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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Fri Nov 22, 2019 9:25 pm

Dar nodded amicably at the android — Ms. Zale had taught her to not be surprised at the strange people she'd meet in her time here. Besides, with all the old weird fiction mom had kept in the bunker, it was almost a relief to know that robots and aliens were out and about after all.

Getting back into gear, the survivalist decided to follow after the one other person she might have been on the same level with, young brown-haired woman who kept close to Ms. Blackwater. According to the dossier she was a gunsmith, definitely useful for this place. She was also a young human woman about Dar's age, which was a more comforting prospect. Dar didn't like to admit her bias, she would have to slowly get to use to being around different types of people.

"Hello," she greeted Brit, jogging up to be at her side. "You're Brittney Nicholson?"
❃she's ripping wings off of butterflies❃

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Monfrox
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Monfrox » Sun Nov 24, 2019 5:37 pm

"Hm?"

Brit came back from spacing out as the group continued to walk through the street towards the HQ. She looked down at the girl now keeping pace with her who addressed her by name. She knew it wasn't long until someone figured out who she was, but she wasn't an open book. The girl, on the other hand, seemed very loud in her style in contrast to her voice. She looked rather young, too. Given the process of elimination, she must be Darlene. Their survivalist for this mission. Who knew what that entailed, though.

"Oh...It's just Brit, but yeah." Came the reply as an earbud was instinctively pulled out so she should listen better.
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Xing wrote:Yeah but you also are the best at roleplay. (yay Space Core references) I'm pretty sure a four man tank crew is no problem for someone that had 27 different RP characters going at one time.

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Talchyon
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Postby Talchyon » Mon Nov 25, 2019 11:57 am

The street
'Doc Sawbones' (aka Dr. Jesse Turnbull)


It seemed as if the transforming member of their group was the Barber. Had to be a nickname for something else. This Korean man was powerful, although something about him still seemed a bit off...

Sylvanstreak wrote:
Talchyon wrote:..."And no, I'd rather inspect my clinic!" Dealing with townspeople was the last thing he wanted to do. Dealing with half his team was a close second.


The Barber cocked its head, and grunted in thought at Doc Sawbones' question. The android went through a moment of clear confusion about how best to respond, finally settling on "I'm just a haircutting robot with an insane private investigator partner. She seems to have disappeared, but maybe this is her reminder to stay on my toes. So to say."

It paused again, then spoke. "I have no shop space yet. Do you have extra room in your clinic? I can be quite tidy."


'Doc Sawbones' began to notice it. The manner in which the Barber processed what he was intending to say. It seemed rather different than the others. The others thought about it, slowing down to think sometimes, but then would respond. The Barber, on the other hand, seemed to freeze completely while his mind turned over the options, and then afterward quickly moved again as if nothing had interrupted it. Curious and unsettling both. Jesse would have to keep an eye on him.

"I haven't seen my clinic at all yet. I have no clue what awaits. So, you can change your clothes in a moment's notice. Do other parts of you also transform?"

And it was then 'Doc Sawbones' got an unofficial introduction and one of the last remaining identity mysteries was solved.

Giovenith wrote:Dar nodded amicably at the android — Ms. Zale had taught her to not be surprised at the strange people she'd meet in her time here. Besides, with all the old weird fiction mom had kept in the bunker, it was almost a relief to know that robots and aliens were out and about after all.

Getting back into gear, the survivalist decided to follow after the one other person she might have been on the same level with, young brown-haired woman who kept close to Ms. Blackwater. According to the dossier she was a gunsmith, definitely useful for this place. She was also a young human woman about Dar's age, which was a more comforting prospect. Dar didn't like to admit her bias, she would have to slowly get to use to being around different types of people.

"Hello," she greeted Brit, jogging up to be at her side. "You're Brittney Nicholson?"


Monfrox wrote:"Hm?"

Brit came back from spacing out as the group continued to walk through the street towards the HQ. She looked down at the girl now keeping pace with her who addressed her by name. She knew it wasn't long until someone figured out who she was, but she wasn't an open book. The girl, on the other hand, seemed very loud in her style in contrast to her voice. She looked rather young, too. Given the process of elimination, she must be Darlene. Their survivalist for this mission. Who knew what that entailed, though.

"Oh...It's just Brit, but yeah." Came the reply as an earbud was instinctively pulled out so she should listen better.


As the two younger women interacted, Jesse caught their conversation. He thought to himself, "So that's what 'Brit' stands for! Not as in, 'a Brit.' But 'Brittney.'" Recalling the dossier he had read, this was their gunsmith. Interesting. And the other was their survivalist. Darlene or "Dar".

Walking towards them, Jesse nodded at both and looked at them with the same neutral expression he gave everyone on first meeting. "Excuse me. I was wondering who the Brit was. I was expecting some middle-aged, tea-drinking guy with a Yorkshire accent. I see I stand corrected now. I'm your doctor. Dr. Jesse Turnbull. Some people call me 'Doc Sawbones.'" His glance remained just as neutral as before.




The bar
Seamus (and the bartender)


Highfort wrote:Gordon took careful note as the team split up. It was good that the doctor wasn't into drinking, and the survivalist's sobriety would probably prove decisive when they least expected it. The gunsmith, of course, would be a godsend straight-edge; he was half-worried of getting a drunk who might shoot them during off-hours. A sober investigator would be important for keeping up with fine details.

