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Mardi Gras Merriment; A mini-event to celebrate N'awlins
Topic Started: Feb 15 2018, 12:03 PM (1,650 Views)
Funkifan
Member Avatar
The Cobras' Leader
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Alida" The name was certainly something unique, yet, at least to him, held a lot of charm. He smiled at the woman and nodded rapidly at her suggestion of accompanying her, alongside Georgie and Nia, with Sandra following along, eating the cake that had been offered to her.

As Edgar kept enjoying himself, and finished his own cake, through the blurry motion of his tipsy state, he noticed a small tent, made out of all sorts of colorful clothing, a darkened interior, lit by candles of all sizes and shapes. The redhead was immediately drawn forward, like if something beckoned him to head there. He turned his head to look at Sandra.

“Umm... misssss Sandy... would y-yooooouuu mind if we went t-to aaa tent? I t-think... there could be a-a carnival game there. It s-seeeeems interesting.”

“Hm. Of course. Will stay outside, doubt there is much... I can do. As always.” She sighed softly, before nodding towards Edgar.

The medic began to walk towards the tent, with the ghoul lady following next to him. After maneuvering through the people coming and going, they finally reached their destination.

“Okay... uuuhh we’re here... will youu be alright?” He asked, as he shook his head slightly to clear his mind.

“Sure. Won’t... take long, yes?” The woman said, as she hesitantly let go of his arm.

“Nahh... don’t think so... pshh...” The Hispanic waved his hand dismissively, then tilting his head slightly. Sandra raised an eyebrow, before relaxing, although she still seemed somewhat skeptical as she crossed her arms, albeit the redhead couldn't tell what was the matter exactly.

“You don’t wannaa uh... come aand play?” He asked, the woman’s head moving from side to side as she made a gesture with her hand towards the tent.
“Go. Don’t worry.”

With this, Algae walked inside, crouching slightly, to avoid hitting himself with the tarp above. Immediately, he froze, as he saw two large, piercing eyes that seemed to stare right through his soul.

A bead of sweat began to roll down his forehead, as he managed to shake the fear that the lady, or at least he thought it was a lady, covered in jewelry and heavy clothing had initially given him.

He gave a deep bow towards her, before taking a seat, a trembling hand reaching for his collar beads, and retrieving three, before handling them to the woman.

[-3 Mardi Gras Beads]

“H-Hello... u-umm... a-a pleasure.” He gulped, then offered a smile, as he gazed around the tent, wondering what the game was.

The woman takes the beads immediately, stashing them away as she hums quietly. "Sit, sit," she murmurs, eyes never breaking contact as she motions to the chair opposite her. "You are nervous, young man," the Romani states, no uncertainty in her voice. "There is no need, unless..." One dark brow quirks up, "-you fear the unquestionable truth." She takes Edgar's hand gently, one pointed fingernail tracing lightly over the lines on his palm.

"Interesting," she says softly. "The heart line, long and deep. A boy with much love to share, in a world sorely lacking." Her finger moves down. "The head line, also pronounced. The one on your shoulders is a good one, used often and well." She squints for a moment, tracing just below his index finger. "The curve of Jupiter, soft, almost non-existent. No desire for violence..." she pauses briefly, moving to his middle finger. "But the line of Venus," the barest hint of a smile can be seen beneath her kerchief, "strong. Outstanding, even." She taps the spot delicately, nodding in approval. "For your own sake," she says softly, "keep your heart open, though pain may come as a result. The risk is worthwhile, though a potentially treacherous path for one with deep compassion in their soul."

She examines Edgar's hand a moment longer. "The lifeline," she says, "is convoluted. Long, but thin. I...must admit," she pauses again, "I know not what to make of it. However, the line of fate is clear." The woman stares intensely into Edgar's eyes. "Your soul is wounded. Beyond repair, I think not. However, the mending will be no easy task." She clasps Edgar's hand briefly in her own. "Your fate is not sealed until death. But, come whatever may, you must learn, boy," her grip tightens around Edgar's hand, "to let the immovable past lie as it fell. You cannot change it, you must learn to let go." She nods decisively, then hands over a small item.

"Do not shackle yourself with doubt," she whispers, pressing into Edgar's hand a-

Scalpel
 

Beyond razor-sharp, without a hint of rust or ruin, this finely-honed blade will slice through skin like a hot knife through butter. Watch your fingers.

Edgar was speechless after hearing the woman read the fate that was drawn on his palm, understanding finally that this was no carnival game. Deeply moved by the Romani's words, he stared at the scalpel he had been given, as he pondered on what it had just been said to him.

"To let go of my past... but how? How can I?" The thought became prevalent on his mind, as tears finally came down rolling down his cheeks. He had done so many things wrong, had commited so many mistakes that had injured people.

Yet, he had been told by a mystic to mend his soul. Still, it could be repaired.

His slightly drunken stupor had him too dizzy to properly think on an answer for this conundrum. Just how he could correct the wrong? How he could fix his heart, his soul? He would surely never forget the woman's words, but for now, the path he had to take eluded him completely.

"T-Thank... y-you... I'll... I will do my b-best... to... mend my soul... to let... g-go." His speech returned to his stutter, as he cleaned the tears from his face, and offered the wise palm reader a kind, warm smile, before standing up, and giving a deep, earnest bow of appreciation, and exited the tent. He took a moment to store the scalpel on his medical suitcase, to safeguard it, before returning the item back to his rucksack and heading towards his host, who had made her way through the crowd and sat on an old metal bench.

"I-I'm... b-back..." He sniffled, catching Sandra's attention, who, tentatively, reached out for him, Edgar reciprocating by taking her hand.

"Everything good?"

"Yes... I-I just... it was... uhm... u-unexpected." The redhead replied, a small grin on his face.

He could feel his heartbeat inside of him, as a new feeling of hope overtook his chest. To keep his heart open, to do good, to help others.

To forgive and heal himself.

(OOC: The Palm reading was written by the wonderful AZ <3)
Edgar Algae -HC-

SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4

Level: 4

Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper.

He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls)


+120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation
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Mixtli
Member Avatar
Resident Canadian
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
God damn that was fun! Slater pocketed the baton and scanned the area for where Li- Ellie had gone. His good eye settled on her as she approached the stand. He grinned and jumped off of the platform and down to the ground, bumping into someone that didn’t have the good sense to watch where Slater was going.

