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| Your Mama Don't Dance; MR Event (Finale) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 16 2017, 11:07 PM (801 Views) | |
| Cewebwalz | Jun 16 2017, 11:07 PM Post #1 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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(A continuation and finale for the event Mercenaires Recherchés, the topics Summer Breeze and Ride Like The Wind potentially converge into this thread. Updates are no longer vaguely weekly, and there is no post order. Any posts involving boarding or assaulting Cecils blockade flagship should be in this thread) WW2 Passenger Ship (SS Groote Beer) Specifications Rusted steel aside, the Groote Beer is an imposing, capable ship with the potential to outrace much lighter ships on the open sea. Sadly, it's spent the last few moments stranded. Pestered with children's rocketry, machine gun fire, and explosive projectiles, the ships burnt sails had left a thin layer of smoke and ash coating the former troop ship. The rain washed that all away, along with swallowing the boat and the entire area in an otherworldly mist. The rain and lightning has turned the Groote Beer into an armed to the teeth, blind, sitting duck. Looted weaponry from its dozens of conquests are mounted to the rails, coastal defense systems and trebuchet's alike. It seemed that the wind and rain was making any hope of a precession offense disappear. It's perhaps the most heavily manned nautical vehicle in the wasteland, over fifty crew members aboard by Nina's estimate. She figured it might even reach a hundred if the rest of the fleet's sparse crews were added, and it's capacity was still ten times that! Captain Cecil (Boss) The captain's thick, curly hair is soaked wet and almost reaches to his shoulders. His hat blew off into the ocean, a sudden gust of wind getting the better of him. His uniform, a mix of Confederate officer's heraldry styling and a blue-blood knight, it was more flash than utility. The bulletproof vest he carried on him was protection enough, and the chain wrapped around his half-sword was adequate offense in his hands. His hairs were greying, more from stress than age. The makeshift, prop steering wheel had gone untouched for months, and he stood next to it out of habit. He had danced on so much water, lost and won more battles than he could recall, and had never been in a duel like this before. Friendly fire, suicide missions, fireworks to burn the sails... Whoever the enemy captain was had gained Cecil's admiration, but the lines on his face still scowled at all the hijinx. The battle was stretched out by subterfuge and indecision, and the long range sniper duel was suddenly cancelled by the sudden rainstorm. If Cecil knew any better, the gods were out to kill him. He shouted out a command, the mist staring . "Eyes open!" His voice was hoarse, and Ironlung's ship was likely in enemy hands now for sure. The enemy had seemingly evaporated into thin air, ghosts on the harbor. Was a pyrrhic victory and an enemy retreat all he had to look forward too? "ENEMY PORTSIDE!" Screamed a voice a couple hundred feet down the ship. What kind of fool would charge the SS Groote Beer? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nina stood at the helm of her ship, a mad plan formulated in the back of her mind. Reminiscent of small scale, covert operations tactics more than anything you could seriously apply in a naval battle. Her father or her husband would've chided her for the audacity, Markelle would've too. They might've even came around to the idea that if it was the only way to win the battle. If she wasn't doing this for them, it might've been time to retreat. An uneasy mixture of caution and an angry bravado emerged from the captain's stomach. It was all or nothing, and she hit the radio communication airwaves with aplomb. "Extinguish every light, and don't fire a single gun until our covers blown for sure. If you make so much as a noise other than your boat drifting on the water, I'll cut your throats myself." She shuddered, recoiling at herself. Then again the only person she was even speaking too just shot forks at her ship, so perhaps politeness was out the window by now. The boat accelerated to it's full speed, a glimmer in the fog, the coal burning hot and the steam engine struggling to keep up with all the food it was being fed. Suddenly, it's supply cut off, just as they rounded out past their newest ship. If they had a shred of sense they'd follow, what with no radio contact and the visibility going to hell. Nina nodded to her men, pointing at the harpoon guns. Their mouths worded themselves in a panic, before they eventually settled into position. The starboard set of harpoon guns were all mounted, and their target was none other than the flagship. She doubted any of the men she commanded knew that yet. A cabin boy approached with horror in his eyes and soot covering his face, burn wounds on his arm. Nina put a finger to her lips and hushed him elsewhere, no tears would serve them now. They slipped around the western ship, a smoking hull that had been incinerated in the beginning barage. They could barely make out the Grootz Beer's massive frame, and that was lit up heavily by a plethora of lights. The Lightshow barely reached the second nearest ship when it's cover was blown, and it suddenly could no longer afford to coast into position. The ship's coal engine lit up again with a fury, and hot steam poured out of it's top like the devil's nostrils. The ship pepped up, jerking into speed, just as the men manning the guns let loose. Five spiked hooks sink their claws into the ship, immediately pressure begins to pull it towards the Groote Beer. The heavy, mounted, harpoon guns seem to bend and pop bolts out of place, their cranks working over time to try and pull in danger close. The metal plating of the Groote popped outward, straining to stay afloat. Nina smiled, if they didn't board, they would pull his scrap metal junker apart and drag him up with water in his lungs. Plans never quite went that smoothly. "Gang planks, quick!" She shouted it over the chaos and wondered if anyone heard her, another two harpoon guns fired off, and Nina realized she perhaps had to lead a storm and board by example. Life never really ever ran out of first time for everything's, and now she was probably going to die for a god damn slice of directions because no one ever quite knew what the hell to do without her. With the widest smile of her life, a figure on the ship suddenly caught Nina's eye. Blue and grey clothing, all stuffy, walking like this was just another day for them. It's your last day. One rope swing later and Nina found herself surrounded, both her pistols were drawn and a clatter of revolver hammers left her as the only surviving sailor out of a group of 5. She rose out of a cloud of gunsmoke, aiming both pistols at Cecil, and letting the triggers come down and dryfire. Ten seconds into battle and she was already out of ammo. A machete was drawn from her belt, a stiletto knife from her boot strap. No one had a right to be toothily grinning right now, and Nina was. She took steps forward, before charging into a run. She was going to take his eye first, and repay the favor he left her all that time ago. |
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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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| azstarael | Jun 17 2017, 12:50 PM Post #2 |
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"Got a light?"