But that left possible drunks for pilot and engineer and a definite drunk for the cobbler. At the very least, the latter wasn't essential to the mission - unless perhaps the locals were low on shoes. But the pilot and engineer would have to be kept an eye on. Perhaps he could arrange for regular discrete piss tests with Doc Sawbones, just to make sure the lads weren't getting too far down their glasses.

Before he could spot the Barber's stark transformation, Gordon found himself inside a crowded, rowdy bar with a few of the others. It seemed as though the leprechaun had already begun endearing himself to the locals; at least he was being amicable, the last thing they needed on their first day was a bar fight. The smiling bartender confirmed that Seamus had at least a bit of natural charisma and a knack for putting people at ease, despite being an annoying little prick.

"Evening, lad," he nodded at Seamus, then at the bartender.

"What'll it be?" the bartender nodded at him nonchalantly.

"Bluebird, if you got one. Otherwise, vodka cran. Open me a tab," Gordon took a seat next to Seamus and figured he'd start squeezing the locals for data. Turning back to the bartender, he added, "What's going on 'round here?"


The bartender got the preferred drink and poured a hefty amount. As Gordon asked, he responded with a shrug, "Same as always. Mining colonies like this always have some need to let off steam, which keeps me in business. It's not too bad when the bugs aren't biting." He took out a rag and started wiping off the counter.

Seamus, on the other hand, was enjoying his drink. And, being that he was enjoying his drink, started talking. Alcohol loosening lips, and all that. The story he had been telling of a prank he had pulled once that involved a bucket of tar dumped on his target who had been a real jerk then merged into another story. This one, involving a skill Seamus had.

"...And then, I pummelled him, thaht I did. The poor sap never knew what hit him when he got a taste 'o me fisticuffs!" And then, to give a demonstration, Seamus put his drink on the bar and leaped onto his seat and then went at it boxing the air. Quicker and definitely weaker than most fighters, Seamus struck a non-existent target as if it were a real enemy. After doing that for a minute without slowing down, Seamus hopped again. This time, he landed sitting down, and pulling his drink to him, took a swig. "And thaht's what he got fer tryin' to steal me gold!"
Current RPs -
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Monfrox
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Monfrox » Tue Nov 26, 2019 4:02 pm

So that was their doctor. She had thought that Jesse, being a girl and boy's name, could've been Darlene but that was a stretch when she saw the girl next to her. The expectation Brit had shattered could've probably been contributed to the quotations Minerva put around her name in the briefing. She looked to Jesse and for a second wondered what kind of doctor he was to get the nickname "Doc Sawbones". It put the image of an old American Civil War doctor in her head, which would entail amputations for basic things. She fought back a shudder at that.

"Brit. Gunsmith. Also I'm an American, so no Yorkshire accent here. Or tea-drinking, for that matter."
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Xing wrote:Yeah but you also are the best at roleplay. (yay Space Core references) I'm pretty sure a four man tank crew is no problem for someone that had 27 different RP characters going at one time.

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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Wed Nov 27, 2019 1:37 am

"Oh! Right," Dar nodded, seeming to understand. "Sorry, my name is like that too. I just like to be called Dar."

Dar backed up a bit as the Doctor approached, keeping a smile but tapping her index fingers together in subtle anxiety. 'Doctor Sawbones'? That sounded very violent, had he hurt anyone? But he seemed nice...

What do I do? she thought to herself, feeling stuck.

She knew what she had been taught to do growing up: Politely exit the situation without drawing attention to herself, make a break for home. But those rules didn't apply anymore. Dar resisted the urge to shake her head. We're not listening to mom anymore. Everyone is here to do the right thing. But what was that? Dar considered again, then had an idea.

She held up her lunch box, a kooky little thing decorated with exaggerated rock band drawings, undid the hatch, and dug around inside.

"Here," said Dar, leaning in to hold the cake pop out to Brit from a distance. "My boss made me this, but you can have it. I can get another. And..." She dug in the lunch box again before producing one of her heart-shaped sandwiches, and held it out to Jesse. "... you could have this. It's toast and peanut butter."
❃she's ripping wings off of butterflies❃

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Sylvanstreak
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Sylvanstreak » Thu Nov 28, 2019 7:29 pm

"Everything about me can," said the Barber simply, and reverted to its natural state of faceless, featureless silver mannequin. Then, almost impossibly, the mannequin arms flattened and thinned, the hands grew into folds...the android now had a pair of old-timey foldable fans instead of arms. Ones made of metal, not paper between wood frames.

And then they were gone again, as if they'd never existed, and the Korean-man facade was back.

"But more on that later if you like, perhaps we can explore the town, and find this clinic of yours?"
Social ecology in a nutshell = Take care of yourself and the environment both; taking care of each other flows naturally from that.
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How much of this is shared with self-help? The wood is stacked in the fireplace, strike the lighter.
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Talchyon
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Postby Talchyon » Thu Dec 05, 2019 10:07 am

The street
'Doc Sawbones'


As he stood talking with a neutral expression on his face, Jesse's robotic eye went to work running medical scans on the two women (check that, one woman, one older girl. Teenager) in front of him. Just the vitals - temperature, blood pressure levels, hemoglobin, cholesterol levels. It would be handy for later.

