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| Mardi Gras Merriment; A mini-event to celebrate N'awlins | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 15 2018, 12:03 PM (1,653 Views) | |
| Skyhawk347 | Feb 21 2018, 04:59 AM Post #16 |
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Wastelander
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'When I guessed that the beads could be used as currency... I was joking,' Hawkins thought, putting the necklaces into the interior pocket of his duster. He had ran into the parade on his way to Bazaar, and asked someone in the crowd what the necklaces being flung by the people on the floats were for. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he got the answer; he had heard of interesting strategies to promote commerce but giving away money was new one. Still, it was basically free money so he couldn't bring himself to complain. The parade was, like a lot of things in Crescent Top (he refused to call it "N'awlins"), something he had never seen before. Floats had passed by, all elaborate, colorful and full of people who waved to the crowds on both sides of the street. He had to wonder how they were even powered. By fuel? If so... did the people of Crescent Top have working cars? Did they run on electric power? If so, how did they generate enough electricity to power all of that? His hometown barely had enough electricity for the streetlights and everyone who wanted lights in their homes had to make do with candles and lanterns. And yeah, he had seen settlements where all of the lights were still working, but using them for floats seemed so... haphazard. Hawkins frowned at the implications. Suddenly, the spectacle he had seen didn't seem so... positive. He shook his head and continued to the Bazaar, to see if they accepted these beads there. If so, he might be able to buy something. It was supposed to be a celebration, he should spend it thinking about things like impracticality. The Bazaar was a twenty story building, but the shops didn't occupy all of the floors. The place was almost as crowded as the streets below, but the people here seemed a bit more sober. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man swaying in place, struggling to stay up. Well, he did say a bit more sober. "Weapons, here!" He heard a vendor call out. Granted most of the vendors were also calling for people to some see their wares, but the gun nut in Hawkins immediately picked up on the weapon vendor's voice above all of the others. He immediately started moving towards the weapons shop, a small stall with glass display cases lined with guns, energy weapons, melee weapons. The vendor noticed him approaching and said, "Fine weapons. Made in Armory." With just those last three words, Hawkins was even more sold on this shop than before. His usual smile grew wider as he started looking over the wares in the display case with glee. He had been wanting to get a pistol for a while now, something to use in case he didn't have time to reload his rifle. As he looked over the wares however, his smile faded, and not just because of the astronomical prices. These... seemed very low quality for the Armory. In fact, they seemed low quality in general. "I'm afraid I don't know much about guns. What is Armory?" A woman next to him asked the vendor. She was in her mid-30s maybe with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Judging from her white suit, Hawkins had to guess the girl was fairly wealthy. The vendor started explaining: "Armory is a settlement in north Texas that forges many of the post-war weapons. There had been an arms factory there before the war, and the surviving workers dedicated themselves to preserving the knowledge of gunsmithing. There are a few of these smiths who are considered the best of the best: the Grand Forgemasters. And I, good miss, have the privilege of selling their wares. All of the weapons you see here have been made by their hands. And they've been selling fast." "Sounds like I better be quick then." Okay, that was it. "Bullshit!" Hawkins called out, disrupting the conversation and causing the patron and vendor to turn their attention towards them. "There's no way the Grand Forgemasters built these pieces of crap." The shopkeep stood looking very wide-eyed. "How dare you?! You have the audacity to claim I'm not honest?!" "You're about as honest as a drunk man claiming he strangled a deathclaw! If these were made by the Grand Forgemasters, then I'm the Queen of the Alabama Commonwealth!" The suited woman interjected, "But they don't have a-" "Exactly!" "Is there a problem here?" An authoritative voice called out from behind them. Hawkins turned to see a guard standing there, and boy did he not look happy. "Officer! This boy is claiming I'm selling fraudulent wares!" The vendor exclaimed. "He is, sir!" Hawkins defended, "He's claiming that the Grand Forgemasters of the Armory built all of these!" "Which they did!" "No, they didn't!" "Yes, they did!" "Did not!" "Did too!" "Enough!" The guard yelled. He sighed and took on an expression that screamed, 'I'm am not being paid enough for this.' Hawkins wondered if maybe this wasn't the first claim of fraud he had heard today... or even the twentieth. He said to Hawkins, "Sir, so you have any proof at all that this man is lying?" Oh, this guy better be prepared to have his head spun. "Yes. I'm from Sheffield, sir. It's only a few hours from the Armory and my dad used to be a smith there before he moved. I've heard about the Grand Forgemasters. There are two of them: Wyatt and Lowe, and neither of them would have made these guns, sir. You see, sir, they're both too proud to have made these. Wyatt is a perfectionist who only does individual commissions, so she can perfectly customize each gun to the user. No two guns she makes are alike. On the other hand, Lowe does to base models, but he's... well honestly, he's kind of an arrogant prick, sir. He only makes higher quality guns like pump-action shotguns and submachine guns. None of the weapons here come close to his caliber. "He's also ignoring several policies. I can tell just from looking. Take the safeties for example." "What about them, sir, is