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Various screams of “cease fire!” reached Claw. She paid them no mind, too busy getting the last of the dregs out of the cargo hold, she was so tired. She’d figure it out later, too exhausted to pay attention to anything but the pump, just keep it up, the water was nearly gone and she was still alive. The tattoo on Rory was unfortunately familiar. Not a topic she was going to bring up uninvited. She knew that mark, and… They’d begged. Pleaded. Stolen another piece of her broken soul. She’d needed the money. With the water all but a distant memory, nothing more than a few splashes around her soaked shoes, Claw collapsed again. She just wanted to rest, to sleep, but had the distinct suspicion there was more to do in short order. The small repair crew had effectively patched the holes. No more leakage. Between the hammers, rivet gun, and stuffing (from a very undernourished boy), they were about back in shape. Ideal? No. Sufficient? For the time being. “Oh, just kill me now,” she muttered into her arms, which were crossed over her knees as she leaned against the pump, all of her very wet and starting to chill. She needed to eat more, herself. The lack of body fat was doing her zero favors today. “Everyone okay?” Claw muttered into her arms, too tired to really care, but they’d saved each other, worked well together, and she had to appreciate that. Rory, especially, had come through admirably. She was starting to regret the beating, albeit very slightly. He had deserved it. The suicide attempt? He was never living that down. As a matter of fact- “Hanging in there, kid?” Claw asked of him, raising her head enough to give him a rueful grin. “Any more plans to jump overboard?” And then there was a sharp lurch, she fell completely flat, scrambling up almost immediately. Without another word to anyone, she was back on her feet and bolting topside, into the pouring rain. Even with her limited vision, she could see the harpoons connecting them to the nearby ship, a damned impressive work of engineering. Along with a very rocky shoreline. Yahweh, Buddha, Allah, whoever was listening, she did not want to pump any more water. She cut off a scream of fury before it could leave her throat. This was happening, deal with it, oh Christ she was not getting paid enough. Needed a gun. The crossbow wasn’t going to cut it, not for dealing with humans, reload was too slow, she’d be outgunned in a manner of seconds. She wished Spike were there. “Give me that,” she hissed furiously, and wrenched a rifle out of a dumbstruck sailor’s hands. Not ideal, but it would suffice. She would adapt. “I’ll make it up to you if we survive,” she told them quickly, and, pushing her fear and exhaustion to the back-burner, set off at a dead sprint for one of the gangplanks that had been dropped. What a load of fuckery. She was going to kill someone. Well. Multiple someones, but that was disregarding the men and women who'd already started shooting at her. Claw fired back immediately, two crewmen fell, even as she ducked behind a cluster of barrels. Hardly decent cover, but she'd have to make it work- An earsplitting crack! of wood, screeching metal, and Claw found herself spitefully grateful that, at least, someone was having a worse day than she was. |
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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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| Mixtli | Jun 17 2017, 02:00 PM Post #3 |
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Resident Canadian
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Slater watched the chaos unfold. He was no good at this long-range pussy fighting bullshit, but now he had a chance to get blood in his mouth and meat under his nails. He flicked the chewed up stub of his cigar over the edge of the deck and turned to face his small group of degenerates as the Light Show grew closer and closer to the enemy flagship."It's time to take the fight to them! We need to gear up, and get over there." He started walking in a random direction, not knowing where he was heading but understanding that he needed to actually do something. One of his cronies grabbed his shoulder to try and stop him, but Slater spun and jerked the startled man's face close to his own. "Where. Are. Your. Weapons?" he growled, each word punctuated with a strong shake. He let go of the sailor, and the man stood back and tried to smooth his shirt out. "The boys and I keep our shit locked up inside so nobody can pinch it. I-I can try and find something for you as well. Would you like a rifle, or maybe-" Slater spat on the deck. "I only have one good hand. Get me something flashy and painful I can shoot one-handed, and something I can use to kill up close." The sailor nodded rapidly but didn't move from where he was standing. Slater took a step closer to the man. "When I say I want something now I don't mean in five minutes, I mean I want it done NOW!" Spit speckled the terrified man's face, and as he turned to run and grab the weapons Slater kicked him in the ass before grinning at the other sailors as the man scrambled away. "Alright, now will one of you take me to the top deck of this tub? I want to look down and try and scope out what we're heading in to." Another sailor stepped forward and saluted drunkenly. "I kip my rifle on the top deck, cap'n. If'n you want me to lead you thair we can look down on them. Mebbe I kin take a few shots before they know what's happening!" He smirked as he said this. Slater clapped the man on the shoulder and started to work the worn metal nuts on his bad hand like they were oversized and misshapen steel rings. He pounded his reinforced fist into the palm of his other hand. "You two," he said pointing to the last of his group, "will wait here and bring up the weapons... and some grappling hooks with rope so we can climb down and hit them from above." The drunk sailor started to stagger in a straightish line on the deck before he stopped and looked at what Slater had put on from the opened crate of floatation devices. "Well you be keeping that on, cap'n? It's mighty becomin' on you but I don't know if I'd call it a sneaky bit of gear." He looked down at the life vest that he'd put on. Slater had picked what was available and had looked like the most buoyant piece left. It was bright pink with some sort of hand drawn animals on the front and the words "Friendship is Magic" in curly letters, and on the back it had thin plastic wings that were kept in their shape with wire frames. "I'm not taking this off until we're on dry land. The last thing I want to do is drown because these fucks can't keep a boat steady." The man shrugged. "Hey you can wear whatever you wanna." He led Slater along the deck and up a small staircase, and