Monfrox wrote:So that was their doctor. She had thought that Jesse, being a girl and boy's name, could've been Darlene but that was a stretch when she saw the girl next to her. The expectation Brit had shattered could've probably been contributed to the quotations Minerva put around her name in the briefing. She looked to Jesse and for a second wondered what kind of doctor he was to get the nickname "Doc Sawbones". It put the image of an old American Civil War doctor in her head, which would entail amputations for basic things. She fought back a shudder at that.

"Brit. Gunsmith. Also I'm an American, so no Yorkshire accent here. Or tea-drinking, for that matter."


Jesse simply nodded without an expression when Brit introduced herself. As the gunsmith, more likely than not she'd be at least partially responsible both for their safety and for his patchwork to get ruined. As a doctor, Jesse was a little ambivalent about the whole thing. It was job security, after all.

Giovenith wrote:"Oh! Right," Dar nodded, seeming to understand. "Sorry, my name is like that too. I just like to be called Dar."

Dar backed up a bit as the Doctor approached, keeping a smile but tapping her index fingers together in subtle anxiety. 'Doctor Sawbones'? That sounded very violent, had he hurt anyone? But he seemed nice...

What do I do? she thought to herself, feeling stuck.

She knew what she had been taught to do growing up: Politely exit the situation without drawing attention to herself, make a break for home. But those rules didn't apply anymore. Dar resisted the urge to shake her head. We're not listening to mom anymore. Everyone is here to do the right thing. But what was that? Dar considered again, then had an idea.

She held up her lunch box, a kooky little thing decorated with exaggerated rock band drawings, undid the hatch, and dug around inside.

"Here," said Dar, leaning in to hold the cake pop out to Brit from a distance. "My boss made me this, but you can have it. I can get another. And..." She dug in the lunch box again before producing one of her heart-shaped sandwiches, and held it out to Jesse. "... you could have this. It's toast and peanut butter."


'Doc Sawbones' frowned at the sandwich. From the files, this Darlene was supposed to be a 'survivalist'. What kind of survivalist carries around a child's lunch box with heart-shaped sandwiches? Jesse's impression of her skills left a lot to be desired.

"No thanks," he said. "Peanut butter is high in hydrogenated oils, and it's been known to cause coronary heart disease. Which, by the way, with your cholesterol level, it would be better for you to avoid."

Sylvanstreak wrote:"Everything about me can," said the Barber simply, and reverted to its natural state of faceless, featureless silver mannequin. Then, almost impossibly, the mannequin arms flattened and thinned, the hands grew into folds...the android now had a pair of old-timey foldable fans instead of arms. Ones made of metal, not paper between wood frames.

And then they were gone again, as if they'd never existed, and the Korean-man facade was back.

"But more on that later if you like, perhaps we can explore the town, and find this clinic of yours?"


When the Barber transformed again, 'Doc Sawbones' eyebrow raised. This person - was he even a person? - was worth studying. "Are you even human?", Jesse wondered. Turning his robotic eye to the Barber, Jesse soon found the truth. He was completely synthetic. Made sense.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's find our base and set up shop."
Current RPs -
Icarus - A sci-fi story about people from all different timelines and backgrounds, rescued right after they had died, and now on missions to find out what happened, why, and to stop renegade time travelers from destroying the past.

Awake in Prefeton - A superhero story about school students discovering they have powers. Was more on character then on fights, but now there is the fight for the future and for freedom. Now in the final chapter.




Louisianan wrote:Talchyon has great comedic writing, that is true.

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Monfrox
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Founded: Mar 25, 2011
Father Knows Best State

Postby Monfrox » Thu Dec 05, 2019 6:16 pm

"Hey, I like peanut butter too. Nothing wrong with it. Good for protein if you don't have a lot of meat." Brit offered her own stance to the Doctor before looking to Darlene. "But you know, that food is for you. You should probably keep it for you when you need it. Besides, something tells me we won't be finding a lot of PB&Js or other sweets around here, so you should enjoy them while you can."

She was between a lot of people right now, and she was giving a bare basic idea of what she could do, which was fine for Brit. She wasn't going to offer to raise expectations or go above and beyond quite yet. She was very modest. It was one thing to be in a profession so she wasn't about to claim any skill, but she would offer some small surprises here and there. After all, everyone had their moments. Brit wondered what moments she would end up having on this planet. She hoped she wouldn't have a repeat incident like back in Galli, though.
Gama Best Horror/Thriller RP 2015 Sequel
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith.
Xing wrote:Yeah but you also are the best at roleplay. (yay Space Core references) I'm pretty sure a four man tank crew is no problem for someone that had 27 different RP characters going at one time.

The Grey Wolf wrote:Froxy knows how to use a whip, I speak from experience.

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Sylvanstreak
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Sylvanstreak » Sun Dec 08, 2019 9:20 am

The Barber sketched a bow to Dar and to Brit. The finer details of human nutrition escaped it, for somewhat obvious reasons; it had never needed to think about these things on its own. Or, come to process it, with Summerveil.