so suspicious?" "There aren't any, officer. All Smiths in the Armory are required by law to put a safety on all of their guns." The guard took a look at the guns and Hawkins couldn't help but let out a cocky smirk towards the vendor, who looked more than a bit nervous. The guard then looked back at the blonde hunter and folded his arms. "Is this all of the evidence you have, sir? Because if you want me to believe you, I will need more proof than that." Hawkins was taken aback. "W-What?! But-" "You claim nothing that we can't verify without taking several months to investigate. This man is on a temporary lease for this stall which will end when Mardi Gras does." "But I-" "Sir." The guard said firmly, "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave." "He's not even naming it right. He's saying 'Armory', it's 'THE Armory'!" "Now!" The guard scowled, having run out of patience. "Or I will remove you myself." Hawkins suddenly became very aware of how well-armed and pissed off the guard was. He had a feeling that if he did test this guy's patience any further, he might be leaving the building with a bullet in his head. Hawkins sighed, said "yes, sir," and turned to leave, finally noticing the small crowd that had gathered to see what was going on. When he got out of the Bazaar (he didn't know if the guard meant leave the stall or the Bazaar altogether but didn't want to take any chances), he felt someone tap on his shoulder and say, "Excuse me." Hawkins assumed it was the guard and gritted his teeth. What did he want? He was going already! He turned around and to his surprise found the woman in the white suit from earlier. "Oh, hey." The hunter said, relaxing, "Can I help you with something?" "I wanted to thank you." She said with a smile. Hawkins was silent for a moment before stammering out, "I... what?" "I was about to purchase a weapon from that scoundrel when you came along." The woman explained, "The guard might not have believed you, but I do." "Oh.. uh, happy to help." "In fact, I want to thank you." Wait, what? "What did you have in mind?" "I want to show you a bar I know. I've been here on Mardi Gras before so I know quite a few places. I'm afraid I can't buy you a drink since they're all free for the celebration, but I can tell you where you can have a great time. Might be a bit crowded but I can get us a table." There was no seduction to her voice, and it didn't seem like she was lying or had any nefarious intentions. Besides, even if she did, he had his rifl- oh wait, no he didn't. Well, he had a knife on him. That was enough, right? Edited by Skyhawk347, Mar 17 2018, 05:35 PM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| lonesomedrifter | Feb 21 2018, 12:57 PM Post #17 |
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Sexual Magneto
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Edward was already pretty drunk. Swaying and bobbing through the streets like a clumsy boxer, weaving through crowds of revellers. His near constant smirk had been replaced by a big goofy grin, tobacco stained grimy teeth glittering between his dry lips. The music of joy and happiness flowed through the air like a serene stream, voices bubbling over each other like boiling water, the throb of music and excitement shaking inside his chest. A stew of smells, dishes exotic and homely, flooded the air. A girl danced over towards him, bright eyes locking with his, pushing in close to him. Skimpy clothes in a cacophony of colours, beads hanging from her hair and a pink feather boa wrapped over her bare shoulders. Fairfax’s smile lit up even more as he began to bounce around with her, mirroring her moves, moving in time with the bouncy music. He looked extremely awkward, but his smile and the atmosphere of enjoyment made it almost adorable. The girl sipped from a bright purple drink and offered it to him. Ed never got to learn his limits, taking the glass with an extravagant jokey head curtsy, and took a big mouthful. Slowing his erratic dancing down to not spill it, he tried to offer it back, but she shook her head, mouthing something like “you have it”. That was the only push he needed, as he swilled the whole glass in one big gulp. The colourful girl laughed and smiled, before turning and dancing away. He watched her bop and sway away, a brief moment of longing to follow, but there would be many other opportunities this night and right now his stomach was rumbling. In the midst of the insatiable drunk hunger, he craved something greasy, messy and filling. The mixing aromas tempted him even more, and Edward decided to let his nose led the way down the row of stalls. |
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Edward Fairfax The III Level: 2 SPECIAL: 3.7.3.9.7.8.3. Armour:Crude Post-War formal outfit, Breaking Bad Chem Suit Weapons: The Phazer, Lead Pipe, Golden Glory (Tier 1 GC Revolver) Inventory: Courtroom Lunch, Afterburner Gum, Bricklayer's Fan Package Rebecca Delacroix Level: 2 SPECIAL: 7.8.4.8.4.4.5 Armour: Duster Coat Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Hatchet Perks: Guardian Angel Misc: Medicine Bottle (Mixed), Blonde Wig +15 BT Reputation | |
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| Skyhawk347 | Feb 21 2018, 03:01 PM Post #18 |
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Wastelander