started to rummage behind some crates before pulling out a long bundle. He reached inside, and with a triumphant cry he pulled out a bottle. He tore the cork out with his teeth and took a long pull of whatever the bottle held before stopping at the look on Slater's face. "What, you want some? I can't shoot worth a damn before I've kissed the mouth of the bottle as it were," he said before taking another swig and shoving the cork back inside. He pulled his battered hunting rifle out of the waxed cloth and handed it to Slater. "Here, use her scope to check things out." Slater shouldered the rifle and looked through the scope. He could see that some fighting had already begun on the deck of the enemy ship. "We've got to move fast. Where are the others? I told that shaking runt to-" He stopped talking at the sound of approaching footsteps. Speak of the devil. The sailor he'd kicked in the ass ran onto the deck with an armload of weapons, and he'd even managed to find a good grappling hook or two with strong lengths of rope. "I found you these things, sir." he handed Slater a boarding axe and a funny looking pistol. "That's a flare gun. The flare has been modified to stick to whatever it hits. If you shoot someone with that it'll do its best to burn through to the other side of them." Slater grinned and shoved the flare gun in his belt next to his pistol. "We need feet on their top deck now. I don't want us to miss out on some of the glory because we dragged our feet." He hooked the ropes over the edge of the deck's railing. "The drunk will stay up here to give us some cover fire, but don't," he pointed at the inebriated sniper, "shoot at them until we're found out. I want the element of surprise on our side." He pointed at the nervous man that had brought him his new toys. "And I want you to run somewhere on a lower deck and shoot from cover to distract them. Come on, go now!" The man scampered away with a hurried "yessir" and Slater slapped the railing and pointed at the last to sailors. "We're right on top of their top deck, and I didn't see anyone patrolling up there at the moment so let's move quickly." The sailors stretched before climbing over the railing and quietly sneaking down the side of the Light Show. They were about halfway down when a group of four pirates climbed a ladder to reach the top deck of the enemy ship. Slater looked at his men as they frantically mouthed up at him for some help. He didn't have any time to climb down the rope, and if the pirates looked up then his plan (terrible as it may be) would be over before it really started. He looked at the sniper as the man swayed in the light breeze. "Don't shoot until I say so!" The man saluted with his corked bottle, and Slater peered over the deck with his boarding axe in his hand. He knew that this was going to hurt, but if he was honest with himself he was excited at the prospect. A man only knew the measure of his worth when he dragged himself through hell and back to rip victory from those that would stand against him. Well, that and he hadn't had a good injury in a while and he was worried he'd go soft. He clumsily stood on the railing for a moment as he picked his target, and then he jumped. "It only took maybe a second or two for the impact, but Slater was a large man and he had fallen a decent distance. The air was completely knocked out of him when he landed flat on one of the pirates. Several things snapped, crackled, and popped, but as far as Slater knew none of them were his. The man's startled look didn't last long since his torso had effectively been turned into a stepped on bag of chips by the impact. He coughed wetly once or twice as one of the other pirates overcame his shock and managed to say "what the fuck?" before Slater cut his foot off at the ankle from his prone position. As the peg-legged sans peg pirate fell to the deck and started to scream, Slater turned the axe around and nailed the man to the deck with the spike. Before he could take a bullet in the back from one of the two remaining pirates, his two sailors leapt down and started to club them to submission with whatever they had on hand. Slater stood up, spat out the blood that the 2D pirate had coughed in his mouth and on his face, and wrenched his axe out of his other kill as the sailors finished the pirates off and started to go through their pockets for anything worth keeping. He looked up at his sniper, who was laughing so uncontrollably he almost dropped his bottle. "Alright boys," he said as he faced the two men on deck with him, "it's time to get to wor-" He cut himself off at the sound of someone climbing the ladder, and pulled a pistol from his belt. Another pirate called up as he climbed. "If you guys are hiding up there without me then I'm not going to invite you to my next tea party-" He was cut off by the sight of Slater's bloody grin before the two sailors pulled him the rest of the way up with one hand, Slater shoved the barrel of his pistol in the pirate's mouth, and he pulled the trigger. Slater watched the smoke pour of of the man's mouth as the smell of burning meat filled the air. He looked at the pistol in his hand before remembering what his go-fer had said. "Oh right, it's a flare gun." He stood on the faintly thrashing man with one foot. "Anyway. Like I was trying to say before I was interrupted," he stomped down hard with one heavy boot, "it's time to get to work." |
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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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| Rman916 | Jun 17 2017, 03:26 PM Post #4 |
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Wastelander
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Rory rushed out as he heard the creaking, rushing out into the fighting. With a grin, he reached for his revolver. Which was absent. Fuck. At least he still had a switchblade. Which a snap, it was out in his hand as he rushed a guy with a revolver on his belt, and a machete in his hand. The guy looked at Rory's knife, and laughed. He didn't reach for his six shooter, thinking he was more than a match without it. That was mistake. Rory shifted into a stance, his right foot twisted to the side, and his left straight and a pace behind the other. As the man rushed him, he waited until the last possible moment before using the potential energy stored in the stance to suddenly twist around the man, jabbing his knife between some of his upper vertebrae after he stopped. In a moment, the corpse would begin cooling. For now, Rory had a revolver on his belt as he ran for the enemy ship. |
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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 | Jun 18 2017, 01:03 PM Post #5 |
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"Got a light?"