Ellie looked the old man in the eye and smirked, pulling the bolas off of her shoulder and holding it up. She'd seen it before, she could recall it being some tribal weapon for... hunters? It didn't matter, it was gonna be great to use. "Got this from, uh... Darts. And this," she dropped the bolas back onto her shoulder and pulled out a knife, staring at it for a long moment before clearing her throat. "Osiris' thing, y'know."

"Not bad. I'm sure you'll get some good use out of those the next time you get into trouble."

He spots a mysterious tent and motions towards it. "I've still got half of my beads left. Wanna check out what's going on over there?" Ellie nodded, scratching her head a little. Fun was all well and good, but she wanted a drink.

Slater and Ellie moved towards the tent. He peered at the sign when he was close enough for his pepper-abused eyes to make out the words. "What the hell is a palm reader? Eh I'm not too keen on keeping these beads anyway." He looked over to Ellie. "I haven't grown this old because I walked into strange tents without someone watching my back. Are you interested in coming in here and seeing what it's all about?"

Ellie smirked again, rubbing her head and stretching a little. "Mhm, yeah, I'll watch your six or whatever."

He laughed. “After this is over and done with I’m going to need some more of that whiskey you were working on at the bar.”

A confused-looking patron exited the tent, and Slater took that a cue to enter with Ellie. He sat down heavily opposite the "palm reader" and dropped his strands of beads down on the table. "Alright, let's see what you can do." He rested his hands on the table and waited expectantly.

Large, dark eyes narrow at Slater. The woman’s shoulders are tense, but relax slightly as one long, thin-fingered hand snakes out from beneath a layer of gossamer to cup Slater’s in her own. She tilts her head slightly, gaze rising back to Slater. There’s still a degree of mistrust as she whispers, “the second viper to visit, but…better one you can see than one hidden in a dark room, eh?” She shakes her head once, making the tiny coins lining her kerchief jingle quietly. “But I digress, and the line of head,” a sharp nail, nearly a claw, traces across his hand, “tells me you have no time for tales of others. Separate from the line of life, showing great boldness, an extrovert, highly independent. One with the ability to solve most adversity on their own, yet…”

She pauses, raising depthless eyes again. “-I am shown a lack of sympathy. Such boldness means one who must always take control, a refusal to sympathize, most especially with the mistakes of others. Now this, this is strange,” the woman raises his hand slightly, examining it more closely, “the girdle of Venus, scarred over. You have loved once, perhaps, but time and fate have turned your heart cold.” The pointed nail continues its light path.

“Two lines of life,” her voice drops to a low mutter, “thankfully separate,” she shakes her head again, pulling herself from seemingly unpleasant thoughts, “show incredibly strong vitality. You are highly resistant against diseases of the flesh, able to recover quickly after injury and illness. A desired trait to be sure, and yet,” one dark eyebrow quirks up, “the line of heart, short. Ruthless, self-serving, narrow-minded. You act on reflex, with no consideration to the consequences. Easily ostracized, often lonely. The cuts here,” she taps the edge of his palm, “and so many, show pain. Unhappiness and failure in love. An obsession with one lost, which makes progress in life difficult. I wonder,” the woman taps a spot on the opposite side of his hand, “if the line of child may be of consequence.

“Narrow, shallow, a girl. The islands ending the line…a child of rebellious nature. Strange, considering the finger of Jupiter…long, stout, a man of leadership. Your lack of tolerance for failure, coupled with a strong nature and proclivity for independence, can be inspiring, especially to those that bear witness to the consequences.” Her eyes narrow again. “You are a dangerous man. Yet still, better a viper in the open than one in the underbrush.”

She taps Slater’s middle finger with the tip of her nail. “Saturn. Ambition, logic, family. Also long, denoting one who is serious about whatever goals have been set. All in all,” she releases his hand briefly, her own vanishing back into the swaths of cloth, “it is not a happy palm. Yet, it speaks of great ambition yet unfulfilled, an unquenchable drive to see it through.” She takes his hand again, tapping the middle of his palm. “The line of fate, it runs long and deep. Success yet to be achieved. I only fear that, when you find what you seek,” she drops something small into Slater’s hand with a silvery tinkling sound, “you shall not be pleased with the result.”

Broken Locket
 
A thin, silver chain with an oval charm hanging from it. Not much more than a pretty bauble, it opens to reveal a place where a picture could be placed. Alas, the locket refuses to stay closed, and whatever picture is inside has been faded to obscurity by time.


He thought about her words, and pocketed the locket. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Elizabeth’s face had been fading from his memory. He put a smug smile on his face to try and hide how rattled he had felt by the reading. “So Ellie, are you interested in finding out your future,” he said while wiggling his fingers in the air, “or should we just hit the bar again?”
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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Rman916
Wastelander
[ *  *  *  * ]
And with that, the last of many memories to flow through his head, Rory awoke.

He was in a room that had once been very white, and was now very grey. Medical apparatuses surrounded him. Only one way to be sure.

He took a deep breath. The air, despite being sterilized, made him feel utterly depressed. He was indeed in a hospice.

He seemed oddly okay, though some of the exercises and stretches he tried revealed a distinct stiffness that he knew would either fade in a few days, or not at all.

One thing was for sure. He would need a shirt.

Thankfully, he had no need to wait. There was a pile of his things, and some things they had obviously thought was his in the corner.

Fighting off the small tsunamis of dizziness that flooded him, he got dressed in his newest outfit, a cream colored blouse that had almost certainly been white at some point, his now rattier than ever pants, and a faded green tricorn.

He strapped his new cutlass to a belt that probably wasn’t meant to go across his chest (his pants sagging slightly without it), and one of his two pistols (the revolver) to his waist, while over secreting away the rest of the items.

Apparently he had an identity now.

Huh.

But, no one gave medical care away for free, and he had no plans on losing his riches, so he snuck out a window before the nurse he could hear outside returned.

He just got this loot!

——————

Outside, it was not hard to lose any pursers that may or may not exist, because nothing could be seen through the crowd of people partying, heard through the music, and the less said about the smells, the better.

Despite the aforementioned smell, he took a deep breath. It was good to be back. Not this place, new to him, but to the environment that any pickpocket thrived in.

And better to be free.

Someone noticed the beads hanging around his neck, and screamed something unintelligible about a carnival. And something about “great matted grass”.

This was an odd town.

————

When he arrived at this mysterious carnival, he understood.

....Mardi Gras was still an odd name for a celebration.