The bar seemed fairly well covered by the others. The other side of town was still an unknown, and perhaps there would be an empty building over there that would be useful for the doctor and itself? It was worth a try. The android paused a moment in unspoken invitation to either of the women to join, before heading off in that direction itself. The space between seemed only sparsely populated at this hour, with a few pedestrians passing this way and that. Not much like the crowded orbital stations that used to be home. It was rather nice, actually. A simpler environment meant far less data to process at a given time.
Social ecology in a nutshell = Take care of yourself and the environment both; taking care of each other flows naturally from that.
KTCIYH; KTRLIYHT
How much of this is shared with self-help? The wood is stacked in the fireplace, strike the lighter.
#Pluralism #InfiniteDiversityInfiniteCombinations #FuckHanSupremacy #EndMandarin-Only

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Highfort
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New York Times Democracy

Postby Highfort » Mon Dec 09, 2019 8:58 pm

The Bar

Gordon nodded at the bartender's answer - nothing but what he'd been briefed on and expected. At the very least - assuming the man was honest and well-informed, which bartenders tended to be in the middle of nowhere - the local color wasn't going to cause too much trouble. The bureaucrat sipped at his drink before nodding approvingly and taking a large gulp. Bluebirds were always hard to come by, especially in decent quality. At least in the drinks department this backwater shithole wouldn't be a total waste.

He smiled at Seamus' little martial demonstration - so the cobbler did have some skills up his sleeve. His smile curved back into neutrality as he noted that a brawler and a drunk was a poor combination, no doubt ready to combust at the earliest possible convenience.

"It's a shame bugs don't fancy gold; maybe we'd get to see some of that prowess in action," he nodded at Seamus before turning back to the bartender, sipping his drink all the while, "What was that about bugs?"

Before the bartender could answer, a lumbering figure took a seat near Gordon and Seamus. Rough and coarse, no doubt from working the mines for quite some time, he silently gestured to the bartender for a drink. One was provided - a hefty mug of synthesized lager. The large man leveled a curious gaze toward the two newcomers.

A regular, then, Gordon thought, glancing up and down at the man before darting his gaze back to the bartender, and not one for mincing words. Hope he's friendly.

"Huh," the large one spoke after a moment, glancing over Gordon at the curiously-small man, "Who's the midget?"
First as tragedy, then as farce

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Giovenith
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Founded: Feb 08, 2012
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Sat Dec 21, 2019 6:34 pm

"O-Oh..." Dar withdrew the sandwich and pastry, biting her lip a bit bashfully. She looked at her own arms thoughtfully as the robot(?) apparently analyzed her cholesterol. How did he do that? Her imagination once again went to those old comics, filled with stories of all kinds of crazy androids and futuristic technology. She looked back up at the doctor. "Wow, you're really special, aren't you?" she remarked, without a hint of sarcasm or irony.

Sense of responsibility soon struck again though, and Dar quickly packed up her lunch box before nodding to the others.

"We better get going."


The walk to 42nd Subabsurdus Street was short, safe, and relatively pleasant. Ms. Zale hadn't explained much about how it was able to move so quickly from one time and place to another, but she had said plenty about all that happened there a long, long time ago. It was with these memories that Darlene ventured hesitantly through the doors into the lobby, eyeing the large, simply decorated room and taking in the quiet atmosphere.

You'll have the right to live there now, her boss had said.

It didn't feel like it. Darlene felt like a stranger in someone else's domain, but not necessarily an intruder. In some of the few old magazines and books her mom had had at home, there had been pictures of abandoned places frozen in history, ancient cities and creepy hospitals and all that — a bizarre spot where all within had dropped whatever they were doing and simply left for whatever reason, and even though there was no chance of those people coming back to pick up where they left off, you still felt like you were intruding on a space and business that was not your own.

Nonetheless, it was Dar's business, and it was now her space. Pushing aside the grave awkwardness, she fully stepped inside and walked in circles to observe it all.

"Hello?" she called. Was there anyone waiting for them?
❃she's ripping wings off of butterflies❃

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Holy Lykos
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Ex-Nation

Postby Holy Lykos » Sun Dec 22, 2019 12:18 am

Jor had largely kept himself out of the conversation the others had, instead familiarizing himself with what was on tap at the town watering hole. By sampling every drink on the menu. Only once, in his defense! And at his size and weight and with his history of drinking, Jormungand had a damn good tolerance. So far, his favorite was the local brews, including a potato whiskey called Slate Spirit. Probably because it kicked like a raging, starving brahmin when he drank it, yet had quite the nice flavor and aftertaste still. Though, the barkeep was rather dodgy about saying the exact alcohol content... Oh well, Jor seemed fine after drinking it!

Either way, Jor tagged along when the rest left. He'd had his fill of the environment, and he was still technically on duty. The night stalker figured he could always pop back in after night had fallen. Maybe with one of his new co-workers even, eh?

Jormungand kept his only mildly buzzed self busy on the trip by tossing his wrench up in the air. Not just simply up, no, that'd not be very fun. He'd figured out long ago his reflexes meant he could do some rather tricky tosses and still catch the blunt tool before it hit the ground. So he'd toss it at angles, far in the air, with odd spins, or other fun ways, catching it each time. Of course, he made sure no one was in the way every time he did.