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Claw had made a terrible mistake. The gun’s kick had knocked her shoulder completely out of socket. Claw bit back a few choice curses, just worried about breathing, pushing the pain away- if she focused on the exact feeling, it was easier to ignore. Didn’t change the fact that she’d just crippled herself. In the background, shit was going down. Someone had just leapt onto deck in a mad freefall, effectively crushing someone, guns were going off all around, screaming, fury, panic, madness. And a familiar face. “Rory!” Claw screamed, even as he wrenched a knife out of someone’s neck- she had, indeed, underestimated the kid. Was glad, now, that he was on her side. “Help! I-” Oh, her pride. “I threw out my shoulder,” she told him, furious enough at herself to ignore her stinging ego. “If you can!” Another volley of gunfire cut her off, the clang of metal on metal and shlick of blades into flesh deafening for a moment, “-find me a pistol!” She’d manage one-handed, if need be. Just live through this. |
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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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| Rman916 | Jun 18 2017, 02:00 PM Post #6 |
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Wastelander
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Rory rushed over as she called. Fuck. Her arm was dislocated. He grimaced in sympathy pain. "This is going to hurt like all hell". He ignored her moving away as he pulled her arm out slightly further, forcing it straight. There was a sickening pop as he forced it in from the underside. Feeling slightly apologetic, he unclipped the holster for his revolver and slung it over her when he restarted his deadly dance with a fresh partner. He didn't look back at her. He was otherwise occupied as the hulking man added a new slice to his collection or cuts, this one crossing the other upon his cheek. With a quick movement, he buried his knife in the man's shoulder, forcing him to drop his cutlass. The man rushed at him, tackling him to the ground. Rory quickly pulled his knife back out, burying it in the giant's eye. And now he was trapped. Fantastic. Huh. At least the guy had a nice hat. A tricorn was really getting in the mood of things, and Rory could not resist popping the tattered old green hat upon his head. Now. If only he could escape. |
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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 | Jun 18 2017, 03:34 PM Post #7 |
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"Got a light?"
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“No no no no-no-no,” Claw said frantically, “give me a second, need something to-” bite was cut off by a loud, strangled noise of pain as her arm was put back into place. Well, at least she could move it again, albeit, not well at all. “Fuck you,” she spat at the boy as he took off again, barely noticing the sudden weight around her good shoulder. After another deep breath, she took a closer look. Well, son of a bitch. She was armed with something that wouldn’t do more harm than good. She’d have to buy the little bastard a drink later. “Fucking cocksucks!” Claw screamed, enraged, trying to get the attention of any enemy available. Limited ammo meant she needed to pick her targets carefully. God, she missed Spike. Useless sack of bones that he often was, he was at least good at watching her back. Please be alive, kid. What a shitshow. Speaking of- Rory was already in trouble again. He’d taken out someone at least three times his own size, and gotten crushed for the effort. Despite the unfortunate turn of events, the man was dead, but Rory? He was trapped beneath the corpse. The idiot had already put on his assailant’s hat. God, if he and Spike ever met, she would probably have a stroke. Focus, damn it. Claw dashed toward him, low to the deck to try and avoid as much gunfire as possible, and gave the kid one of her very saltiest glares. “You,” she grunted, doing her best to get a good grip on the corpse, “are fucking hopeless.” Oh, no. She wasn’t strong enough. Nothing new, but- oh fuck, the kid might be a terror, but he’d also saved her ass more than once, pitched in admirably during every pinch, and shit on a shingle, helped her personally in a time of crisis. “I’m trying!” She yelled helplessly. “He’s too heavy, my arm’s not working, I can’t…” Useless. Failure. “Someone, help!” Claw screeched. |
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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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| Mixtli | Jun 18 2017, 06:49 PM Post #8 |
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Resident Canadian
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Slater looked up at the sniper on the Light Show's top deck and waved his arms to get the drunk's attention. "Start shooting!" he bellowed. "Don't hit me or mine, or I'll shove the bottle down your throat and pull it out the other end!" The sniper laughed and took a drink, only to discover that the bottle was empty. He pointed at his eyes to tell Slater to pay attention, and threw the bottle in a high arc over the water. A moment later, he brought the rifle to his shoulder, worked the bolt, looked through the scope for a moment, and fired. The bottle shattered into countless pieces that rained down into the water. Slater was impressed. He hadn't seen that kind of shooting in a long time. One of the sailors he'd brought down with him elbowed him in the ribs. "The thing is, he only shoots like that with a belly full of drink." The man chuckled and