But! Apparently he was a hero.

And that made for the cheapest booze of all. Free.

Excellent.

After downing three of a very fruity drink, somehow it seemed a good idea to try out a game called Hotter than Hades. By eating all the peppers at once.

This was not a good idea. He was intermittently screaming and sobbing for twenty minutes or so. Most damning of all for this event, it sobered him up.

After liquoring up further, he decided to try a few that were easier.

The rock wall may have been difficult. If it was soaked in grease. And besides, after seeing drunks fail at both that and the Jacob’s Ladder, he felt the need to redeem his people.

“Oh god, not again!” the carny yells, pulling at handfuls of his hair. “Drunks and rock walls, what idiot organized this mess?!” Once Rory is back on the ground, the man collecting beads, now pale and shaking slightly, trades the strands for

Sticky Fingers (climbing gloves)
 


This nifty handwear, lightweight and flexible, has tiny rubber nubs all over the fingers and palms. Make a good climber into a great one, and a great one into the personification of a spider monkey.



Jacob’s Ladder was tricky. Most of the trick was in him attempting to climb down it on his hands (he did fail in that, having to switch to his feet once more), but still.

Just before Rory loses his balance, there’s a bright flash of light in the middle of his handstand. The source is gone before it can be placed, but is quickly overshadowed by the grumbling vendor handing over a

Jacob’s Ladder
 


This toy dates back to ancient times, is lots of fun to fidget with, and can be used to amaze your more simple-minded friends. This one, however, has a slight twist to it, pun intended. When turned just so, all but the last two blocks will fall loose, leaving you with a strong, thin garrote.



But, after waiting to decide on his final games, he passed a booth of oddities held by a man named Orisis. He shrugged. One set of beads could be a souvenir.

The man’s paints could have scared a lesser man, but Rory, of all people, could recognize face paints.

He tossed three sets at the man, who snatches them nimbly out of the air. A set of brilliantly-white teeth flash in a brief, not entirely friendly grin as Osiris beacons Rory to sit. “Come, come, this is no merchant’s cart- your past must tell me a tale, and you…” His eyes narrow at Rory. “Those that whisper around you have many to share.” It could be a trick of the light, but a brief shudder seems to run down Osiris’ back. “I hear them hiss, scratching in the dark and dank,” his knuckles clench for a moment, “pawns in the grasp of dark masters. Their whispers echo through tunnels of filth and slime, seeking the light, yet burned alive should they succeed.” The man’s piercing stare doesn’t fade as his fingers drum the table once. “And you yourself have set several flames. Do they hiss at you as well, boy? Or do the screams, the agony as they burn, chase you instead?” His voice drops to a low murmur. “The markings may fade, but can never be washed clean. They whisper that trouble yet brews, and sooner or later, the past has a way of snaring us all.” With that, he searches briefly beneath the table before handing Rory a

Rat Skull Necklace (RARITY)
 


This perfectly preserved skull has every tooth intact, hung from a thin black chain. Not the most exquisite of jewelry, but it’s very rare for anyone who doesn’t understand the full implications to own such a trinket.



He contemplated it for a second, and moved forward to begin asking the man about his paints, the knowledge of which the real prize...

At this, Osiris laughs. “The paints? Yes, when speaking to the dead, it is important to wear a face they recognize. Most are jealous of the living, and will not converse otherwise. These are a special blend,” his voice lowers conspiratorially, “of my own making. Suffice to say, not all bodies fished from the dregs are immediately laid to rest. However, if you have interest in a similar stock, the Bazaar may be able to assist. Tell the woman with dark hair Osiris sends his regards, and that her mother’s rest is a peaceful one.”
Quinn Jones-"Mr.Psychopath"
4.5.2.8.8.7.6, Level One

Rory Williams-The Magician
4.6.4.6.6.10.4, Level One
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azstarael
Member Avatar
"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
After finally managing to untangle himself from the net, Spike had a conundrum at hand. On the one, he was having a great time with the incredible lights, colors, laughter and singing and music, all creating a sensory whirlwind that was almost overwhelming. On the other, he was getting to the point where he wouldn’t remember much of it in very short order. And that? That was simply unacceptable.

Easy enough to remedy, if not entirely pleasant. As he removed himself from the thick of the crowd and shoved two fingers down his throat, Spike contemplated briefly that the sweet, doughy…whatever it was, had been a good choice. The ‘swill buckets’, decidedly less so. The vendor hadn’t been lying, they were much worse coming up. He emptied his stomach in a foul puddle, coughed up a few stubborn dregs, and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Another hit of jet, and he was back in his element, ready to tackle whatever else looked like a good time.

He passed a booth where people seemed to be competing over who could stomach some very suspicious-looking peppers. He himself was no stranger to spicy food, but all the vomiting and crying gave him the feeling he wouldn’t enjoy it. He snagged one of the Spanish chiles and ate it slowly as he walked, relishing the way it burned, the smell and taste reminding him of some very different, but equally enjoyable celebrations.

For a brief moment, he thought of his family. That threatened to make him homesick, so he got another drink, this one looking quite like horchata. It was definitely not, but it was alcoholic, and it wasn’t long before he was ready to get back to the important matters at hand.

Namely, showing off.

Spike had only played darts a few times, and he’d never won. It had been partially being too high or drunk to see the target, partially impatience at having to wait for the other party to take their turn. Now, though, he’d had plenty of practice with his throwing knives, and it was just him versus the board.

“Gimmie,” he motioned impatiently, tugging two more strands of beads from around his neck. The darts were placed in his hand, and he toyed with them for just a moment, noting that they all seemed to be of slightly different weight. He wasn’t worried about it. Throwing up had brought him to the perfect level of drunk, the jet was hitting just right, and that dartboard didn’t stand a single chance in hell.

Thunk-thunk. The lightest two hit dead-center, side by side, in rapid succession. And Claw called him stupid for wanting to keep the little blades. He rather wished she were around, so he could watch her try and pull her foot out of her mouth. Thunk. The third took more careful aim, but now there was a neat row across the center. The fourth, he had to squint and balance himself for a moment as the alcohol tried to overtake the jet. He shook his head briskly, blinked twice, and let instinct take over as the little projectile left his hand.