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The bar the suited woman took Ryan too was actually pretty nice. The drinks were good, (he had no idea what this Pine Colada was, but it was fantastic), the atmosphere straight out of a pre-war comic book he once read, and nobody looked like they were about to put a bag over his head and rob him blind. "See, now don't you think this is nice?" The woman, who introduced himself Shannon, said. She took a sip of her drink, some unholy thing the bartender called the 'Swill Bucket'. The two of them were sitting down at a corner table in the bar. They had gotten there just in time to claim it, as a large group that had been sitting there coincidentally left when the two of them walked in. Hawkins looked Shannon over, and thought about how odd they must look together. The two of them could not have been anymore mismatched. Shannon was wearing a clean white suit while he was wearing the same worn and dusty... er duster and jeans he always had on. Her chestnut brown hair was curled properly like she had just been to the barber, while his shaggy blonde hair looked like he had cut it himself with his knife (because he had). Huh, actually now that he thought about it, she looked kind of familiar. He couldn't place it though. "It is nice. Thanks for telling me about this place." He said, taking another sip of his drink. He'd have to make note of this joint if he ever decided to come back. "So, what do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking?" Shannon put down her drink and put her hands together under her chin. For some reason, her eyes were blinking rapidly. Did she have something stuck in them? Well, he needed to answer, so he told the truth: "I'm kind of a wanderer. Just journey from place to place." "No goal in mind? No long term plans?" 'I want to join the Texas Rangers.' He wanted to say. But he reminded himself he was in Louisiana. No telling how many sympathizers for the Board of Education could be here; truce or no truce, the two parties were at war with each other up until recently. He heard that before the bombs dropped, bar fights could be started over something as stupid as someone supporting the other team in a sport. No way he was taking that risk with a war. So instead he said, "Not really." "A mysterious wanderer... sounds romantic." "Romantic is hardly the word I'd use. What about you? What do you do for a living?" He asked, thinking that if someone asked you a question, it gave you the right to ask something in return. Shannon sat straight up and said with a proud smile. "I'm the bodyguard of a merchant in Alabama." "Oh," Hawkins said, surprised. A white suit was hardly the outfit he thought a bodyguard would wear and she didn't seem like what he'd imagine when he thought of the occupation. "Surprised?" "A little yeah, though I guess your suit could be hiding a lot of musc-." He cut his statement short when he heard something from outside. It sounded like...music? "What is it?" Shannon asked, apparently not hearing it. "Just hearing music. Like the kind in that parade today." "Oh," Shannon waved a dismissive hand. "That's probably what it is then, sugar. Another parade." Hawkins' eyes bulged in bewilderment "Wait. Another parade? There was one just this morning. Are you telling me this one's just like that one?" Shannon shrugged, "Probably smaller, but yes. There are going to be similar ones throughout the celebration." Hawkins couldn't believe it. He thought that using all that energy to power the first parade was frivolous, even haphazard, but more throughout the same day? What in the hell? He looked around the bar and saw the unnecessary neon lights lit in the windows and over the bar itself. People were gorging themselves on food and booze he didn't even knew existed until now. He looked down at the Pine Colada in his hand. Suddenly it didn't seem so appealing. "What's wrong?" Shannon asked, making Hawkins' head bolt up. Right, there was another person here. He couldn't be a party pooper. "Nothing." He said, forcing the smile back onto his face. "No. Forgive me, Ryan, but it didn't look like nothing. What's the matter?" Hawkins sighed and began to tell his companion his troubles: "It's just that... how many resources went into all of this? How much electricity? How much time? How much food? How much water? And they have all of this, why don't they use it to... you know, help people? We're sitting here with fancy drinks and party lights, while there are people struggling to survive out there. The people in charge here could be helping them instead of gorging themselves on... Pine Coladas and... Shrimp and Grits. I... I almost feel sick just sitting here now." "Well, sugar, that's why we need places like N'awlins." "What?" "Just hear me out, okay? This is a place where people can come to unwind. It's like a larger scale version of any saloon, a place where people, just for a little while, can forget their troubles. They can see that the human race is surviving. Enjoying themselves. And that can keep them going. Remind them that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Helping people is all well and good but if you don't stop to enjoy yourself every once in a while, you'll run yourself into the ground. So I say let the people here spend resources on all of this. I say let them gorge themselves. Because otherwise..." She paused for a minute like she was trying to find the right words to say the rest of her argument. It gave Hawkins time to think it over. He saw her point, actually. And he thought she might be right. What was that old saying? 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?' Shannon sighed before she continued: "Look sugar, I was 'struggling to survive' when I was your age. And I had to do a lot of things I'm not proud of to do it. I-" She cut herself off, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping on them, before motioning for the blonde hunter to lean in closer. He did, facing his mutilated left ear towards her. She whispered: "Before, I worked as the muscle on a plantation in the Confederacy." Hawkins bolted back against the back of his chair so fast the impact actually hurt his back. He didn't know what to make of what he just heard. Did he leave now? But she said she wasn't proud of what she did. "Hear me out, sweetie." She pleaded. "Like I said, I took no pleasure in it, but I had to feed myself somehow. And other than the terrible things we were ordered to do to the slaves, it was a good life. I grew up in a very poor family in Augusta, and I can tell you it was hell. But at the plantation, I was well-fed, well-clothed, and taken care of for the first time in my life." Hawkins' Bullshit Meter TM was going 'Ding,' but for whatever reason, he decided to give her one more chance. "You said you used to work there. What happened?" He started taking a long slip of his Pine Colada and hoped the answer was 'I got fed up with what I was doing, so I left, but not before I burned down the plantation' or something among those lines. Shannon looked down at her 'Swill