ya'll know I don't like jobs that oblige a man to pull a trigger, so that's as particular as we can afford to be." Barnaby said, and he was matter-of-fact about it. He wasn't offended by their asking, nor was he defensive in his answer. It was truth, pure and simple. In order to keep things going, they had to go get things. It was how he had been raised and for fifty years he'd been doing it that way.

He held one of the dogs in his hands, on the verge of reconsidering his entire livelihood. The Darling had nearly been destroyed. His crew was nearly killed or hurt or marooned on a derelict space ship. The canine chronograph looked up at him with dewy eyes, judging him and his choices. What else could he do? This was all he knew. Couldn't throw it all away after one bad job. And, so far, it was less than half bad. Not like it could go any more wrong.

The beagle was tossed back to the pile and he continued on turning off other ones. "They didn't offer what we was gettin' and I didn't ask."
3
Wushu IC / Re: The Repossession Mambo: Wedding Crashers
« Last post by Sionnach001 on March 20, 2019, 05:37:30 PM »
The thief/infiltrator had given serious thought to pulling his green and grey mask (the same color as his long coat) on and scaling to the top corner of the cargo hold behind one of the lights to listen in to the conversation Amorru, The Debutante, and Octavia were going to have the security folk or render aid to them if need be.  He dismissed the idea fairly quickly however. 

Odds were good that the security people might want to actually see the personnel manifested to be on the ship which included himself.  Sean was good at seeming to appear and disappear when he wanted but he had very little chance of moving from the rear of the cargo hold to the front in time without raising suspicion.  He also doubted he'd hear anything of enough value to make the sneak worth that kind of risk. Moreover he really wasn't that good in a straight up fight.  Thrown knives tended to not be of that great a use against the kind of body armor security personnel tended to wear.  He was very accurate with his blades, but accuracy dropped off considerably when both he and the target were moving. Even more so when he was being shot at.  No, as much as he was wanting to be helpful and be "one of the crew" being proactive in this situation would most likely do more harm than good.

He did do one of the things that would be of use that he also excelled at and took a very small pull from the actual bottle of whiskey and swished it around his mouth a bit and then swallowed it...gargling would just be too much of a giveaway to the rest of the crew.  He did, however, sing softly to himself with a wry grin as he set the bottle down.

"Back in school again Sionnach plays the fool again," he paraphrased the ancient song as he let his eyes become glassy again, his face become slack, and his posture loosen to that of someone who drank far too much, which his breath now matching the every present ploy.
4
Wushu IC / Re: The Repossession Mambo: Wedding Crashers
« Last post by JonathanMercer on March 20, 2019, 04:15:45 AM »
“Peacocks,” spat Jonathan Mercer, stuffing the word full of all the incredulous derision and frustration it deserved.  Of course, the happy couple had brought in peacocks for the wedding, because peacocks were all the rage this season and there was no cost too high for being the pinnacle of fashion, whether in terms of dollar amounts or time spent in dealing with the inconveniences and outright disasters that came with decorations that had both limbs and minds of their own.

Jonathan held a door open while two of his men carried one of the gorgeous birds out to the south lawn where it belonged.  In the room behind him, a pair of maids were furiously tidying up the overturned bric-a-brac that served as proof of the bird’s true temperament – it was, by all evidence, an embodiment of Coyote, or Loki.  It was one more thing to add to a hectic morning.  There were three hours before the wedding and the whole estate was in an uproar as decorations went up and tables were laid out.  The constant flow in and out of people involved in setting up the forthcoming spectacle would ordinarily have given the security expert a headache but today it was all just amusing.  Of course, he was still trying his darnedest to do his job, but every moment of chaos served a greater purpose.  He didn’t know for certain that today would be the day the Moda Tong would come to try and collect on Ainsworth’s debt but – a second pair of security hands went past the security chief holding yet another rage-filled fowl – they would be fools not to try it.

The second bird was released with its fellows and it leapt squawking at the men who’d just freed it.  They darted back and having established its superiority, the bird calmed its feathers and paced back and forth, daring anyone to come near.  As the men drew back to the doorway, Jonathan quickly laid out his orders.  “Get someone on this door, now.  I don’t care if you have to drag up a mechanic and throw him in a suit, this door does not open unless there is a human here to monitor and control what goes in and what goes out.  If there’s not a person stationed here, the door gets locked and anything that needs to go in or out gets rerouted through the parlour.”