shook his head, and Slater cuffed him on the ear. "And I'll bet you can't shoot like that, sober or not, so show some respect." The cowed man dipped his head in a wordless apology, and Slater rolled his eyes as he started to climb down the ladder of what turned out to be an observation platform that was built on top of the main deck of the enemy ship. He was slow to climb down since he was holding on to his axe with his good hand, and before his feet touched on deck he felt the point of a blade pushing into his back. "A duel," a man growled into his ear before drawing blood and stepping back as Slater spun around. "A duel to prove that the years I've spent studying the blade make me the best prospect for the next captain." His cutlass shimmered in the light as he whipped it around and nicked Slater again and again as the stronger but slower man was unable to keep up with the pirate's dancing movement. "A duel to prove that I am the better man than you, and that you are inferior to me in every way! To show my simple crewmates that once and for all I am-" the impact of a bullet that came from above and punctured a lung through the meat of his shoulder knocked him to his knees. The cocky duelist gasped for breath as his sword fell from a nerveless hand. Slater smiled and savoured the moment as he walked towards his dying opponent. He hacked at the man's upraised hand with the heavy blade of his axe before dropping the bulky tool of war on the deck. Some messages had to just be done by hand. He grasped the sides of the man's head and looked deeply into his eyes as they slowly started to dim. "You are nothing to me, and tomorrow I will have forgotten your face." He put his thumbs on the man's eyelids as he desperately closed them tight to try and stop what was about to happen. Slater could hear one of his sailors retching as he shoved his thumbs deep in the pirate's eye sockets and picked him up by his head. He walked over to the deck where the captain of his boat was deep in the middle of a fight between her sailors and Cecil and his pirates. He pulled his thumbs out of the man's skull, and heaved him down on to a half dozen pirates that were trying to flank Nina and her crew. The corpse knocked them over, and he could see them pointing up at him and shouting as he wiped his hands clean on his shirt and made a rude hand gesture. He looked around for some more backup and saw a small woman trying to lift a corpse off of what looked like a delirious young man, but that could have been the hat he was wearing. He walked over to her as his sailors started to shoot at the approaching pirates to keep them away, and shouldered her aside. "Let me do that. You won't have a hope in hell of lifting this with your arm like that." He didn't really mean any disrespect, it was just faster to move her out of the way than to talk things out. He grunted as he lifted the dead man over one shoulder and used his free hand to haul the potential ally to his feet by the front of his shirt. Slater talked over his shoulder as he dropped the large man's corpse at the top of the stairs leading to that deck. "There's six or so of them on the way, so I hope you to can at least fight your way out of a wet paper bag." He looked down the stairs and was surprised to see a redheaded young man running up to them as quickly as he could. He could see the whites of the new arrival's eyes, but he'd be damned if he didn't respect the tall stranger for running into trouble even though he looked like he wanted to piss himself. He held a hand out and hauled the man over the body. "We've got one or two injured, and maybe a couple minutes before those pirates make it up here and climb over the body at the top of the steps. Can you patch these two up?" he said as he pointed at Claw and Rory. |
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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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| Rman916 | Jun 18 2017, 07:39 PM Post #9 |
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Wastelander
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Rory grinned as picked up the cutlass that was lying on the deck beside him. "Thanks for the assist, but I hardly need a medic for a scratch on my cheek and a couple bruises. I'd much rather kill some of these fucks who think they can attack our ship without consequence". He shoved the body, bracing himself for a bit more strength. He couldn't push the man off him, but down some stairs? That he could do fine. He followed the body down, pausing to slit the throat of the one pirate who had the misfortune to get trapped beneath the large man. "Come on!", he said, wearing a vulpine smile, "Who's first?" Naturally, they decided that all of them would suffice as a first target. And naturally, Rory decided to run back up the stairs he had previously vacated, pausing at the top around the corner. As the first man flew out the doorway, he found his gait interrupted by Rory's left leg snapping out. With a quick movement, Rory slashed at the base of the man's neck, killing him as well. Immediately after, he kicked him down the stairs as well. It made sense that his admittedly poor luck failed at that moment, however. And this time, the corpse was caught. Rather easily, all things said. And he looked pissed. Rory? Rory simply looked as out of breath as he was. Looked unprepared for the sword headed to intercept his side. Looked like like he needed help. Quickly. |
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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 | Jun 18 2017, 08:22 PM Post #10 |
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"Got a light?"