Bucket': "I got fired a year back. Abolitionists attacked a caravan escorting slaves that I was on. I was the only survivor. They let me go free out of pity, I told my boss what happened and I was blamed for everything. They said that since I didn't die, I must have run away like a coward. I ended up homeless on the streets of Lumpkin." Okay - Lumpkin? Ouch. "But... you didn't run." "No I didn't. I wasn't a coward; they let me go to send a message. One of them, wearing a blue bandana over his face, even said the message was: 'Don't fuck with the Liberators'." Hawkins choked on his drink. That man in the blue bandana she mentioned was him. He knew she looked familiar. That was a mission he and his comrades went on over a year ago. "Are you okay, sugar?" Shannon asked, looking a little perplexed... and suspicious. Hawkins coughed and managed to get out: "Yeah, I'm okay." He was not okay. A million thoughts were racing through his head, and all of them were 'Fuck!' "Wait. You're wearing a blue bandana." She said, pointing to the very item of clothing around his neck. "Lot's of people wear them." He said, a bit too fast. "And you're wearing a duster coat, just like he did." She declared, her anger increasing with every word. "Well, we both have great senses of style then, huh? Youwantmoredrinks?IwantmoredrinksLet'sgogetthemnowrightnowNOW!" "YOU BASTARD!" Okay that was a very murderous expression on her face. She bolted up from the table and started walking slowly to his side. By reflex, he got out of his seat and started backing away from her. "H-hey, come on. You don't know for sure it was me." His mind scolded him 'Oh wow! That's surely going to convince her.' "I spent a year homeless in Lumpkin because of you! In! Lumpkin!" Why was nobody helping him? Everyone else in the bar was just looking at the two of them and not doing anything. "Hey come on." He said, panic in his eyes and a pleading smile on his thin lips, "There's no need for this. L-Let's sit down. Have another drink. Talk this out." She kept moving towards him, and he kept moving back. His mind yelled at him again. 'Come on man. Say something! Anything!' "I mean, you said it yourself. You hated being a slaver. So if you think about it, I did you a favor by getting you fired, didn't I?" He slapped himself on the forehead as soon as those words left his mouth. 'What the hell was that?!' Part of his mind yelled. 'I don't know! It was the best I could think of!' 'Oh my God, I am an idiot!' 'Hey you're the one who told me to say anything!' 'Hey did she just stop?' She had indeed stopped, but she didn't look any calmer. In fact, she looked even more pissed off. "Ryan?" She said, in a surprisingly calm voice. "Y-Yeah?" "You pressed the wrong button." Then from a nearby table that had a large plate of Brahmin steak on it, she grabbed the steak knife. 'Oh crap.' She took a literal stab at his neck, but it was telegraphed enough for him to easily dodge it by leaning to the right. His legs followed the rest of his body as he darted to the back door of the bar (the exit closest to where they were sitting) and into the alley, his ears picking up the sound of Shannon in hot pursuit. He wanted to dart left to the street, but saw the alley was fenced off that way with no visable door. Of course there was. Okay, he had to think fast. What to do? What todo? Whattodo? The sound of steps stopped behind him, and he knew he had to move. He bolted to his left towards the street, dodging the strike Shannon had stopped to make. He countered by trying to punch her in the face, but she saw it coming a mile away and caught it with her free hand before twisting it to the side, putting him within range of the next strike. He managed to get himself out of range of that one too, enough that he thought he could take the chance to reach for his own knife. Then he saw it, a fire escape leading to a rooftop behind the former slaver. It looked like most of the ladder had rusted away long ago, just the top few rungs left. He pulled his hand away from the knife and got himself ready as Shannon charged him. Like the others attacks, it was easily telegraphed. Another dodge to the right and that was all he needed. As fast as he could, Hawkins ran to the fire escape. He jumpkicked off the wall to make sure he was high enough (a height the five-foot-nothing Shannon could not reach), and grabbed on to the bottom rung. Then in a flash he pulled himself up and once he was on the landing shot up the stairs to the roof, which was good because the rest of the ladder fell away He looked down at Shannon from there. The crazed former slaver was breathing heavily, her eyes still wide with rage. She seemed to recognize right away that she couldn't follow him. Hawkins took the opportunity and ran off. He jumped down a few buildings from the bar and got back into the street. He didn't see any guard in his immediate area, so he had to find somewhere to hide. Assuming those guys at the bar didn't do anything, she'd be out looking for him. He ducked into another bar, sat down at a free stool, and took a deep breath of relief. (OOC: I have to say, I'm not fully satisfied with how the chase scene turned out. But I have no real experience with writing fight scenes, and I was rushing to get this one done. I might edit it later.) Edited by Skyhawk347, Mar 17 2018, 05:40 PM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| vexedBubble | Feb 21 2018, 09:28 PM Post #19 |
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Ghoul