“Yessir,” the four men chorused, and three of them headed back inside to resume what they were supposed to be doing while the fourth switched to the household channel on his earbug and began trying to track down a body anywhere on the estate that wasn’t already occupied.

Jonathan drew in a deep, calming breath and was straightening his pristine white waistcoat when Wallace’s voice came through, relaying information about a crash involving potential wedding guests.  The boat didn’t immediately seem to be tied to someone on the official guest roster, but anyone might have chartered passage, and there were those extra tickets that had gone out as if this were some sort of sporting event…  Jonathan reminded himself that he wasn’t upset about the potential security risks there. “How many wedding guests are there aboard the ship?  And how many non-attendees are they asking us to put up?” he asked.  Ordinarily, he would have simply had his staff direct the lot of them to the nearest hotel, but… charity did have a way of repaying a man in the long run.  “Do they need a ride?  Have them drop the guests at the front door and send them to the conservatory.  Tell them to slow walk it as much as possible.  We’re already babysitting the Duke and Duchess, lets see what we can do to keep the crowd of early birds from getting too large.  Have anyone without a ticket dropped off in the mail room.”

Jonathan slowly paced across the room, listening in on the household channel to get a feel for what part of this maelstrom needed the most attention.  He’d decided for the kitchen by the time he reached the inner door and set off in that direction, hoping to make it without running into the bride or groom.
5
Iscariot IC / Re: SS Iscariot - Episode 1: New Beginnings
« Last post by Xiǎodāo on March 20, 2019, 12:03:58 AM »
During Reverends mental trip, X turned her head to watch him out of the corner of her eye, both brows raised and eyes half-lidded with barely present interest. He seemed to implode in upon himself for a couple minutes and while some tiny part of her wondered where he’d gone, the larger portion of herself told her that it really didn’t matter to her in the big scheme of things. When he declined another drink, her dark eyes lowered to the candy sitting at the bottom of his now empty glass and she eyed it, then him, in that order. Either he didn’t like it, and she could consider herself offended. Or, he was giving her a chance to take it back, and she could consider herself weirded out.

In the meantime, Johann had finished his song and was moving and looking around the bar, which, considering who he was, caught her attention immediately. The man didn’t move or do anything at all without purpose, so she stared at him from the bar, head tilted curiously. Her spine straightened as a wink was sent her way, a little snort and giggle pushing free of her lips unbidden. Reaching out, X moved to ruffle the Reverend’s hair before throwing him a pair of finger guns and walking away. Clearing her throat and reciting in her head what she’d say to the man, the girl moved step by deliberate step closer to the demi-god. Hey, my name is X, it’s nice to meet you, time to go to work. Hey, it me, ya gurl. Let’s go make some bank. Hey, I’m X, pleasure to meet you, we’ve been summoned for a job.

“Hi-lo. X. Job to meet you, pleasant summons for a work, bank us gurl money!” she told him, smiling proudly at the end of it, her chest lifting and falling rapidly as she tried not to hyperventilate in his presence, her eyes wide, grin far to big, and cheeks a bright bashful pink.
6
The Darling IC / Re: S1:Ep2 - Blasting Off Again
« Last post by Rian Carpenter on March 19, 2019, 11:53:43 PM »
Rian had every intention of helping with the barking clocks. But there were other thoughts churning through his mind. As a security officer for the vessel, not knowing what was in the crates was a preferable mystery. Knowing, he now he could only begin to wonder. Riot said was he was thinking before he could. Something was odd. Something was off. More importantly, Rian had stayed up all night working out and trying to fix his rifle. But the workday had arrived, and so had the entire crew. The security officer needed to think on what in the hell was going on, and it was going to take a bit to turn off all these gorram dogs. Rian had always been more of a cat guy but Bandit was a welcome presence on the ship. These impostors were nothing but a nuisance so far.

Marching off almost as if he was intentionally defying the captain, Carpenter jogged down towards the galley to fetch something crucial for them to complete this task. He nearly bumped into the preacher on his way.

"Right on time for the fun, Viktor. I'll be right back."