The hybrid caught it one last time once Dar had entered their new HQ, and slipped it back into its spot at his thigh. Jormungand took in the exterior very briefly before heading in, swinging himself around to hold the Door open for anyone else who ventured after Dar and himself. "I'd be surprised if'n anyone were waiting for us, given how remote we're out here on Slate. Well, maybe the Boss or the suit, since they went right here..."
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Monfrox
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Monfrox » Wed Dec 25, 2019 2:48 am

Brit yawned a bit as she stepped into the entrance. She looked around as the group had been led in. It was quiet, and she didn't hear anything answer Dar's call out. That still sent gears spinning in her head. Sure, they would expect their new place to be vacant and ready for them to move in, but Brit had been through very weird times. And so far, there wasn't a lot of light. She took out her phone and put its flashlight on.

"Always gotta expect the unexpected."

It was about this time she wished she had some sort of pistol or knife to use, but unfortunately she had wanted to wait to get settled in before she started making requisitions for gear for Minerva. Well, she hoped it wasn't a bad decision now. She walked forward and shone it all around.
Gama Best Horror/Thriller RP 2015 Sequel
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith.
Xing wrote:Yeah but you also are the best at roleplay. (yay Space Core references) I'm pretty sure a four man tank crew is no problem for someone that had 27 different RP characters going at one time.

The Grey Wolf wrote:Froxy knows how to use a whip, I speak from experience.

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Giovenith
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Founded: Feb 08, 2012
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Wed Dec 25, 2019 11:55 am

Dar considered the silent room for a moment. She turned to her comrades. "Well, my boss said that I could have her old apartment, and these rooms morph themselves to be comfortable no matter what. So we can go there and be safe and stuff until we figure out what to do."

So she lead the way up the stairs — Dar didn't trust elevators — until they came to the second floor. There she took a moment, counting the doors.

"Uh, hang on a second, I'm sorry," she apologized to the others. "Door numbers are a little confusing sometimes. They go back and forth on the walls, right?"

Finally she settled on a door, 2D, and fished her pockets for the keys she'd been given. Once inside, they found a very simply decorated but large apartment, bereft of windows and stocked with various old furniture and nick-nacks. It looked as if someone had been living there for years despite being brand new.

"Wow, it's true!" Darlene marveled, trotting into the home. "This looks a lot like my mom's old house." She clapped her hands together and widened her eyes at her new friends. "Do you guys like ravioli?"
❃she's ripping wings off of butterflies❃

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Holy Lykos
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Ex-Nation

Postby Holy Lykos » Thu Dec 26, 2019 9:09 am

Once everyone was in, Jorm moseyed inside as well. He looked around, sniffing and trying to familiarize himself with just about everything he could. Odd place, all together, but he'd have to check out the garage and guts of the building later. Jor figured even the tools would be weird in a place like this.

"Looks like we think is comfortable, huh...?" He sniffed, peering past Darlene into her room. "Odd as a one-head brahmin, I'd say. What's ravioli? Is it a critter?"

The snake kept shuffling down the hall, eyeing the numbers. Which should be his, which which which....

Jor ended up taking a room immediately next to the stairs, what room number, he didn't care. He figured he'd need to be able to hop down the stairs when things inevitably caught fire, for one. For two, his hearing was probably the best of anyone, anyone sneaking in would wake him. Jor could act the part of a guard dog easy enough.

The interior of the room, when he peaked in, looked surprisingly beat up, but still homely. Chipped and crumbling drywall hidden by posters of radio and television shows that hadn't played in hundreds of years, a worn but comfortable bed, and similarly worn, but surprisingly solid furniture filled the space, and Jor noticed a kitchen area tucked away just out of view as well. "Definitely home, though."
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
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Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
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I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

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Talchyon
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Founded: May 05, 2016
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Talchyon » Fri Dec 27, 2019 12:40 pm

The bar
Seamus


Highfort wrote:The Bar

Gordon nodded at the bartender's answer - nothing but what he'd been briefed on and expected. At the very least - assuming the man was honest and well-informed, which bartenders tended to be in the middle of nowhere - the local color wasn't going to cause too much trouble. The bureaucrat sipped at his drink before nodding approvingly and taking a large gulp. Bluebirds were always hard to come by, especially in decent quality. At least in the drinks department this backwater shithole wouldn't be a total waste.

He smiled at Seamus' little martial demonstration - so the cobbler did have some skills up his sleeve. His smile curved back into neutrality as he noted that a brawler and a drunk was a poor combination, no doubt ready to combust at the earliest possible convenience.

"It's a shame bugs don't fancy gold; maybe we'd get to see some of that prowess in action," he nodded at Seamus before turning back to the bartender, sipping his drink all the while, "What was that about bugs?"


After sitting back down on his high bar stool, Seamus took another swig of what passed for Irish whiskey in this place. But he was totally baffled when Gordon was mentioning bugs, and why he would even think of that.

"The hell do boogs ha' to do with anythin?" Seamus wasn't sure why this person on his team was talking about critters when they had more important things to do. Like, whatever it was that they were supposed to do so they could get home. And maybe find some better whiskey before that happened.