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The citizens of Cresent Top were sparse near the docks, surprising Alida, but as she made her way towards the town centre her anxiety bubbled in her throat. Hundreds of people were cheering and dancing, feathered masks donning laughing faces, her heart matching the music’s beat. She slipped down a nearby alleyway to avoid the crowd, but backed up into another group of people. They threw strings of beads around her neck. Pushed her, shoved her, into the centre of the street. She was spun around, lost her direction, before stabilizing herself and facing a bar. Struggling through the crowd, Alida managed to pull herself into the building. She took a moment to breathe. Alida hadn’t had alcohol for a while, but she had the distinct memory that she was much more relaxed while on the drink. She made her way forward to the bar and waited patiently for the bartender to serve. “Hey, you’re one ‘a them who stopped the pirates aye?” a patron next to her blubbered over his drink. She nodded. “Hey! HEY!” he snapped his fingers. “Get this lady a drink! She’s a hero!” it was barely seconds before a glass of brown liquid slid across the table into her hands. Alida nodded a ‘thanks’ to the man. “What’s this?” she raised an eyebrow. “Hurricane! This places serves the best!” The man reached over the counter and slapped the bartender on the back, who laughed and shook his head. “And the cheapest during mardi Gras, absoluuutely free!” She nodded, taking a sip and scrunching her eyes as the drink hit the back of her throat. She studied the drink intently, it was surprisingly delicious. “Another, please.” A second glass, a larger glass, was placed in front of her. It wasn’t long before Alida was satisfied with her inebriation, tipsy enough to not care so much about the crowd, but sober enough to have her wits about her. She left the bar, just at the man next to her was getting too close for comfort, and made her way out into the streets. Somewhere along the way a group of women grabbed her and danced circles around her, her jacket ended up tied around her waist, her face covered in a mask. It was...liberating. She didn’t feel like herself. She had something to hide behind and, as the girls threw glitter into the air, settling on her skin, she danced with them before they left. Alida skipped down the street, weaving between people and spinning to the music. She stumbled past the food stalls, her stomach growling. She quickly joined a small crowd of people eagerly waiting for a bite of whatever it was they were serving. |
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| Alida Brandy | Lvl 1 | "a mix of zooey deschanel and the entirety of ww1" - Fom | S:3(-1) P:8(+1) E:7 C:8 I:4 A:6(-1) L:3 | Hungry like the Wolf! - stat adjustments for 2 solos/tags | +75 N'awlins | | Pipe Rifle | Switchblade | Flintlock | | Denizen of the Dark | Sex Appeal | Fast Learner | | Mór-Ríoghain | Lvl 1 | | S:4 P:8 E:8 C:4 I:5 A:3 L:8 | | Hatchet | Handmade Bow (with arrows) | | Hunter | Creep | | |
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| Cewebwalz | Feb 22 2018, 09:48 PM Post #20 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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Jesse Winters sat on the sidewalk, various sets of legs passing or stumbling by. He had originally sat down out of practicality, one couldn't walk well without support as drunk as he was. Then the parades started, and Jesse lounged for the sake of pleasure, too wasted to will himself up and out of the way of a crowd. It didn't seem like he was taking up too much space, but his legs were getting beat to shit by clumsy feet, half the town's footprints seemed to find it's way onto his kneecaps. Jesse was more than content scooping up beads that fell within his proximity and sucking on a funny tasting lollipop tossed out by the float. It must've been postwar, the sugar Jesse was intoxicating, and Winters had trouble resisting the urge to crunch down on a candy shell and shatter his teeth. The beads he was collecting soon numbered close to the double digits, and Winters was wearing them all. They weighed sort of heavy on his shoulders, an artists palette of different colors all strung together. It was only when other citizens of the town, drunk on rudeness and bravado, tried placing beads around Winter's neck did he wish to leave. After Jesse shoo'd away another odd couple trying to decorate him like a statue he pushed himself off the ground and stood to his feet. It took him a few tries. A success story like his, actually standing? That deserved a drink. It took him about fifteen, twenty seconds total to find a bar. Wading through a crowd, passing a street with an ongoing parade, and opening the door took about ten minutes. Finding an open seat at the bar was the easy part somehow, and finding a drinking partner? Why, some poor, sober, down on his luck, out of breath chap was right next to him. It was easy as that, it seemed. "Bartender!" Jesse looked up at the man behind the bar with joy, a barrel chested man with barely enough space to move back there. Jesse wondered if he was in the mood for barley, or if he was going to need a barometer for all the hot air more hard liquor was going to induce. "Two drinks. Milk Punch for this sober lamb next to me. Daiquiri for me. Da Key Ree? Iced rum juice. Please and thank you." The bartender gave Jesse some considerable side-eye, before recognizing him as one of the cities 'hero's' and giving him a thumbs up. Jesse gave one in return. Violence had it's perks as usual, but Winters was hoping to share with the stranger next to him. He seemed more fit for one of Jesse's old haunts in the south than Crescent Top. He was dressed like a rancher or a bandit, but carried himself much more highly than that. The kid wasn't drunk yet, which probably said something about his character. Jesse would fix that soon enough, he had the technology after all. Better than before, looser, louder, a suitable drinking buddy. The only goal now was to not pass out, or scare away this new friend. Winter's turned and outstretched a hand. "The name's Jesse. Jesse Winters." He hiccup'd, some bad booze breath surmounting from within him. "You're sober? During Mardis Gras? In the French Quarter." Jesse looked around the room and turned back to the kid, who was looking at Jesse like he was a madman, but Jesse just saw an odd man out. "You're the only one in the entire city. You're never gonna enjoy any of this like that, trust me. Join the revelry." Winters could only contain his serious demeanor for so long, and it broke the moment the bartender returned. Jesse wore a deep dish smile to his face, and the set of drinks in front of him only sat for a second before he forced one into his and the strangers hands. "Cheers to a very mardis gras. The gras'est." Edited by Cewebwalz, Feb 22 2018, 10:26 PM.