Just a few notches below the urgency for a life and death situation, he flew down the halls of the ship. He rifled through the cupboard in the galley for a few seconds before finding and stacking some cups, then detached the entire coffee machine and shot back into the hall with it under his arm. He bounded back into the cargo bay and alerted the crew.

"I think we're going to need this."

Turning on the machine, he dialed it to the maximum strength, and hit 'go'. With a brief, agonizing moment of delay, it suddenly clicked on and started heating up. Steam rising from the vents, and the faint bubbling noise that preceded the glorious smell of freshly brewing coffee, Rian breathed it in for just a second, then got back to work. He started prying a crate open as the coffee maker did its magic. The gunhand, and cook, and now alarm clock disabler let his groggy mind start to try and ponder. He mused aloud, echoing Torvik's sentiment of befuddlement.

"Yeah. Gotta say risking my pìgu on account of these alarms. Cute and loud as they are...Hard to think how these were worth the effort."

Holding one in his hands, he clicked the button and turned it off. Eyeing it skeptically he gave it a couple taps, curiously, to see if didn't sound as hallow as it should.
7
Iscariot IC / Re: SS Iscariot - Episode 1: New Beginnings
« Last post by Johann Krüger on March 19, 2019, 08:33:34 PM »
"When the working
When the working day is done
Oh when the working day is done oh girl
Girls, they wanna have fun..."


Ironically, Krüeger's work had only just begun.

The music faded away and the lights dimmed to black as Johann finished his performance. He stood still up on the stage, savoring the moment and the scattered applause that drifted up to meet him. With a smile, he dropped the microphone to the ground with a clang, feedback filling the amplifier and putting a definite end to the moment. Cool as can be Johann retrieved his beer and took a healthy drink before descending from the stage.

A shared glance with Tricky. It was time. The brains behind their operation was in charge of making sure the brawn got the message that a meeting had been called. They didn't know Aksel so well, but Trick was convinced to the man's usefulness. Johann didn't see the point in arguing the matter. A man with a gun was always useful in their line of work.

A wink at Xiǎodāo. If she could get past Holt's masculine wiles long enough to pass along her own message, she would be recruiting... Johann wanted to call him muscle but knew that the man was much more than that. Awful shame to waste those arms on mere tinkering, but Johann was certain they'd come to use in other ways.

Johann finished his beer. "Ah, another, I think." He said to no one.

Returning to the bar, he set the empty glass on the counter and reordered with a look to Reggie. His wolf-like gaze fell upon the other predator in the room: Marty's date for the evening. She was distracting, to be sure. Charming. Beautiful. Noticeable. A bit sloppy, but then again the likes of Johann and co. were well versed in the art of confidence. They knew who and what to look for and Pele was it. His refill arrived, pulling him from his thoughts. "I'll have it in the back, Reg." Johann left the bottle and glass where it sat, expecting the bartender to deliver it to their meeting, and made a beeline for their young driver and his date.

"Excuse me, miss. He said to Pele, all apologies. And then it was business. "Time to go, lad." He casually but curtly nodded in a general direction away from the booth, though the destination should be obvious to the young Martin Miller. If he was sober enough, that is.
8
Wushu IC / Re: The Repossession Mambo: Wedding Crashers
« Last post by Charity on March 19, 2019, 04:04:33 PM »
For four days, Charity had been altering the formal outfits Sean had retrieved from where he’d so rudely and sloppily dumped them in the cargo hold. The workmanship on the dresses and suits was already top notch, and all that remained was opening up pockets, tightening the waists of one or two of the gowns, adding a couple more sparkles and ribbons and hemming skirts where they might be too long. She’d hung them all up outside the doors of their soon to be owners, along with some accessories, such as rings, necklaces, pocket squares, and shoes that all seemed to be just the right size for their intended wearers.

Grace had been given a shimmering number in blacks and emerald greens, lace and crystals adoring the entirety of the beautiful monstrosity. Charity had paired it with a pair of black heels, and emerald jewelry to match. She felt green perfectly embodied the feel of Grace’s doctorly spirit. Two suits and another dress hung up at Amy’s door, as she had no idea who was going to the wedding, but she’d banked on herself and Grace going and enjoying one another’s company. She figured a girl’s night out might alleviate some of the still present tension that seemed to linger between the two women, much to the confusion and dismay of the debutante.