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And help arrived. Bloodied, hulking, rude help, but help none the less. True to form, Rory was off like a shot the moment he was freed. Claw took an instant to snap back “I’ve got this,” before another sharp stab of pain cut her short. Oh God this hurt, one of her stupider moments, the rifle had been almost as long as she was tall, should have known better, but no time to contemplate. Goddamed Rory was in trouble again. “FUCK YOU!” she screamed, at the same instant she plowed headlong into the sword-wielding man, knocking them both ass over applecart down the stairs. Oh, good. Now her head hurt like a bitch, too. It had struck wood, hard, several times on the way down. She couldn't see straight, barely able to focus at all... Oh, fuck her entire existence. She had a concussion. With her good arm, Claw unsnapped the holster and grabbed her borrowed pistol, struggling to get her bearings back, and narrowly scrambled back from a swipe at her face. She still had one, thankfully. She also had a new scar. She’d been cut deep from the right temple all the way to the chin, the wound already bleeding freely. Both of her shots had missed. This was not going well- Then, there was a knife lodged in the man's eye. What the everloving-? The fresh corpse fell toward her. Claw barely managed to scramble out of the way on hands and knees. It hurt, make it stop, was she speaking out loud? Didn't matter. Stay alive, focus, oh God her head, her shoulder, her face- The moron she'd had to rescue. Turnabout, she supposed, even if he was still being spectacularly... Doubled? Oh, fuck. She was definitely concussed. “You stupid fuck!" she yelled back up the stairs. Shit shit son of a bitch don’t panic- She was starting to panic. Her head was fuzzy, she could barely move the arm, wasn’t going to survive this, none of them were, fucking son of a whore, blood in her eye, gunfire and screaming and- “Can you please!” she screeched at the boy with all of her considerable ire, “think things through for all of two seconds!” She’d also spotted a familiar head of red hair. Earplug boy- no. Edgar. Christ in heaven, she hoped he was as competent at battle as he was following directions, because she herself was feeling pretty useless at the moment. |
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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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| Funkifan | Jun 18 2017, 08:51 PM Post #11 |
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The Cobras' Leader
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"Y-Yeah, miss, we are, what about you?" Edgar answered, turning around as he rotated his shoulder to help with the soreness. He noticed how tired she was, a sad smile drawing on his face as he approached her, wanting to make her feel better. Perhaps, a friendly pat on the shoulder and some words of appreciation would help her. Suddenly, the ship lurched under his feet, the quake making him lose his balance, sending him to the ground, except this time, more alert, he managed to land with his hands, closing his eyes as he fell. He slowly opened his eyes, hearing the pitter-patter of someone darting off upside. Looking at his side, he managed to glimpse the small woman dissapearing as she reached the top of the stairs. Standing up again, the redhead thought about following, before noticing that Simon had also fell, next to him. Grabbing the hammer, and placing it on his belt loop, he took Simon's arm, helping him up. "Uh... merci, merci..." The sailor said, receiving a nod from Edgar, which blinked, unsure of what Simon was saying. "You good?" "Yes... I'm good. I'm good." The man replied, as Edgar let go from him, setting his sights on knowing exactly why the woman had sprinted off. Moving upstairs, he was soon met with a thick, deep fog, which blocked some of his view, although he could see the shadow of something big on their left. One massive hull. As he turned around the corner, he noticed various sailors running through gangplanks, as they appeared to be shooting at the other ship, the gunfire shedding some light as it impacted on the hull, screams and shouts filling the air. The redhead then noticed the shrill screams of a small figure that was soon lost on the mist once again, recognizing the general frame and the voice as the woman that had been with them before. The sound of a loud crash, and twisted metal was then heard, in the distance. "G-Gosh..." Edgar muttered, as he observed the carnage unfolding on front of him, freezing for a moment. He knew he had to cross over, and assist the woman. A hunch beckoned him forth. Then, he heard someone crying behind him. Turning around he noticed a sailor, holding his arm as it was wrapped by a gray shirt. "What h-happened to you?" The redhead asked, as he approached, the sailor uncovering his arm, revealing some nasty burns on his arm. Acting quickly, the doctor retrieved his canteen, pouring the cool water over his arm, the man breathing, somewhat relieved. His agitated mind began to think on how could he treat the man's wounds better, as suddenly an idea sprung to his mind. "Alright, alright. L-Listen up! Head downstairs, and ask a-another sailor there... umm... Simon! Simon was his name... ask him to help you find some honey or some eggs and slather them over your wounds! That will help!" The man nodded, but before he could go, the redhead stepped on front of him. "Wait... w-wait... I... I have a solution for your pain." Placing his canteen back on his rucksack, he set his medical suitcase on the ground, as he opened the container which housed the numbing poison he had acquired from the bloatfly, and softly grabbing one, in order to not rupture its contents, he placed it on the man's arm, effectively injecting him with the poison, to allow the pain to subside. Carefully, he squeezed on the sack, until he was sure that almost all had been injected, his fingers numbing slightly as he dropped the empty sack on the ground. "Okay! You're good to go!" He exclaimed at the man, who was quick to head downstairs, leaving Edgar to pick up his items and close his suitcase, his sights set on the other ship. Gripping all the courage he had, yet terrified, he ran towards the plank, jumping on it, placing his medical suitcase on front of his chest as a shield, his helmet shaking as he grabbed his Study Group Special from his pocket, and began to run, screaming as he fired wildly and blindly to the other ship, his goal driving him forward, making him leap over a fallen sailor, as he reached the deck of the other ship. Terrified, he panted, as he noticed that in his suitcase, the marks of at least three richochet bullets had been succesfully deflected, thankful that none had been directly fired at him. Hearing a screech of pain on the upper deck, the redhead rushed towards the source of the sound, afraid of having arrived too late. He heard the powerful, rumbling voice of a man that beckoned him, calling out for him from up above. "Sure! I'll be there-" His voice was cut short as he continued, moving as quickly yet as carefully as he could through the deck, finally rounding up the corner, and stoping, as he saw a man fell, dead, a couple of gunshots on his chest. As he did, however, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a pirate approaching towards him, a spear on his hands. Unable to duck in time, the man with the spear threw the weapon at him, which ended up cutting his upper arm, as the blade pierced his jacket and his shirt, drawing blood as it went through, into the sea. Wincing from the pain, the redhead grasped his medical box firmly, as the man retrieved a blade on his belt. "Now... the boys will stop callin' me Greasy Pete!" The pirate shouted, a frown forming on Edgar's face, as the man struggled to retrieve his sword, the grip slipping from his hands. Finally, he was able to draw the sword, but as he did, the doctor swinged his suitcase, hitting the man's sword and sending it flying across the wooden floor. The pirate panicked, as he found himself to be unarmed, the redhead raising his gun and shooting the man up close, which began to convulse as soon as he was hit, falling to the ground, before stopping, closing his eyes. With one eye closed, the redhead dropped his medical suitcase on the ground, placing a finger on his neck, making sure that he was still breathing. Relieved, he picked up his medical box again, moving forward, stumbling, until he finally reached both Claw and Rory. "Where are... a-are you hurt? Miss? S-Sir?" He asked both, lowering himself on front of them as he tried to assess what were their wounds and how he could help them. |