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Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist 8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC- Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator 5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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| Skyhawk347 | Feb 23 2018, 05:50 AM Post #21 |
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Wastelander
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Hawkins was surpised when the man with the strange accent sitting next to had offered him a drink, but it managed to distract him from his worries about Shannon finding him, calmed him down, and make him think rationally. In all likelihood, there were several witnesses to what had happened between him and the ex-slaver who would report the incident to any guards and if they came looking for him asking to testify, he'd do it. Even if she wasn't reported, that meant he'd just have to stick to public areas in case Shannon tried to find him. If he did that, maybe he could relax. He took a good look at the man as well as what he said, and couldn't help remembered what Shannon had told him. The middle-aged man looked like he had seen quite a few things in his lifetime, probabaly more than Hawkins himself had, frankly. But the man had a large smile on his face and seemed to be enjoying himself even if he was so smashed he might not remember it in the morning. Maybe Shannon was right, which he SUPPOSED was a point in her favor. Maybe he wasn't thinking about Mardi Gras the right way. This was a break people could take from the craptacular life out there in the wastes, where they could see the closest thing in the region to what life was like before the war. And hey, maybe it was something to fight for when he became a Texas Ranger, a chance for every settlement to be able to enjoy the lifestyle Crescent Top did. So, he pulled himself out of his uncharacteristic moping, and the nearly perpetual smile came back onto his face. He decided that for the rest of Mardi Gras, he'd enjoy himself. He grabbed his drink (the Milky something-or-other) and clinked his glass against the raised glass of the man. After the two drank, Hawkins introduced himself. "Thanks a lot. Pleased to meet ya, Jesse. I'm Ryan." He said in a friendly tone, extending his free hand. |
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Mixtli | Feb 23 2018, 10:29 AM Post #22 |
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Resident Canadian
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Loud noises and bright lights continued to erupt all around him. Slater had been on killing fields that had been more peaceful than the chaos that was unfolding around him in Nawlins, and he found the primal celebration to be to his liking. He staggered through a crowd of people, knocking them out of his way as he took another drink from the bottle of booze he’d been nursing all night. “Fuggin’ thing’s too small,” he muttered to himself as he finished off the remainder of the liquid before throwing the empty bottle over a building. His stomach growled, and he realized that he’d been drinking on an empty stomach. He looked at the strands of beads he was carrying with a covetous look in his eyes. Slater was loath to part with something potentially valuable when he could get by simply through taking things that he wanted. I could murder a steak right now “More like I’d murder for a steak,” he slurred to himself. A passerby laughed at the statement, not realizing that Slater was actually telling the truth. “You and me both, buddy! There’s a stall down the way that’s selling chili that’ll burn a hole in you though.” He held out a bowl of the aforementioned food as he staggered over to where Slater had come to a stop. “You should check it out.” John looked at the drunken face of the stranger, then down at the food the other man was carrying, then back up at his face again. The man was obviously heavily inebriated. “Here let me hold that. You’re about to fall over.” The man handed the bowl over with a confused look on his face. “I am? I feel alri-” Slater’s fist caught him in the chin and he crumpled to the ground. He scooped some of the food into his mouth with his fingers and was overjoyed at the intense burning that accompanied the hearty mouthful. “Damn that’s good stuff!” He hadn’t eaten something so hot it properly hurt in a long time. He continued to shovel food into his mouth as he made his way to what looked like a bar. He dropped the bowl on the ground once he’d finished eating, and wiped his hand off on the back of someone heading to the same bar. Lessee what’s going on in there, he thought to himself as he made his way towards the bar. As he approached the building he saw a familiar face. I know I’ve seen someone with that shirt and beard before. Suddenly it hit him: the other man had been helping with the pirate situation, although “helping” may have been a stretch considering the lack of bloodshed he’s contributed to the situation. “God damn, did you make it off of that boat without throwing a punch?” He threw an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Hey there hero. How’s the nice and safe dry land treating you?” |
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Thomas Grey, level 5, Ranger Rep +10, BT Rep +118, Brick Rep +15 SPECIAL: 6, 7, 7, 4, 7, 6, 3 Equipment Weaponry: Colt Army revolver, pocket revolver, 1x smoke/stun/baseball grenades. Armor: Pack rat clothing, leather greaves, reinforced chaps. Appearance: Caucasian. Tall, strong build, short thick curly brown hair. Dark eyes, a frown, and a cleanshaven face. Grey shirt with 3/4 sleeves and leather bracers. Jeans with reinforced leather chaps, and a tool belt. Companion: Elizabeth Sharpe - 4, 8, 4, 3, 5, 10, 6 - Small stature, but makes up for it with knives, a crossbow, and attitude. Level 5. +5 BT Rep. John Slater: SPECIAL 8(+1).4.10.5.5.4.5. One bad hombre | |
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| Cewebwalz | Feb 23 2018, 11:08 AM Post #23 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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(A bit of narrative dissonance, Jesse doesn't know Slater's name but I used it to make the actions less confusing in this post) Winters was almost too drunk to recognize the burly arm around his shoulder as he and Ryan shook hands, but turned to see a familiar face. Jesse sipped on his daquiri, barely noticing the smidgeon of blood decorating the knuckle that was dangling by his wrist. The face of the man was the sort of thing only a mother could love, much like Jesse's, and was all too familiar. The fireworks show in the harbor. Winter's leer'd, even with the mans condescending tone of voice he was happy to see a fellow veteran of the battle. This city was stuffed with strangers, even familiar face's he couldn't put a name too were nice to see. He nodded along to his comments, and glanced up at a nosy bartender once the conversation was on Winters. "A hurricane for our friend, bartender!" Jesse wondered if he could tip his prison library card, but that had a switchblade in it, and seemed like a safety hazard. Slater's breath smelt rancid, hot, and vaguely enticing at the same time. Jesse wanted to ask him what he had eaten, but before he could think about it a tall, curvy glass was placed in front of Slater. The aforementioned hurricane, Jesse was just naming random shit