Aside from sewing and styling, Charity had spent a lot of time speaking to King, getting him acclimated to the ship and exchanging small talk. It was nice to have someone on board who didn’t seem to think she was a burden or some ridiculous spectacle, even if that was how she came across.

On the day of their arrival, the woman walked down the hall toward the stairs to the bridge with a triumphant smile dancing across plumb colored lips. Her chocolate curls were pulled back into a respectably tight ponytail that cascaded down her back in gentle waves. Atop where the tie held it in place was a sensible black hat lined with silver thread embroidery. Her black dress was absolutely covered in silver applique and metalwork shaped into fleurs and coils all down the stomacher of her gown, a high sheer black collar covering the back of her beck. Large silver necklaces hung well past her chest and the bracelets jingled as she walked, heels clicking, and skirts rustling, signaling her approach to anyone with ears.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are rapidly approaching our destination of Bellerephon and – Agk!” Charity had just made it to the threshold between the hallway to their rooms and the galley when the ship lurched and she gasped in surprise, nearly dropping what she held in her arms as she moved to brace herself in the doorway. She managed to get herself into the dining area and buckle into a chair, laying the bundle of fabric over her lap as she waited for them to land, a sigh lifting and lowering her shoulders.

When they’d finally landed, her hands lifted to ensure her hat was still on properly and her hair was smooth before she unbuckled and stood tentatively, making sure she wasn’t too dizzy to stay upright. She heard someone’s feet thundering against the stairs to the bridge and moved to peek out of the galley, watching Reyes stop at the intercom a little further away from her. She smiled, watching him summon her, unaware that she stood not too far behind him before he continued deeper into the ship toward the cargo bay. Giggling softly to herself, Charity lifted a hand to mock salute the ‘Captain’ before following after him, allowing him enough of a head start to avoid feeling awful silly about calling to her over the ship’s intercom system and hoping King had heard the message and would join them.

Charity moved down into the cargo hold proper and stood with her hands demurely clasped in front of her gilded lap as she watched the ramp lower and waited for the Captain and the Guest to arrive with her. Once Amorru finished with whatever he was doing and had joined her, she held out the fabric bundle to him and smiled, "Your coat," she explained simply, offering no more than that. The garment had been massively altered from a coat to a side cape, its ribbons and frills re-purposed into ribbon embroidery and trim, additional gilded sparkles and metal floss embroidery added from her own personal stash. It had been given several inner pockets, the ones from the original article of clothing remade or simply put back into the lining to provide him the same if not more access to secret pouches and hidden areas. A braided gold rope had been attached to it to serve as the closure, the whole thing meant to rest over one shoulder.
9
Wushu IC / Re: The Repossession Mambo: Wedding Crashers
« Last post by Artemis Graham on March 19, 2019, 02:23:04 PM »
What’s going on with that engine?

It took all of Art’s training in delicacy and diplomacy not to start swearing. For other members of the crew it may have been an uneventful few days but for Art it had been a sleepless, chaotic, waking nightmare. Before their all to swift departure she had the ship running at almost a purr. It wasn’t perfect but it was pretty impressive. By the end of the journey…well, she felt like the girl who’d stuck her finger in the damn. Every time she thought she’d fixed one problem a new one cropped up until…

”Yep, there goes the fuel pressuriser,” she thought aloud. She was past the point of keeping her thoughts inward. She’d come past the point of caring about a lot of things over the past 95 hours (and she was counting). Why had she called Amorru Captain again? The only thing that kept her from revoking her blessing of his Captaincy was the fact that somehow he was still managing to fly the damn ship. Well, almost.

Which brought her back to the swearing. Their landing had been less than ideal. The state of the engine was worse. As soon as she’d picked herself up off the floor she immediately began tinkering but it was little use. The fact of the matter was they needed some assistance. Or time, at the very least. From the sounds of it they had neither. But instead of swearing she shot back a very terse ”I’m working on it,” to her Captain. Only instead of working on it she twisted her hair into a messy bun, wiped the bulk of the sweat and grease off her face and pulled on a blazer she kept hidden away for just such occasions. If they were being boarded she wanted to check out the arrivals and gauge if they were people that could provide assistance (usually after a bit of well timed damseling and a touch of flattery) or the kind that would require her picking up her trusty wrench again. Or (even worse) would they require her picking up her other wrench. The kind that wasn’t used for engines but for clobbering people on the head.