And that's when the local came in.

Highfort wrote:Before the bartender could answer, a lumbering figure took a seat near Gordon and Seamus. Rough and coarse, no doubt from working the mines for quite some time, he silently gestured to the bartender for a drink. One was provided - a hefty mug of synthesized lager. The large man leveled a curious gaze toward the two newcomers.

A regular, then, Gordon thought, glancing up and down at the man before darting his gaze back to the bartender, and not one for mincing words. Hope he's friendly.

"Huh," the large one spoke after a moment, glancing over Gordon at the curiously-small man, "Who's the midget?"


His ire roused, Seamus stood up on the chair at his full height, which still was shorter than the hulking local sitting down. To him, he shouted, "Midget?! Ah ain't no midget! Ain'tcha nevehr seen a leprechaun befahr?!" Taking another swig of the synthetic concoction, Seamus felt the alcohol go to his head. The local, not as amused, glared at Seamus and then shook his head and tried to ignore the fiery man in green who obviously had had too much to drink.

Seamus, though, kept up at it. "As if Ah were a midget! Ah'll have ya know that Ah'm one o' the tallest in me famly. An' what Ah lack in tallness, Ah make up for it in scrappiness!"

The bartender, sensing that a scuffle might break out, thankfully intervened. "Easy there, Jim," he said to the local. "It's the first time ever in the history of my bar that I had a leprechaun as a customer. And I don't want it to be the last time. So let's put on a good face and welcome him." Turning to Seamus, the bartender asked a couple of questions that were again related to some of the stories the leprechaun had told before. And just like that, Seamus launched again into even more stories, correcting details, changing important facts, it didn't matter. The drunken leprechaun was quite a storyteller. The local, on the other hand, held back but every so often grinned at what Seamus was saying.




The base
'Doc Sawbones' (aka Dr. Jesse Turnbull)


The base would do. It didn't hurt having rooms morph themselves to be comfortable to the person occupying it. The kitchen was serviceable. Restrooms worked, and weren't too cramped. Doc Sawbones wasn't up for exploring the base, so much, as to make sure that his equipment and bags were safe.

Climbing the stairs, Dr. Turnbull took a room near the stairs, in case they might need him downstairs and he could get there in a hurry. Never know when your living room turns into an emergency room, the grim doctor thought glumly. The room's number was 2A, right by the stairs. Unlocking the door (and shaking his head at the primitiveness of using an actual mechanical key and lock system), Doc Sawbones opened the door - and was pleasantly astonished.

The room was painted in a solid but light purple. A few paintings hung on the walls, abstract art with impressions of colors. Shelves lined two of the walls, complete with books of all kinds. Mostly non-fiction though, some history, some political thought, some poetry, some philosophy, many of the standard medical reference works, all currently up to date at that. A desk sat in the corner, with a keyboard near it though no monitor was nearby. Turnbull was puzzled, but said nothing.

What was more was that his bags were on the bed. Opening them, Jesse looked through and found the contents exactly as he put them in. Which honestly surprised him. He was expecting some kind of surveillance device put in, so their overseers would know exactly what they were saying and doing. But there still remained the possibility that these devices were there - just that they might be nano-sized. Or that the rooms themselves had already been so wired for eavesdropping. Jesse wouldn't put it past them. In fact, he expected it.

Closing his bags, he left the room and locked the door. Then Jesse went exploring to see what else might be there. As it turned out, he found that the base had an area set aside for medical work. Even a decent operating room with laser scalpels and a deep freezer fully stocked with medicines. Shelves lined a few walls, again filled with the standard medical reference works, fully up to date. Taking his time to look around, Doc Sawbones nodded. This would do nicely. Looked like they had a backup power supply as well in case someone turned out the lights. His patients wouldn't die in that event. Not by his hands, anyway. Well, not by his hands in surgery, that is. He still might throttle someone if it came to it.
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Awake in Prefeton - A superhero story about school students discovering they have powers. Was more on character then on fights, but now there is the fight for the future and for freedom. Now in the final chapter.




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Highfort
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New York Times Democracy

Postby Highfort » Mon Dec 30, 2019 12:02 am

The Bar

Jim offered a hearty laugh at Seamus' latest escapades. The local couldn't remember the last time he'd heard anything quite so... fantastical. No, on Slate all the interesting things that happened related to those damn cicadas. Besides that, and the occasional cryo-ship or FTL craft passing through with strange folks from far and wide, Slate was as dull as it was rich.

And what a rich planet it was, if only the damn bugs would stay away.

Gordon raised a hand at the bartender and tried to ask again, "Sir-"

"Can call me Max, only my father goes by sir," the bartender leveled a grin as he wiped down the countertop, another patron hailing him for drinks, "Ah, right, you asked about the bugs. Jim'll tell you more, he sees 'em all the time, don't ya?"

The big man turned away from the leprechaun for a moment, collecting himself, his face returning to a neutral frown as he took another long gulp of his lager. Max refiled the mug.

"What about 'em? We get 'em on the meat farms a lot, on account of all the stock," Jim said, shrugging.

"Meat farms?" Gordon scratched his head, "I'm sorry, we're new here, what do you tend to?"