off the menu at this point. The fact he got off that boat without joining the festivities didn't make it's way past Slater, which surprised Winters. Who even paid any attention to him in the first place? The man was much more perceptive than Jesse reckoned. "This land's not as dry as I hoped. I did meet this youngin however." Jesse turned to Ryan, who he pointed at like a proud father rather than the perfect stranger he was. "Real nice kid. Boutta order us another round of drinks when he finishes." Jesse gently lifted the deep tissue scarred arm off his shoulders, and hoped Slater wouldn't bring another battle scene to this bar. "Shouldn't have signed up in the first place, I was lucky to make it out alive." Jesse hiccup'd loudly, and patted himself on the gut to let the airs out. He turned to Ryan, speaking deliriously. "Violence ain't the answer. If your looking for someone who can help though..." Jesse turned back to the man from the boatride, who was just as old as he was and probably just as mean as Jesse used to be. "This fellow's an expert. I saw firsthand." He pointed a bony finger at Slater, who Jesse had given up on reading altogether by then. "What's your name again, partner? I'm Jesse Winters, and I'm a little too drunk to remember if you knew that already." |
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Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist 8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC- Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator 5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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| Blue Collins | Feb 23 2018, 05:39 PM Post #24 |
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Head raider
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Blue Collins walked into the tavern, his growing frame clad only in a set of ragged pants (which he was fast outgrowing), and moccassins (same, though they were still comfortable). He carried his beads, his large hide, and the slave collar and fetters that Eleanora's men had bound him with in a rucksack that was on his back. Though still clearly not an adult, his trip to Nawlins had resulted in his' growing in size and shedding his scrawniness. And so, with his chracteristic confidence, the young man went to a seat that was close to Ryan; he felt drawn to the guy in the blue bandana because said bandana was his color. And yes, he overheard Ryan's name and his', Jesse's, and Slater's conversation. To Slater, Blue's eyes, as well as the various scars and burns on his upper body - which was more well-muscled than before - would convey...something. The feeling of combined brokenness and strength within. |
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Endymion 'Endy' Soap - Level 1 Flame Collins - Temporarily Seperate from Blue - Level 3 Shintaro Kanzaki - Level 1 | |
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| Skyhawk347 | Feb 23 2018, 06:19 PM Post #25 |
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Wastelander
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Hawkins was about to introduce himself to Jesse's friend when he was distracted by the young kid - couldn't have even been 16 - enter the bar. The first instinct he had was to smile at the boy's mischievous behavior; typical teenage behavior of trying to sneak into a bar to get a drink. But when he noticed the boy's tattered, ill-fitting clothing, lack of shirt, and obvious signs of malnutrition, his mind immediately started pondering darker meaning behind the kid's appearance. Poor guy looked like the wasteland had chewed him up and spat him out. When the boy sat down near him, he knew what he had to do. He pulled all of the beads he had out of his duster and placed them in front of the boy. "Here, you can get yourself some better clothes." he said. "Look, you might not want pity, but if that's the case, let me tell you, there's even less dignity in dying of exposure than there is in accepting charity." Why did he do it? Well, it was why he started adventuring in the first place. Why he wanted to be a Ranger. Help the helpless, make the wasteland a better place, all of that. So when a shirtless, probably homeless kid showed up, he couldn't just stand by an watch. "Actually..." He considered. No the beads were not enough. He took the lighter and basic survival kit (a bunch of small survival tools in a re-purposed travel-sized soap dish) from his duster's pockets and moved them to his pants pockets. Removing his rucksack from his back and placing it on the floor next to him, the hunter then took off his desert camo duster - fully revealing the long-sleeved, grey button up shirt he wore underneath - and handed out for the kid to take. Granted, Hawkins was noticeably taller than the teenager, and though the former was kind of lean for a guy, the duster still might look too large on the kid, but it was better than nothing. "Here. Until you get yourself something." He said with a friendly smile. He knew there was a good possibility he'd never see this kid or that duster again, but hey, that was no reason to not do it. Edited by Skyhawk347, Feb 23 2018, 06:54 PM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Blue Collins | Feb 23 2018, 07:10 PM Post #26 |
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Head raider
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Blue Collins would take the duster, but not the beads, saying; "I have my own set of beads, plus a large hide from Bucket Town I can change for trade slips. It's just that clothing stores seem to be closed today, or are too busy producing or selling impractical parade outfits. Anyway, your name is Ryan, right? My name is Blue. Blue Collins, son of Texas Ranger - or was it Texas Ranger Militia - member Red Collins. I am in Nawlins because of...mysterious circumstances that I cannot even remember. Either way, I am here not just to eat and have fun, but also to look for good people who might help me in my quest; you seem to fit the bill." A mix of bluntness and flattery. |
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Endymion 'Endy' Soap - Level 1 Flame Collins - Temporarily Seperate from Blue - Level 3 Shintaro Kanzaki - Level 1 | |
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| Skyhawk347 | Feb 23 2018, 07:49 PM Post #27 |
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Wastelander
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"Well, you're blunt." Hawkins said to the kid who had introduced himself as Blue. At the same time he took his own beads off the table and put them in his rucksack. And just like he predicted, the duster looked too tall for the kid. But in all seriousness, Blue just let out a gold mine of personal information. Hawkins was actually amazed he caught it all with how rapidly each sentence was being said. "So let's go down the list of what you just said. One: I'm thrilled somebody else agrees on those masks being impractical, but eh, let them enjoy themselves, I say (well, I say now at any rate). "Two: Yes, that's my name. Nice to meet ya, Blue. "Three: You said your dad's a Ranger? Well, that's a coincidence. My mom used to be a Ranger herself. Not a militia member, mind you, an actual Ranger" He added, unable to hold back a slight tone of pride in his voice at his mother's accomplishments. "Her old partner, Douglas Miller, would always come by to visit us whenever he was on leave. He used to tell me stories about the Rangers. "Let's see... Red Collins." He tested the name on his lips, trying to remember if that name came up in any of the stories. It wasn't ringing any bells, but then again, often the stories were just about the two of them adventuring out in the wastes. "Sorry, doesn't sound familiar." "Four," he continued, "... How do you not remember how you got here?" "Five, if I'm going to say yes to accompanying you, I'm gonna need to know what exactly the quest is first." His smile grew a bit wider as he got to the last thing Blue said, "And six: Thanks for the compliment." Edited by Skyhawk347, Feb 23 2018, 07:52 PM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Blue Collins | Feb 23 2018, 08:58 PM Post #28 |