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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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| Rman916 | Jun 18 2017, 09:32 PM Post #12 |
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Wastelander
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Rory quickly regained his breath as Claw tumbled down the steps. That had to hurt, given her arm. Well, he was obligated now to save her ass right back. As he rushed down the the stairs, he readied his switchblade. It had been with him through times both sweeter then the ripest peach and harsher than the nasty thing he had tried at one point. Muleradish? It didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew this knife. He knew the weight. He knew the balance. He had thrown so many times before. So when he sent his knife flying through the air, he expected nothing less as it slammed into the skull of the man who had sliced into Claw. He simply continued onto the next man, a hulking monster of man much like the first. What the fuck were they feeding these guys? Because he wanted some of that. As similar as the two were in stature and muscle mass, he knew this would not be nearly as simple a fight. This one had a spark in his eyes, the ruthless cunning that had been absent from the last. He was strong and smart, not simply a brute. He couldn't rely on such simple movements as he had before. No. This time, he had to fight truly dirty. He quickly cut an artery of the man he had just slain, spraying blood all around them. He knew he was surefooted in a floor of blood. He had no clue about this man, it may slow him. Hopefully it would. He had a feeling he would need every advantage possible. He began with a simple sweep coming from the side, as he slipped past the titan. Rory's movement was met with a clash that nearly shook the blade from his hand. Right. Don't cross blades with him. Rory began a twirling movement, reliant on the momentum of the waves that rocked the boat and the slippery coating to the ground. He was almost ice skating, it seemed. He spun, twisting around the man, digging his blade in the floorboards to turn upon a dime as he tried in vain to gind a weak point. As he picked speed, that opening came. With a slash, he sliced open the man's forearm, dripping blood onto the giant's machete. More specifically, the handle. Without control, the movements sudden increased exponentially, Rory adding slice upon slice, waiting for the monster to fall, if only from blood loss. Finally, though, he left himself open, inviting the slash that cut him from his left shoulder to right hip, all without the smallest protection with his shirt gone. For such a cut, it was shallow. But any cut of that size was too deep, and he would need a medic quickly. To make matters worse, the spasm in his muscles from that cut meant his sword was on the ground. But as he watched incredulously, the demon finally fell, giving in to blood loss. Rory allowed himself to collapse. Huh. Was that earplugs guy? |
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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 | Jun 18 2017, 11:00 PM Post #13 |
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"Got a light?"
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Pain. The smell of blood. Exhaustion. Soaked with water. Claw was having a very bad day. Rory was, apparently, having a worse one. However much she might owe him her life, several times over, he was still going to give her an aneurysm. Claw yanked the knife out of her dead assailant’s eye and lurched to her feet. The woman staggered back up the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life, nearly face-planting herself several times. Keep it together, legs. Stop with the double vision, eyes. Stop bleeding, face, stop hurting shoulder- Fuck, she was not in good shape. But at the very least, the pistol was still in hand. Not for long, though. It went back in the holster, and she was just coherent enough to snap it shut as she dropped to her knees and fought to keep from hyperventilating. Why did she do this to herself? Why did she care? “Oh God, hang on, kid,” she managed to slur out, hands pressed hard over the gash. Not overly deep, but very long, bleeding heavily- Claw started laughing hysterically, barely able to see through the haze in her head, the rain, the blood still running freely down her own face, hands warm and sticky with it. How long had it been since she’d been in a very similar situation? She needed yucca, creosote- She was on a rain and blood-slicked deck. Keep it together. Too hard to focus. All she could do was babble. “Don’ die,” she told Rory forcibly. “Jus' hang on. You’re gon' be okay.” She was probably lying. The surrounding gunfire was at least far enough away that they were out of immediate danger. How quickly that could change, though. “Kid,” she managed to get out through the fog in her head, “Y’gotta stay wi’me, talk t’me, don’ move, you gonna be okay, oh God, Christ, Rory, don’t fuggin’ die.” |
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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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| Funkifan | Jun 20 2017, 05:19 PM Post #14 |
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The Cobras' Leader
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Before Edgar could finish checking the wounds, the tattoed man sprung back into action, raising a blade to battle two remaining pirates, which the doctor had missed completely on his wild dash to reach the small woman. As he observed the scene unfolding, for some reason or another, he lowered his gaze to the ground, observing the crimson blood on the deck, staining his shoes. Immediately, he froze, the red paste that covered the ground soon reminding him of the horrors which he had experienced on Paradise Pier, on the aquarium. All that blood, it wasn't unlike that of the showgirls on the stage. Maybe without the guts, but it was still there. Someone calling, for help. Yet, he couldn't, he couldn't aid them. He couldn't save all those people. They died because of him. Tears began rolling down his face, as he began to tremble, grasping tightly to his gun and his medical suitcase as he stayed with his eyes glued to the ground. That was, until he heard the woman frantically babbling, assuring someone that they would be alright. With difficulty, he lifted his eyes from the bloodied deck, noticing the tattoed man on the ground, the woman over him. It was soon obvious to him to realize what was taking place. The tatooed man had been wounded, badly, and was bleeding out. "Perhaps... I... I couldn't save the people of the pier... but I can save him. Taking a deep breath, decisive, the redhead moved forward as fast as he could, to prevent himself from falling due to the slippery deck, placing his pistol back on his pocket and grabbing a small glass bottle that was rolling as the ship shook and moved, a whiff telling him that its contents were alcohol. Each step he gave made his shoulder hurt, even though the wound wasn't threatening, his jacket, although ripped, had protected him from the blade cutting him even further. Even so, he still knew that he had to make sure that the other boy was going to make it. Finally arriving, he kneeled next to him, placing the bottle of alcohol and the medical suitcase close together, to prevent the former from rolling out of the deck and into the ocean. His eyes became as open as plates, as he noticed the terrible gash which the tatooed man had received on his fight. The redhead moved over to the unconcious 'Greasy' Pete, which was the pirate further from the blood, retrieved his tattered umbrella, uncorking it, to retrieve the blade, and used it to cut the pirate's shirt, pulling it from his body, to use to clean the blood, separating it further into several pieces, and effectively making rags out of it.