Thunk. The man running the booth was glaring at him now, so Spike gave him a wide grin and a wink. That didn’t seem to make him any happier as Spike hurled the last dart, which stuck slightly to the left of where he’d meant it to; barely inside the circle, and a mild embarrassment on his part. Still, no one else had any way of knowing he’d been trying to form a cross, and if his addled mind had heard correctly-

“All inna middle, I win, yeah?” He didn’t wait for the response before making a wide, sweeping bow. The beads in his hair clinked quietly as the braids fell across his face, he nearly lost his balance again, and had to catch himself on the counter with a brief burst of laughter.

Damn, this was a good party.

Quote:
 
BB Pistol (Tier One) - Careful kid, you might shoot your eye out. Or worse yet, confuse this for a real gun when you need to shoot someone. Pretty much the only firearm you can have on you in Crescent Top, and that's only because it's an air handgun.
Edited by Cewebwalz, May 23 2018, 01:46 PM.
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
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FallenSanity
Member Avatar
I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Ellie wished she could understand the importance in anything the 'palm reader' might be able to say. All the stuff she said to Slater didn't make a whole ton of sense, except for the obvious - scary, dangerous, old, had a girl with him... or something. Ellie shook her head, pulling out the small knife she'd won and staring at it. Stained by blood, rusted, and that symbol... She shook her head, tucking it away as Slater rose up and looked down at her.

"The bar? Oh, yeah, that uh..." She thought about the Confederacy, about what her life had been, and about what if anything she could do with it. It felt so... bleak, so hopeless when it was put to thought. She looked back to the palm reader, and gulped. "Y-yeah, I'll get a reading too." She took a seat, set down the beads, and held out her hand. "Let's see what you got."

The woman sweeps a pale hand out briefly in welcome. “Your face alone speaks of great hardship,” she murmurs, cupping Eli’s hand in her own. Let us see what fate may have in store.” She examines the lines and creases carefully, no emotion betrayed as she does. “Shallow, wide,” she finally says softly. “The line of fate speaks to a life of hard work, yet failure in your endeavors. An unfortunate line, to be sure. The island here,” one claw-like nail taps the center of her palm, “tells of a great setback, fluctuated, shadowed destiny. More misfortune, but perhaps triumph of a different nature than you yet seek.”

She taps near the base of Eli’s thumb. “Yet another unhappy palm tonight,” she murmurs to herself. “The line of life is cramped, shirking from the mound of Venus, straight. Your energy is limited, the body tires easily. Diagonal crosses…” she shakes her head sympathetically. “Beware of disease. They also tell of much worry, an overabundance of it, perhaps,” one dark eyebrow quirks, “related to the line of fate?”

Thin tendrils of incense smoke swirl as Barlaving continues her examination. “The line of head,” she speaks again in the same low whisper, “unusual…short, straight. In moments of importance, you are hasty, careless, and impulsive. However, a small advantage is being of the ability to carry through with such tasks systematically. You think not in puzzles, but have a strong analytic ability, practical, dedicated. A born ideologist, stanch in these beliefs. Two islands…” the long, pointed nail taps lightly again, “show you may suffer a decline in memory come older age. You lack of common sense, are stubborn, indecisive. Tied to this is the girdle of Venus- a difficulty in bearing over-stimulation, highly dependent on others for direction.

“The mound of Jupiter,” she goes on, “well developed and prominent. This speaks of being ambitious, career-minded, responsible, honest and reliable. A love of reputation, possessive in natures of material goods and those close to you. Well-suited for an army’s purposes.” Her eyes rise again to meet Eli’s. “And yet, the mound of Saturn is low. A weighty sadness rests on your heart, and loneliness. The views you have learned, they are nigh unshakable, though a benefit is being one without a wagging tongue; an excellent keeper of important secrets.”

The woman sighs quietly. “An unhappy palm, indeed. The mound of luna, low. A conservative nature, one lacking fresh ideas of their own, little innovation and an abhorrence to change. And yet,” she releases Eli’s hand, her own vanishing back into the layers of wispy cloth shrouding her, “one’s fate is not set in stone. Perhaps there is yet time for change…yes, perhaps, though it would be through great challenge and strife. Beware your own nature,” the woman admonishes, “for life is a deep river. Though the surface may be calm, it is all too easy to be swept away by the unforgiving current. Do not dive blindly, but open your eyes to the dangers lurking beneath.”

With that, her hand reemerges, passing Eli a
Leather-bound Notebook and Half a Pencil
 
Aged, slightly cracked, the cover is still serviceable enough to keep the paper inside relatively safe. It ties shut with two strong leather cords. The pencil is missing the end where an eraser used to be, so try not to screw up any important notes.

“Should memory begin to fail earlier than feared,” the woman explains, then tucks herself back into her clothes, obviously finished with Eli.

Ellie rubbed her head and looked at Slater, tucking the notebook and pencil into one of her baggy pockets. She didn't really know how useful it would be, but she was sure to find out.

"So... drinks?"
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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Hornswaggler
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almost as nice as Funki
[ *  *  * ]
It took Thomas a moment to realize that the man was even trying to talk, let alone trying to talk to him, but he still jumped a little when he processed it. He had a hand on the hilt of his knife instinctively; this guy was obviously drunk, and as lax as the security seemed to be around here, he doubted stabbing someone would go over well.

”Who the fuck is this asshole?” The shift in Aiden’s tone had Thomas even more on edge in an instant. If people around here wouldn’t approve of swinging a knife in self defense, they definitely wouldn’t appreciate whatever Aiden might do.

Quote:
 
"Venus and the stars don't know a thing about you. Taking a knife to carve lines in your hand won't change your future."

Thomas didn’t quite hold back a laugh, glancing down at the hand that still clutched the small book. At least the other guy seemed fairly coherent despite the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. And clothes. And entire person.

“Kinda on the nose for me,” he muttered. “Little too much. Not anything I didn’t know, but…”

It took him a moment to realize what was under the sleeve, and Thomas felt a spike of panic, felt his grip on his knife tightened for a moment, before realizing that it wasn’t a threat.

Quote:
 
"She was holding this hand, and didn't exactly notice this. Must be a long term future specialist, huh?"

He blinked twice and forced himself to fold his arms. He could still leave. Probably be rude to just walk away, but probably safer. And the guy was drunk anyway, odds were he wouldn’t notice.

But knowing his luck, there was something worse waiting on the next street over. At least this didn’t seem overtly threatening right now.

Thomas tried for a light scoff. “You get long term predictions? All I got was some kind of evaluation.”

“Bunch of bullshit there, too.”