From the shadows, Art watched the cargo bay doors, tensed and ready. Needless to say she assumed a lot of caffeine over the past four days.
10
Revenge IC / Re: Episode 0: To Steal A Pirate Ship
« Last post by Rashy Pete on March 19, 2019, 03:12:40 AM »
"Allow me to explain," Olo flinched visibly, as if he caught himself falling asleep while operating one of the spaceport's mules. It happened a lot. "We're not Reavers." "Aaahh ha ha ha... okay."  "Although the Browncoat over there with the red beard is tougher than at least 50 of them put together. The woman he is talking with is Melody, one of the most foul mouthed pilots you'd ever meet in the Alliance." The maintenance maestro shook his head in a barely animated manner more like a mild tick, unsure which he liked less: believing this tale or letting his captors know he wasn't buying it. "No, no. No names please." The haircut continued introducing the rest of his compatriots, in a clear attempt to humanize the savages in Olo's mind.

"He's one of the best hackers in the business." "Okay." Olo wasn't sure what the man meant by "hacker", but he imagined the chopping of bodies must be an impressive skill among Reavers. "I was one of the top gunnery officers in the Alliance before ending my enlistment. Now I'm here, and I'll be quite blunt, we're pirates...and one, well, I guess you could call Holger a revolutionary." "Haha alright I'm ready to go home please."

Olo looked at the doctor Missy as if he expected her to get him out of this situation somehow. He would look to Rasputin for help, but the fickle feline seemed to have abandoned him for the time being. "Can I have my cat back?" "Well, what do the rest of you think, now that I got the introduction out of the way, how about we bring them into the proverbial fold?" Olo's heart stuck in his throat. He never would've imagined his life would lead him to this point: recruited into a band of lunatics. "You want to recruit them?" The team's axeman questioned the haircut's intentions, and Olo's confusion only increased as he considered the possibility that one of the best body-choppers in the business might be the voice of reason between them. But then he started talking about hippo raddish toast and Olo decided they were equally insane.

The woman who escorted the crazed fire monster started using a lot of big words and Olo's focus abandoned him. He looked at the blond woman, Melody if the haircut could be believed, but when her wide, crazed eyes met his and she rose with her arms flailing he immediately looked down at the mustard stain on his boot.

Melody chastised the haircut for spilling the proverbial beans about their crew before turning her attention to the hippo raddish toast lady. “You could be doin’ all this so we don’t throw you out into space, watch your blood boil out your ears through the window. So I’m gonna keep my eye on you until I feel like you’re not a threat. Or you’re dead, whichever comes first,” Melody warned the other woman. Olo felt waves of attraction, disgust, and shame roll over him as a tingle crawled up his spine.

Pointing around the room, Melody commanded the woman and the haircut away with the fire giant before her eyes fell upon him. Olo smiled awkwardly for a moment before thinking better of it and forcing his expression into a stern, serious, and somehow even more comical facade. “Take him with you." "Oh, that's okay. No thanks." "After you’re checked out, make him clean his mess in the galley. I’ll see where we’re headed and we’l meet back up in the lounge in…what…” Melody looked to the fire giant. Olo wondered why she asked the chicken killer for direction. Was he secretly the one in charge? Olo's eyes went wide and his head tilted back as if his mind blew straight out the back of his head. “half an hour? Forty five minutes? Somewhere in there.”

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” The haircut stood and approached Olo where he sat on the floor. Gears, missing teeth as they were, started turning in Olo's mind as he began to put together the group's pecking order. “Would the wiggy moron follow along please?” Olo sighed heavily and began to pull himself off the floor before the bearded, bandaged behemoth began babbling about doctors and chickens and a bird man and someone named Isaac. Olo thought back to the stunted legged man with bottle lenses in his safety goggles and a lopsided haircut who only ever seemed to eat beef stroganoff for lunch. Why would they want to kill Isaac? Was that the real reason they'd come? If he'd never switched shifts with Isaac in the first place, would be even be here now? Olo looked at the haircut as the four of them exited the bridge. "So why are you here to kill Isaac? And who are you calling wiggy?"
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