He went back to Rory, clearing his throat, grabbing the bottle of alcohol to dissinfect the rags, and poured a little on the zone around his hip and his stomach, to clean the wound. "I-I don't... don't have the... forceps to hold the skin together... b-but I have needle and thread... t-to make the sutures..." "I-I'm going to need your help... can... can you please make pressure with the rags over the wounds... t-to prevent bloodloss... miss?" He asked Claw, as he soaked his hands on some of the alcohol, and opened his medical suitcase, retrieving a surgical needle, sutures, and his tweezers. Holding the needle in place with the tweezers, he introduced the thread on the eye, and grasping Rory's skin, thankful that he was ambidextrous, as the greater mobility really helped on difficult situations like this. Introducing the needle on a perpendicular manner on relation to the skin's surface, to create good apposition without excesive tension, to try and aim for a flat scar, for more cosmetic results and a better healing process for Rory. He tried to ensure that the needle remained at right angles to the wound, following the natural curve of the needle by rotating the wrist, moving through each side of the wound separately, avoiding the temptation of traversing both wound edges in one go. After the needle emerged from the second go, or 'bite', he pulled the suture through the dermis until a short tail remained at the initial skin entry site. He then proceeded to introduce the needle through the opposite side of the wound, at the same depth as the first 'bite', making sure to rotate his wrist so that the needle would emerge at the same distance from the wound edge as before. Once this was done, he began to tie the suture, keeping the needle holders as parallel to the skin as he could, grasping the needle end of the suture, then making two clockwise loops around the tweezers, followed by a single anti-clockwise turn. He was sure to remember to throw each loop in the opposite direction than the last one, and all knots to be done on the same side of the wound. Finally, he placed his blade against the sutures, cutting them. He continued the process several times, moving up, cleaning the blood with the rags, while making sure that Rory didn't move, separating his eyes from time to time to face the small woman, eventually beggining to notice that something was wrong with her. Returning to his duties of suturing Rory, he decided to ask. "Y-You a-alright... miss? I-Is there s-something wrong? A-Are you w-wounded somehow?" His words showed worry, yet he kept his pulse steady and his attention fully on Rory. Soon, he'll be patched up and ready to wait until the battle was over. |
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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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| azstarael | Jun 20 2017, 06:18 PM Post #15 |
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"Got a light?"
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“Oh thn’god,” Claw slurred, practically incomprehensible at this point, “got it, got it, jus’ help him, Rory, stay wih'me, idjit.” Was she still speaking English? Didn’t matter. What did, was that the gash was closing, too slowly for her liking, but closing none the less. She managed to move her hands in time with Edgar’s stitching, keeping the skin in place until the sutures were tied off, she’d done this enough times on herself an others to have the muscle memory for it, despite her head spinning and vision all but non-functional. It hurt. Her arm was still nearly worthless, but it was moving, and she’d deal with the pain later. The inherent light-headedness was making it easier to handle. Goddamned concussions. It took her longer still to register the redhead’s question. Hurt? Hurt was a cactus spine in the ankle, getting her wind knocked out, a small gash here and there. She was royally fucked, at this point. “Yeah,” she forced out, patting Rory’s cheek briskly with her good arm, “concussed. Arm’s messed up. Can’t- y’did- oh shit, fuck, thank you. Rory. Talk t’me.” She needed to focus, but her head wouldn’t let her. “Horseshit.” Had she said that out loud? Oh, well. “Can’ move it,” she continued in a very garbled tone, “noht’good, anyway, s’no big deal, had worse-” and cut herself off with a low, strangled noise of pain. Her head and shoulder had flared almost simultaneously, and the former knocked her flat on her side. Just breathe. Keep it together. Live, get this moron somewhere safe. Both morons. She supposed she fell into the bracket, at this point. Water poured down on her. The deck was trying to toss her around like a rag doll. Edgar was staring at her with a mixture of heavy concern and confusion. Rory, he’d at least stopped bleeding, and that was all she really cared about. “Sorry,” Claw murmured against the deck, barely audible over the rain and surrounding battle. “Real tired. Head hurts. Arm, too.” He’d saved both their lives. Stopping Rory’s bleeding, and keeping them both from drowning. “Thang’ya,” Claw slurred out again, her eyes starting to slide shut. So tired. |
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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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