He grimaced, gritting his teeth a moment to stop an automatic retort. “Kinda on the nose.”
Donny: Level 1 | BT Rep: -25
S:8 P:3 E:5 C:7 (+1) I:4 A:8 L:5 [injured arm]
Equipment:
Battle Bat (T2) | Zip gun | Cross Blade (T1)
Armor:
Tattered leather jacket | Coal Miner's Tee-Shirt
Supplies:
Large Hide x2 | Molerat meat | La Ranchero voucher | Coyote meat | Kissing Cousins Lid | Rose rosary beads | Holdout Bible
Traits:
Finesse | Scatterbrain | (Masochist)
Thomas(/Aiden) Valker: Lvl 1
S:4 P:8 E:6 C:5 I:5 A:7 L:3 (Cha -3 when Aiden is controlling)
Equipment:
Hatchet | Switchblade
Armor:
Packrat's Clothing
Traits:
Creep | Small Frame | Duelist

Human John - An average Human male
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Mixtli
Member Avatar
Resident Canadian
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Quote:
 
So… drinks?


“Fuck yeah, I could go for a few drinks right about now.” They exited the strange tent and Slater shrugged. “There’s a lot of weird stuff around here, but I have to admit that it’s growing on me a little. Wealth and food just floats around, and it could make someone wonder what exactly he’d be able to cut out for himself.”

They grew lost in the sights of the celebration as they approached the bar. Slater couldn’t remember the exact location of the garishly decorated bar, but he knew that if he just followed the noise and stream of drunks he would eventually find it.

“Hey sexy lady. Howsabou’ you dump the old guy and schtick with someone thaz a little sexier?” The slovenly drunk stumbled forward and extended a hand to shove Slater out of the way. He stared in disbelief as the other man approached, unable to understand how he looked like an easy target for trouble. Heh. Enough booze and anything can seem like a good idea. He let the stumbling idiot grab the front of his shirt, curious to see where things would go. The drunk grunted with the effort of trying to shove Slater over. “Yer a big fuggin’ guy aincha?”

Slater grinned. This was exactly what the party had been missing. “I’m big enough that you should have known better.” He clamped his hand over the other man’s. “Now you can’t let go,” he whispered loudly.

“Wha? Why would I leggo of-”

Slater’s forehead cut off the other man’s words. He let go of the man’s hand and grabbed the collar of his shirt to stop him from slumping to the ground. Their heads connected a second time, and then a third time for good measure. Slater turned to Ellie without letting go of the man’s shirt. “You want to get in on this before we find that bar?”
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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Randamn
Member Avatar
Vault dweller
[ *  * ]
Hot dang, this place was noisy. And crowded. And warm, too. And smelly.

Angus was really starting to regret coming here. Some fellow in a tavern had told him about Mardi Gras a week or two back, and hearing about all that delicious food, those kind folk, the beautiful women, had certainly piqued his interest. Angus had yet to run into any of those things, though.

He tried to recall the man's name. Was it Steve...? Stevor...?

No, it couldn't've been Stevor, Stevor's not even a name...

Pete, then, maybe...?

Boy, was it hard to think with all this noise. Talk about sensory overload (he'd heard a smart-lookin' lady, glasses 'n everything, use that term once)!

Yer gonna have... the ti- ti-... yer gonna have a great time, kid, trust me. I... I need anuvver drink...

The man's slurred words echoed through Angus' head. He should've known better than to take advice from a drunk.

''Darnit, Angus,'' he mumbled to himself, right before someone bumped into him, again, and spilled his drink all over him. It had happened so many times already this evening, Angus had lost count. But then, he wasn't all that good at counting to begin with.

''So... sorry!!!'' a flushed and hazy-eyed man with a big nose yelled at him.

''That's... quite... alright!!!'' Angus yelled back. Darnit, this noise... how were you supposed to speak like this?

They stared at eachother for a moment, as a million-or-two people passed by them. The man could barely stand straight, slightly swaying from side to side. He looked like he was going to fall over any moment.

To Angus' surprise, he did not.

''I-I love you!'' the man declared after a minute, before embracing Angus in a very stinky hug.

''And I love you, random man,'' Angus whispered.

Then, the man let go and stumbled off into the night.

''Mardi Gras, woooooooo!!!'' was the last Angus ever heard of him.
Edited by Randamn, Mar 28 2018, 03:04 AM.
I'm playing Angus of Durteville, unluckiest man in all the wasteland, possibly the world.

He's tall 'n scrawny, and has messy, reddish-brown hair. He's covered in scars, head-to-toe, and is missing a couple of teeth. Like most wastelanders, Angus dresses like a dirty hobo. He has a fancy top hat, though.

http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9054353/1/#new

S - 4
P - 6
E - 8
C - 10
I - 5
A - 6
L - 1

Traits: Good Natured
Items: Rusty knife, crappy rifle


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Randamn
Member Avatar
Vault dweller
[ *  * ]
Angus continued his journey through the busy streets of Crescent Top, trying his best, but failing miserably, not to bump into anyone.

Bump.

''Sorry.''

Bump.

''Pardon me.''

Bump.

''Excuse me. Sorry.''

Bump.

''Sorry ma'am. I mean, uh... sir?''

Either that had been a very hairy lady, or a man wearing a dress and lipstick. What a weird place this was turning out to be.

After a few more minutes of bumping into folk, Angus finally gave up on trying to avoid them. There were just too many people. He observed the faces of those he passed and saw nothing but red cheeks, glassy eyes and runny make-up. Made him wonder if he was the only sober person in this city right now.

He'd never been much of a drinker, Angus. He didn't like the taste. Doubted anyone did, really. Perhaps people were just too afraid admit it. Everbody above the age of 14 drank, after all, and who likes doing things different?

Angus would've picked a glass of cold Brahmin milk over a beer, or whatever it was people drank around here, any time, though.

''Hmm... Brahmin milk,'' Angus mumbled to himself. He drooled a bit at the thought of that creamy goodness.

Perhaps it was time he got something to eat...

''Hey, uh... 'scuse me. Where can I buy somethin' to eat around here? '' Angus asked one of the many partygoers.

He saw her mouth move, but couldn't hear a thing she said with all the noise around them.

''Uh, thanks,'' Angus said, and before he knew it she'd disappeared into the crowd.