"Hell if I know, I just got reassigned to 'em; used to run carts for the deusmodium mines, and handled the mechs when we were drilling," Jim rolled up his dirtied sleeves to show a faded tattoo, "Been working for Bradypus... what, uh, like ten years now? My family was with the first settlers."

A founder, good. And he's got a handle on the local workers; he'll come in handy... Gordon offered an approving nod at the ink, two pickaxes over a gear with a stylized number within: Bradypus Mining Conglomerate Site 110, "I had a few friends who did mining on Mars; iron, mostly, and carbon extraction."

"Oh, no shit?" Jim took another glug, slamming the mug on the counter, much to Max's chagrin, "What local?"

"Oh, uh," Gordon paused: different 'verse. Company names wouldn't match up, and judging from the local man's appearance and demeanor the bureaucrat didn't figure him well-versed in interdimensional travel. He hazarded a guess; the number would probably be low assuming colonization of Sol core worlds proceeded before extrasolar expansion, "12 and 13, they got moved a lot."

"Yeah, I hear ya, Bradypus is always trying to squeeze more juice outta their cows," Jim offered a smile, "Yeah, Bradypus wouldn't renew me this season, said they needed to 'downsize' or whatever. Can you believe those fuckers? Ten good years with 'em, not one complaint from my shift manager, and they shitcan me."

"You're not the first," Max offered sympathetically, stirring a synthetic martini for a new patron, "Vallero family got rotated off-world, Danny didn't get renewed either."

"Ah, what? Poor bastard!" Jim stared into his mug for a second, shaking his head, "Ah well, anyways, yeah I got reassigned to Charlie, third AgriDome outside of town. We got cows, pigs, and uh, few exotic varieties as well. Personally, I'm hoping they put me on space-chicken."

"Space... chicken?" Gordon finished off his bluebird; he moved to ask for another, then thought better of it, "Forgive me, I'm unfamiliar."

"Ah, that's the chicken in all your canned stuff; you didn't think they used real Terra poultry for that, did ya?" Jim chuckled, gesturing at one of the open cans of space-chicken sitting on the back table; Max had mixed some into a bowl of rice for his mid-evening meal, "Just as good as Terra, if you believe the ads. I never had Terra chicken."
First as tragedy, then as farce

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Sylvanstreak
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Sylvanstreak » Thu Jan 02, 2020 9:45 pm

The Barber watched everyone troop up the stairs, and then turned in a slow circle. Its wants were simple; any old room would do. This was not what it had expected, as far as buildings went, though.

The android paused partway through the turn. The room in the back corner appeared the most promising; it was small and out of the way.

Dust scattered around its feet as it walked into, essentially, a large, shelfless closet, about twice as long as it was wide. The bare walls, too, were equally dusty. The Barber reshaped its hands into fans and began waving them, sending a dust cloud into the foyer.

At the far end of the closet-room, curtains danced, framing the window in an oddly lively fashion, given the room's occupant, who finished setting up by unfolding the cardboard box it had been carrying and setting it down in the middle of the floor.

It went in search of the others, also locking the door behind itself. Hollow thuds resounded as its feet met the wooden stairs. It turned and stopped itself before running into what it had decided to call the wolfsnake, knowing not much else about it? him? her? them? Did wolfsnakes have two different brains?

There seemed to be a kitchen area in the room behind the wolfsnake. The Barber cocked its head, examining the space curiously.
Social ecology in a nutshell = Take care of yourself and the environment both; taking care of each other flows naturally from that.
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Holy Lykos
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Ex-Nation

Postby Holy Lykos » Mon Jan 06, 2020 10:30 pm

Jormungand, peering around his room, took a minute to take in the scents of it. Could use some freshening up, a bit musty, but that almost made it feel more like home. And it was a measure warmer, almost desert-like and dry in climate, than the hallway. Jor basked in that for a moment, eyes closing happily.

Then of course, he noticed the oddly quiet person staring into the space as well. Was he breathing? The night stalker's tongue flicked out as his eyes flitted over the Barber, before following his eyeline. Oh, the kitchen had his attention? "Ah like cookin' stuff. Nothin' fancy, but a good brahmin steak's always welcome n' no one else has gotten how I prefer them down yet." He said. "You're uh... Ah forget, ah guess. But I'm Jormungand. A night stalker by blood, mechanic by trade, and wanderer by heart."

He sniffed at the Barber again, head leaning in just a bit closer. The hybrid was trying to familiarize himself with the scent of this new person. Jor had the feeling the humans would ask him to track down members of the team at some point or another, so might as well get a headstart on memorizing scents.
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Monfrox
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Postby Monfrox » Thu Jan 09, 2020 2:59 am

"I never really considered myself a fan of the stuff, but I'll try."

Brit looked and watched the rest of the team split off to find their rooms. In the back of her mind, she knew what would be hers. Well...maybe. Who knows if it changed or not, but she had the expectation of it looking a little different. She popped out the other earbud and put her music on pause as she walked into Darlene's room. It was quaint. A lot more going on than in her old room, that was for sure. She looked out the hallway. Yep, everyone was indeed gone. She wondered what their rooms would be like before looking back to Dar.