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Head raider
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"You're welcome to it," Blue Collins said to Ryan. "And yes, I don't remember how I got here, which is strange, as I know I am naturally resistant to chems, even anastethic. All I know was that three men were dragging me off to a third enslavement one moment, and next thing that happened, I was on a caravan headed for Nawlins, with my collar turned off and fetters removed." Blue's tone was matter-of-fact and honest. "My memory ought to return soon, though; it could just be that I was dosed with something and an extra-large amount of it was used on me." A frown. "As for my quest and my goals...not to be too open to your neighbors, but I spent some time in a small settlement called Bucket Town. It's fairly unimportant, except for the fact that it is on a vital trade route and intersection. That, and it's ruled over by a populistic and extra-shady character who got himself elected mayor, plus a council of extra-shady characters who are milking the place for all the wealth it can still make." A purse of his lips. "I plan to return to that place, after gathering as much funding and equipment and strength and allies as I could - and take it over." "And once it is taken over, I will found a Republic, a new nation that will use trade and alliances and appeals to mutual interest to assimilate the remaining towns. Slavery will be fought, Civil Rights codified, and resources and tech will be shared." Blue's eyes shone with metaphorical fire. "We will then be able to rebuild and even learn from, the mistakes of the world." A pause. "Yes, you think I might be crazy, but I believe I can do this with time and help. And, well, that's what I need of you; that is my quest." A faint smile. "Or you can just dismiss the rantings of a sugar-high kid." |
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Endymion 'Endy' Soap - Level 1 Flame Collins - Temporarily Seperate from Blue - Level 3 Shintaro Kanzaki - Level 1 | |
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| FallenSanity | Feb 23 2018, 09:09 PM Post #29 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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"Big talk for a little guy." Elizabeth had only just walked into the tavern, and already the young male voices were the only things that she could hear even in the sea of noise around them all. She sat down a stool away from the two of them and shook her head, calling for a simple glass of whiskey. She looked over at the two of them and shook her head, smiling a little. "You're lookin' for friends and partners and all that, still got your mind on taking over a town?" She thought it was ludicrous to even consider this sort of thing without the proper preparation and supplies. Training, knowledge, weak spots that could be undermined all needed to be taken into consideration. Looking at this kid, she doubted any of that was on the table. She took a sip from the clean glass and nodded, pursing her lips a little. Stronger than the last place she'd been to, and with a much harsher taste. Still, it'd knock her flat on her ass, so she wasn't going to complain. "Kid, have fun. If you wanna try and take some place over and instil a fuckin'... Hah, a fucking republic for free folk and goodness and all that sweet sugary bullshit, all you'll get is a spike up your ass when someone bigger and badder rolls by." She leant over the bar and hunched down, her arms folded in front of her as she finished her drink and quickly called for another, awkwardly fidgeting with the beads around her neck. She'd never dealt with anything this strange before. In the past, the parties she'd ever attended involved strong drinks, strong women, and strong men. They'd do whatever they needed to till the sun came up, and then it was back to basic, garrisons, wherever they were stationed. This place was full of bright colours and dumb people, and she knew she'd need more to drink if she ever wanted to enjoy herself. Edited by FallenSanity, Feb 23 2018, 09:14 PM.
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| Mixtli | Feb 24 2018, 01:48 PM Post #30 |
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Resident Canadian
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Slater clapped Jesse on the shoulder. "Thanks for the drink Jesse Winters. My mama named me John Slater, but I just go by Slater now." He looked at the two young men that were deep in conversation. "I'll leave the Kumbayah shit to you two, but feel free to do whatever this whole shirt swap thing is." He downed the hurricane and laughed at the fruity taste. "Hey bartender," he growled as he slid the glass back across the counter. "Did you think I'd like one of these fruity drinks?" A number of the patrons in the bar looked uneasy. The bartender cleared his throat to find his voice. He was usually ok with unruly patrons, but this old cuss had the scars of five men and some sort of spiked hammer leaning next to his chair. "Ok buddy, the Leaky Tiki is supposed to be full-a relaxed vibes, so I'm going to have to ask you to-" Slater interrupted him with a bear hug across the counter. "I fucking loved that drink! Put another one out here so we can keep this party going!" The bartender scowled for a moment before the jokes poor timing cracked him up. "Another hurricane, coming right up." He turned to the woman that had ordered the whiskey. "I couldn't agree more," he muttered as he sat heavily next to her. "The only thing that holdin' hands and making wishes does is paint a nice target on your back." He grinned as the bartender handed him his new hurricane. "Nice scars. I don't think I've introduced myself." He slapped himself on the chest. "You can call me Slater." He peered at her glass. "By the way, is the whiskey here any good? Fruity drinks are nice, but the real fun comes from good food, hard liquor, and a solid fight." |
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Thomas Grey, level 5, Ranger Rep +10, BT Rep +118, Brick Rep +15 SPECIAL: 6, 7, 7, 4, 7, 6, 3 Equipment Weaponry: Colt Army revolver, pocket revolver, 1x smoke/stun/baseball grenades. Armor: Pack rat clothing, leather greaves, reinforced chaps. Appearance: Caucasian. Tall, strong build, short thick curly brown hair. Dark eyes, a frown, and a cleanshaven face. Grey shirt with 3/4 sleeves and leather bracers. Jeans with reinforced leather chaps, and a tool belt. Companion: Elizabeth Sharpe - 4, 8, 4, 3, 5, 10, 6 - Small stature, but makes up for it with knives, a crossbow, and attitude. Level 5. +5 BT Rep. John Slater: SPECIAL 8(+1).4.10.5.5.4.5. One bad hombre | |
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