After a few more minutes of walking, he discovered an alleyway with long rows of market stalls where all sorts of exotic dishes were being prepared. His stomach rumbled. Boy, was he happy to smell something other than sweat, vomit and liquor.

He took a look at the beads some drunkard had given him, and wondered if they could actually be used to pay for things here. Perhaps he'd just taken him for an idiot...

He'd find out very quickly, he supposed, and approached a stall that wasn't too busy. The lady there, who was short and wrinkly and had a cigarette in her mouth, was busy cooking pancakes.

''One pancake please,'' Angus said. The lady looked at him and nodded. A short while later, she handed him a paper plate with a very flimsy pancake on it.

''Thanks.''

Angus hesitated for a moment, then gave her one of the beads.

''Here ya' go.''

To his surprise, she took it.

''Well, what d'ya know...?'' Angus mumbled, and he couldn't help but smile.

''Enjoy your crap,'' the lady said.

''Uh... excuse me?''

He wasn't sure he'd heard that right.

''Enjoy your crap,'' the lady said once more. Perhaps it was some kind of Crescent Top lingo..

Angus shrugged.

''Thanks lady, I most certainly will,'' he said with a grin, before taking a bite.

Edited by Randamn, Mar 28 2018, 09:30 AM.
I'm playing Angus of Durteville, unluckiest man in all the wasteland, possibly the world.

He's tall 'n scrawny, and has messy, reddish-brown hair. He's covered in scars, head-to-toe, and is missing a couple of teeth. Like most wastelanders, Angus dresses like a dirty hobo. He has a fancy top hat, though.

http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9054353/1/#new

S - 4
P - 6
E - 8
C - 10
I - 5
A - 6
L - 1

Traits: Good Natured
Items: Rusty knife, crappy rifle


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Funkifan
Member Avatar
The Cobras' Leader
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Although he was still pondering about what the Romani had told him, the alcoholic beverages he had consumed were making hard for him to think, so, casting the thoughts aside, the redhead decided to head back with Alida, with Sandra standing by her side. Her wrinkled face had lost the smile that had previously sported, now a wistful gesture had replaced it, for what the redhead could see.

Navigating once more through the crowd, it took him a while to find his savior, until finally, he managed to reach her. He gazed at her for a moment, as he perceived that an absolutely gorgeous woman seemed to be whispering in Alida's ear. He stood silent, mesmerized at the interaction between them, not wishing to interrupt.

"Oh! Do we have another participant? Seems like our lady here did indeed make our beloved Belle happy, but what about you sir? Come on!" An announcer next to two boorish and strong looking individuals, pointed at the redhead, placing him in an odd position.

"Only two beads to win this Game of Hearts! Do you have what it takes?" His words followed a wink.

"Whoa! She's suuuuper pretty!" Edgar exclaimed, and puffed out his chest, as he gazed once more at Belle, before setting his sights back at Alida, then at the ghoul woman. "Uhh... S-Sandyy... do you mind if I..." He stopped, as he hiccuped, scratching his head afterwards. "M-Make a reaallyyy pretty giiirl... s-smile?"

The woman shrugged, giving a long sigh, letting go of Edgar, and crossing her arms. "Please, enjoy yourself. I will listen here. No need to worry about an old raisin, like me."

The redhead blinked a couple times, before raising an eyebrow. "Uh... okay!"

His attention was focused once more towards Belle, and immediately advanced towards her. Once he stood a couple of feet in front of her, he gave a deep, long caravan on front of her.

"Helloo... I'm Edgar. A-A pleaasure to meet you, madame!" The redhead placed a hand over his chest, and offered a smile to the woman.

He closed his eyes long and hard, as he thought on what he could offer to the woman, to make her smile. Suddenly, an idea popped like a lightbulb igniting on a dark room, and he immediately took off his rucksack, leaving on the floor, as he retrieved a tattered, half-burnt umbrella, and handled two of his beads towards the announcer.

[-2 Mardi Gras Beads]

He cleared his throat and held his umbrella in front of himself, before opening it, a crack being heard afterward. It didn't took long for him to spin the item around, and with that, came his voice.

"Do-Dloo-Doo-Do-Do! D-Doo-Dloo-Doo! D-Doo-Dloo-Doo..Dooo! Edgar smiled as he sang, as he began to tap with his tennis on the ground. He then proceeded to rest the umbrella on his right shoulder, as he kept spinning it.

"I'm singin' in the raaainnn! Just singin' in the rainnn!" Happily, he continued, giving a spin, and extending the arm that held the umbrella to the side, before throwing it in the air, and catching it once more with his other hand.

"What a glorious feeelin'! I'm happy again, just laughin' at the clouds!" The redhead laughed, to emphasize the last line of the song, as he placed the umbrella down on the ground, and gave a couple spins around it.

"So dark up abovee! The sun's on my heart!" As he said this, a hand was once more placed on his heart, before being extended towards Belle. "And I'm ready for loovee!"

"Let the stormy clouds chase, everyone from this placeee!" The medic made a mock frown, and began to shake his umbrella towards the left side, like if he was cleaning something with a broom. "Come on the raaaiin! I got a smilee up my faceee!"

Indeed, the redhead seemed to be extremely happy, as he followed by criss-crossing his legs and tapping with his tennis on the floor, carrying his umbrella from side to side like if it was a cane. "I walk down the lanee! With... uhm... a haapyy... toy train!"

"Just singin', singin' in the rain!" He once more threw the umbrella up, and caught it before it fell. A couple of spins followed, before he finally continued. "Dancin' in the rain... dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah!"

Tapping once more with his feet, he ran towards an old, bent light pole, and grabbed ahold of it with one of his hands, using the impulse to allow himself to twirl around the pole, before stopping and arching his back, gazing at Belle. "I'm happy again! Dancin' and singin' in the raaaiinnn!"

"Why I am smiling?! And why do I sing? Whyy does September, seems as sunny as Spring!" The redhead continued to wave and parade himself, a couple of turns and twirls followed, until he was once more in front of Belle.

"Why do get up, each morning and smile?!" His next maneuver consisted in collocating the umbrella's handle on top of his nose, and began to balance it, not unlike a seal would do with a beach ball. "Happy and head up, with joy on my heart! Why is each task, a pleasure to dooo!"

Soon enough, it was apparent that he had lost the balance, and the umbrella came spinning down towards Belle. Yet before it could reach her, it was stopped by Edgar, who had thrown himself forward, and caught the umbrella, before closing it.