"So what's your story, kid?" Brit asked her, like she was old enough to be her mom even though she wasn't.
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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Fri Jan 10, 2020 2:18 pm

Dar carefully looked through the drawers that came with her room, hoping they would provide a can opener instead of just knives, and luckily found just what she was looking for. She raised an eyebrow slightly at Brit referring to her as a 'kid' and looked her companion up and down, trying to judge her age.

"Well," she said, opening the can. "I was living with my mom, and she doesn't really trust people, so we mostly just stayed inside all the time. She taught me to how to take care of myself in case something really bad happened, and later I moved out. I had a job delivering things for a while, but then I met my new boss and she sent me here."

It was a little more complicated than that, but none of these people needed to know those details yet. Dar still wasn't sure if that was because she didn't trust them, or because she felt bad about what she had unwittingly done.

"I get to bring people who are in trouble my boss' safe place," she added, more excitedly as she dumped the Boy-ar-dee into bowls. "Which I think is great, to have somewhere nice and peaceful to go to instead of living a hard life of survival."
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Sylvanstreak
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Sylvanstreak » Wed Jan 15, 2020 6:19 pm

The Barber stood completely still, unnaturally so, under Jormungand's sniffing and sight, as if the night stalker was a customer in a shop, looking over the clothes on a mannequin. The air wafted past, but the only odor coming from it was that of a light machine oil. The android decided not to question the odd act, but its brows furrowed as if trying to figure out what this wolfsnake was after.

Correction. Re-designation: night stalker_

"A wanderer, are you? You look the part... And I guess I am too. So is my partner, but it disappeared while we were both working on finding something. And what about you? Are you seeking anything as well? The base here seems to have everything we need for now. I think your neighbor, the doctor, was looking for an infirmary or a medical workspace, at least, but I'm not sure if he found one yet."
Social ecology in a nutshell = Take care of yourself and the environment both; taking care of each other flows naturally from that.
KTCIYH; KTRLIYHT
How much of this is shared with self-help? The wood is stacked in the fireplace, strike the lighter.
#Pluralism #InfiniteDiversityInfiniteCombinations #FuckHanSupremacy #EndMandarin-Only

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Holy Lykos
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Ex-Nation

Postby Holy Lykos » Sun Jan 26, 2020 11:20 pm

Jormungand slowly grinned as the bot spoke, "Synth, huh? Odor of oil and gears but you ain't got a stain in sight. No matter, yuh seem friendly 'nuff.

"Ah,d say 'm a wanderer, yeah. Though I ain't ever been as far as this from the Big Empty before, nah. All new planet and that jazz." Jormungand sighed, eyes turning towards the ceiling, before taking off his hat and running a hand through his mane, though careful to not muss up the curled sort of pompadour style too much. Once his eyes met the Barbers face again, he resumed speaking, "Guess Ah am lookin' for a place to put down roots, home, y'know. Had it once..."

He turnes his gaze down now, sighing, "Unfortunate 'bout yer partner, Ah know how that feels. Ah had this fella back with the Nightstalker Tribe who Ah was near inseparable with. First of em to really get me. Didn't come back from s hunt once, the Hog I fixed up for 'im busted just the wrong time near a ravine. They searched, Ah searched, nothing. No traces. Dunno if hes out there still, but Ah left to wander shortly after. First to look for him, then to get away.

"But 'nuff bout me. Think this place got a proper workshop for me somewhere? It better, if not ah'm requestin' one first thing, mechanicking is in my blood, y'know. Bet Ah could figure out how to keep you fixed up too, Gearhead."
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Sylvanstreak
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Sylvanstreak » Mon Jan 27, 2020 5:51 pm

The Barber watched the smile go from short and hesitant to broad. It cocked its head, trying to figure out how to copy the gesture...then a silvery shimmer passed over its surface from top right to lower left, like a human would shake their head to clear it. So many questions. The android supposed that didn't matter though, not with things to do.

It made a note that Jormungand could help find Summerveil, and held out an arm. "Why don't we go see? After you?"
Social ecology in a nutshell = Take care of yourself and the environment both; taking care of each other flows naturally from that.
KTCIYH; KTRLIYHT
How much of this is shared with self-help? The wood is stacked in the fireplace, strike the lighter.
#Pluralism #InfiniteDiversityInfiniteCombinations #FuckHanSupremacy #EndMandarin-Only

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Holy Lykos
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Ex-Nation

Postby Holy Lykos » Mon Jan 27, 2020 8:09 pm

Jormungand's pupils dilated just a bit, becoming a bit more square than like lines, as the shimmer ran over the android. But Jor disregarded it, seeing as the Barber had made a suggestion and extended his hand. The nightstalker assumed to shake, so he gladly obliged with a vigorous handshake. "Sounds like a plan, pardner."

The nightstalker then spun around, tail giving a slight rattle as it settled into a soft sway near the ground. The tall mutant strode back towards the stairs, only glancing back at the stairwell to check that the Barber was following. "It's prolly in the basement or on the ground floor. It'd be where I'd put a garage or workshop."
Last edited by Holy Lykos on Wed Feb 05, 2020 5:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
Autistic
Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
Furry

Some Political Charts: 1 2
Official Squirrel
of
Personification Life


I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

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