"B-Because I'm living... a-a life full of youuu!" The redhead finished, like he always did, with a big beam on his face, and panting slightly from both the effort and the scare of hitting the woman accidentally.

For a moment, the girl looks completely nonplussed. As Edgar goes on, a small smile forms, and toward the end, she's laughing helplessly into her hands. It takes her a moment to catch her breath, and she wipes a tear of mirth from each eye before nodding at Edgar, still fighting back the occasional bout of giggles.

"You are absolutely ridiculous," she says with a warm smile. "And the joy in your heart is infectious." Still smiling, she removes a bright red flower from her hair, tucking it carefully behind Edgar's ear. "It's good to know there's still good cheer left in the world."

You receive:
 

Silk Rose
A heart of deep gold is surrounded by velvety crimson petals, their color all the more vibrant for a few emerald green leaves. Being made of fabric and wire, it will never wilt and die, the lack of thorns being another bonus.


Edgar was ecstatic as the beautiful silk rose was deposited above his ear. "W-Well... I was doing my beest! I'm so, so, sooo happy you liked my song! Good cheer needs to be spread, I've alwaays thought!" He announced proudly, as he jumped back up to his feet, and proceeded to try and close his umbrella once more, feat that proved somewhat more difficult than he originally expected.

After some grunts and failed attempts, the redhead was finally able to complete his objective. After this, he was quick to offer a polite, long caravan towards Belle, his face red, then took his leave, returning back to Sandra, placing his arm under her hand, the ghoul woman taking seconds to recognize him, as her hand wrapped around his wrist.

She offered a smile. "Hasn't been the worst singing I've heard. Needs... a whole lot of improvement, though. Lousy, at worst... at best, pleasant. Middle ground, found it completely hillarious. The few lines I could hear, at least."

Edgar sighed softly, a twinge of sadness taking over at the apparently honest approach his host had stated about his singing. He figured that, after all, she was right. Maybe, he could ask her? Somehow, what she had spoken about told him that she knew about singing, and how to perform properly, yet was that the case?

"Hum... so... d-do you imagine you c-caaan give me classes? To maybe improve?" The redhead asked, gazing at her.

The ghoul woman fell completely silent, and didn't answered for several moments, her smile becoming a serious gesture, and her hand tightening against the redhead's wrist. Something strange had certainly happened. Maybe, he had touched some kind of personal memory?

"I... believe I must ponder your suggestion. For now, the answer, is no." Sandra explained, her visage resolute, although a small grimace on both corners of her mouth seemed to give out something else bothering her. Edgar decided not to press on the subject, even though he had began toying with the idea of someone teaching him how to sing. Bummer.

"A-Alright then... uuuuh... let's head back with A-Alida maaaybe?"

With a nod, the woman resumed her walk, as did Edgar, who helped her to traverse the crowd, reaching Alida once more. The Hispanic boy showed the silk rose that stood on his left ear proudly, as it made him feel like a true knight of old, doing the right thing and aiding those in need.

(The Part of Belle was written by the amazing AZ)
Edgar Algae -HC-

SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4

Level: 4

Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper.

He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls)


+120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation
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vexedBubble
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Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
The sound of music, much different than the rest of the carnival, rang into Alida’s ears. She turned back to Belle, who was being serenaded by the redhead boy she met earlier. She narrowed her brows in confusion, but they soon rose in disbelief. Watching Edgar bound between lyrics and dancing with his umbrella. She stifled a laugh. His performance was ridiculous, but entertaining, and she beamed with happiness. Alida surprised herself, letting her giggles free, not remembering the last time she laughed so much.

As his performance finished, Alida walked to meet up with Edgar and his companion.
“Now that's something I’ve never seen before.” She applauded the boy. “Matches your hair.” Alida nodded towards the rose. “Did you guys have an idea of what else to do tonight?” her eyes glanced the crowd and she took a deep breath. Having been distracted by new friends and games, she suddenly felt sobriety crawling back. “A drink?” she moved her attention to the booths, searching for a bar. Rather than a tavern, she spotted someone familiar across the crowd, bowing as he apparently had won a game of some sort. She watched him stagger on the spot, clearly inebriated. Good.

“I know him!” Alida pointed towards Spike. “I bet he knows a good bar! C’mon!” she grabbed Edgar’s free hand, entwining their fingers, and lead the three of them like a train through the mass of people. “He was on the boats too,” she explained to Edgar on the way. “You might’ve seen him? He was on the same boat as me when we left off. ‘Bout as good a fighter as you are a healer.” she paused for a moment, turning to face Edgar again. “Thanks again. For my shoulder. It’s been a while since people have shown me kindness, ‘specially since I’m still a stranger to you.” she squeezed his hand and ushered them over to the Darts booth.
| 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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Funkifan
Member Avatar
The Cobras' Leader
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Edgar couldn't help but blush a deep crimson red, and look down at the cobblestone path as Alida commended him for his performance, beaming with happiness. He was positively excited, and indeed, couldn't wait to see what else the carnival would offer to him. He had seen a skeleton, which he could only suppose was animated, somehow, standing over an array of strange, yet interesting items. He wanted to see what the stand could hold, curiosity taking over his mind.

"I kinda wanted to-" He stopped, as Alida pointed towards a gaunt, thin, and certainly drunk individual, probably barely able to be holding himself up. As he observed him, the redhead blinked a couple times, before squinting, as he was somewhat confused towards the significance of this man for Alida.

"Wait wha-!" Unexpectedly, Edgar's free hand was grabbed by Alida fingers intertwined, as she began to lead both him and Sandra through the crowd. Deciding that this could be fun and interesting, he placed no resistance towards the woman, instead, letting himself go with the flow. Soon, things began to be clearer, as she explained that he had been with her on the other boat that had participated in the sea battle, although he didn't quite remember who he was. Perhaps he had seen him though? A shadow amongst the sailors in the SS Grote Beer?

"I.. I see... I don't know if I know him..." He closed his eyes for a moment, soon opening them again as he felt himself falling. He checked over to see if the musician was alright, finding that, indeed, she still seemed as stoic as when they first had met. He wondered what she was up to.

"A-Ah?! S-So you t-two fought t-together?" He asked, feeling proud for the compliment. When he was about to follow his question with another word, his savior made an unexpected pause, turning over to face him.

She thanked him, explaining her situation, albeit not getting into much detail.

The redhead couldn't help but nod at her, understandingly, a smile greeting Alida. "N-No problem... I just... w--want to help people, n-no matter if I-I know them or not. There i-is r-really no need to thank m-me... its just... my d-duty to aid."

After she squeezed his hand, the redhead recovered the reddening of his cheeks he had lost, and his heart began to beat just a little faster. He wasn't too sure why, either, but he certainly wanted them to be more than ships upon a winding river, like strangers in the night.

As he approached, he realized that he really wanted to befriend her. She was pleasant company, and certainly, one of the nicest persons he had met out in the Wasteland.
Edgar Algae -HC-

SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4

Level: 4

Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper.

He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls)


+120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation
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FallenSanity
Member Avatar
I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Ellie was in no mind for the dreary woes of sexual harassment. It was the sort of stuff that felt so common in this dark world that the best way to handle it was to... well, handle it. A swift knee to the strangers family jewels and he was down, and Ellie was appeased.

"I just want a fuckin' drink, 's that so hard to ask?" She pleaded jokingly, looking at the man who had fallen free of Slater's grasp to cradle his love plums. He wasn't the first man Ellie'd whalopped in the nuts, and there was no way on this big dried up rock a planet that he'd be the last. She looked at Slater and smiled happily, though still a little drunkenly, before pointing at nothing and rushing off. "To the bar!"

The crowds were still going strong, and Ellie had, almost immediately, lost both Slater and sight of her goal. She enjoyed wandering through the crowds, making the most of what she had. When she came to a large stall, with some bizarre wares, she couldn't help but stop for, what might have been, a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Ellie looked over the strange stock of sea items, each one as unique as the last to her eyes. Though nothing failed to catch her attention, it was two items in particular that she couldn't help but fancy - a bracelet with the motif of a bizarre, tentacled beast on it, and a necklace with a single, large tooth. She reached out for the necklace, looking up at the owner of the 'Palace', a man she assumed was named Posideon.

"This'a big tooth," she said with slurred words, "whassit from? S'me kinda shark?" She fumbled and lifted it over her head, pulling off two bead necklaces as she did so. She then grabbed the bracelet and put it on her arm happily, a ginger grin on her weary face. It seemed like regardless of the answer, she was happy to buy these right away.

The man smiles wide as Ellie peruses, nodding vigorously at her choice. "An eye for quality, I see," he says, snatching the beads quickly and stowing them away. "Aye, that's from the legendary Daggertooth herself- terror of the Gulf for over a decade, she..." The man's eyebrow goes up as he seems to realize Ellie is impressively drunk, and loses interest in his story. "Enjoy," he says with another wide smile.

Sharktooth Necklace
 
About as long as an index finger, wickedly sharp and serrated, this is hung from a thick cord through the wire wrap around the tooth's root.


Octopus Bracelet
 
A classy bauble of undetermined origin, it depicts an eight-tentacled sea creature cast from a muted, coppery metal. The green streak it may leave on skin is harmless, remove immediately if rash develops.


She most certainly would enjoy these. The tooth was massive, and she couldn't help but hold it in her hands even as it hung from her neck. The bracelet was snug, but fit perfectly. Along with the final necklace of beads, and her old duster and uniform, she looked about as garish as she could. Still didn't hold a candle to some of the weirdos in Crescent Top.

"Whawasi... Oh yeah, Slater!" Ellie hurried back into the crowds to find the old man she'd promised to have a drink with.
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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Ricktor
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Marsh
[ * ]
Three months.

It took three months walking to get from Memphis to Crescent Top, and for what? Drunken idiots, confetti, hucksters, snake oil salesmen, the whole nine yards. It seems Marsh's semi-yearly supply stop in a town has conveniently coincided with Mardi Gras. What's there to celebrate? These people all live in a shanty town or the flooded ruins around it. The mosquitoes are the size of cats, for the gods' sake!

Either way, David's canteen was empty and his food pack filled with nothing but crumbs. Plus he'd not had a stiff drink in... what a year now? The whole town seemed absorbed in the party, so it shouldn't be unreasonable for the old man to just slip in for what he needs and get out. Shoving his way through the crowd wasn't the issue, it's all the noise. Living out in the wastes, Marsh is accustomed to silence and sometimes a crackling fire. The streets here, however, sound like standing in the middle of a rad storm surrounded by a pack of molerats giving birth. The yelling and music and dancing were all so obnoxious. Still though, it's either wade through these people or starve.

Looking now to the stalls, Marsh realizes these people are trading what looks like beads for goods. Well goods is loose here, but the point stays. The cowboy reaches into his jeans pocket and fishes around; he pulls out two crumpled BoS scripts, an NCR dollar, and a few Nuka-Cola pull-tabs and caps. He groans, shoving the money back into his pocket before looking around. Lucky break, there's a man passed out on the sidewalk with those beads around his neck. David pulls the necklace off the drunkard and ties it around his wrist. Now to find what he's loo-

"Sir! You look like you've pulled through plenty-a scrapes! Why not put that luck to the test?" a short ghoul kind of just pops up besides David, grinning the best he can without teeth. He holds a few rubber rings.
"Might I interest you in a game of ring toss? Two beads!"

David grunts. The old cowboy peers from under his hat at the little milk crate full of nuka-cola bottles, and then at the ghoul. He doesn't really have the time or care to play, but the zombie's being rather persistent. He shoves the rings into Marsh's hand before swiping a couple beads. He blinks a few times, this guy's fast for a ghoul. Letting out a soft sigh David haphazardly tosses the rings at the nuka-cola bottles, not really caring much for how they land.

Funnily enough, three actually catch the bottles. Go figure.
David Marsh
An old cowboy type, prefers getting shot at to conversation
Inventory:
Pipe rifle (tier 1 rifle)
Rudimentary revolver (tier 1 revolver)
Nuts-n-bolts knuckledusters (tier 1 unarmed)
Duster coat (tier 1 clothing)

Alabaster Shandy
A southern gentleman ghoul from before the war, and a fantastic cook
Inventory:
Pocket knife (tier 1 knife)
Leather Jacket (tier 1 clothing)
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azstarael
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"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[[Hey everyone! Considering how drastically things have slowed down, I’m calling this party just about over. May 8th is the last day to PM me or make a post. Once we pass the mark, I’ll get everything finalized and we’ll wrap it up officially.

Thanks for participating, I hope you all had a good time and maybe forged some future RP opportunities. Good luck with the respective headaches ;) ]]
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
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