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Stairway to Heaven [IC]

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Occupied Deutschland
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Posts: 18796
Founded: Oct 01, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Occupied Deutschland » Mon Mar 02, 2015 6:09 pm

Barapam wrote:"I hope you are all enjoying your winter walk? Haha!"

Claire smiled at the Nazi mocking them, though the expression was invisible behind the buttoned face-cover of her coat.

“Enjoying it very much, Herr Nazi. It’s more fun than syncopated rhythms or jumping a Jew’s bones. Oy vey you schlemiel.” Claure muttered to herself, the words muted by the cover in front of her mouth. Despite the insult though, Claire actually approved of the man’s behavior. Nobody else had a pair of skis. The guy was fully justified in making fun of that lack. Good for him. Not even Mister super-duper survivalist ‘fall behind and I’ll leave you behind’ power fantasist himself had thought of that, had he? Fricken’ bossy prick.

“Four kilometers an hour. I’ll be counting.” Claire repeated only slightly louder, glaring daggers at the man’s back. “You’re a fricken’ American, man, come on. We speak American and we measure speed in American, dammit. That means using miles-a-fucking-hour. Seriously, the only dickhead I knew who ever used kilometers for anything was that kooky ‘Nam vet who trained the Montana militia and called the things klicks because that’s how—“ Claire stopped, not only talking to herself but walking.

It was painfully obvious now that she had a minute to think about it. He was some kind of a soldier. That's why he used kilometers instead of sensible units of measurement. That’s why he had the crazy tacticoolized rifle and shit with all the doodads and Tom Clancy garbage strapped onto the thing. It was why his plan had sounded like some military briefing bullshit, or that ‘SERE’ crap that the trainer had taught so many years before. Claire couldn’t remember the particulars, it had been too long since she’d heard it and she never had cared much for the idea of avoiding a fight, but she swore she’d heard the same ‘stay away from transportation hubs’ line he’d used before.

“Fuck me.”

He was a soldier in hell though. That should be enough for her to be able to put up with him, knowing he’d done some heap bad juju in life. It was enough for her to not have a real problem with the Nazis. So why did he annoy her so much? Her instincts weren’t wrong about this sort of thing. She didn’t know what it was, but something about the man just pissed her right the hell off.

Claire shook her head as she let a few of the others pass her by. She much preferred being behind people anyways. It made it so much easier to shoot them in the back. But even though it had the benefit of efficiency, it was also so incredibly blasé. If she was going to kill any of the others, of whom the soldier seemed the most likely candidate at this point, she’d do it in a much more interesting way…Maybe. Who knew, perhaps she could wrangle some kind of deal out of God or Satan to kill one or more of them in exchange for a pass to get by all this ‘trial by fire’ crap. Though it’d be pretty hypocritical for something like that to come from God’s end of things, and Satan didn’t seem to have much say in any of this. Even his demons were getting sprung by the angels and given a chance to make it out of hell.

It seemed uncharacteristically forgiving to give torturing demons the chance at ‘Paradise’. In fact, the whole shebang seemed uncharacteristically forgiving. It wasn’t like SHE’D ever believed in Jeezus or any of the Biblical-grade bull anybody tried to convince her of, and yet here she was getting told she could go ahead and try to shoot her way to Heaven. Claire approved of the methods, but the message seemed rather upfucked from a religious standpoint. They were going to let demons like her and the folks who worked for Satan himself like the creepy chick, the hellhound and the big-tittied horned bimbo fight their way into Heaven with no strings attached? It seemed like they would be more concerned with demons and evil people wrecking up the place. Or shooting God in his/her/its face.

Nekronia wrote:Anyways, since Jackie's face was covered up and he's at risk for mook slaughter (Aaaand back to fiction logic), he decided to lurk closest to the person he liked best of the group so far: the mass-murdering, drug-running, everything-ruining crimelord Claire. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG


Claire began walking again, twisting her head to glare at the boy who was following her. Oh God, he was like a puppy, an exceptionally annoying, naïve puppy! He’d imprinted on her when she’d made eye contact! Why had she had to make eye contact? Shit, shit, shit.

But he had called the soldier gay, so at least he had a few proper sensibilities buried in there...That’ll do, puppy. That’ll do.

“Bucko, I’ve got two quick questions for you.” Claire said as she began moving again. “First of all, much as I enjoy calling you ‘bucko’, what the devil is your name? I may end up threatening your life at some point in the near future, and not using someone’s actual name when you’re doing something like that I've always thought to be terribly rude.”

Claire held up a gloved hand with two fingers raised to forestall any answer on that point and continued, “Second, doesn’t this whole cockamamie situation seem a bit ridiculous?” Claire twisted her neck to try and look at the boy, though she could only spot him out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, you ever read the Bible? Ain’t nothing in there about random chances at getting out of hell. Seems a teensy bit on the nonsensical side to this girl. I mean, if I were running this place, I imagine giving some group of schmucks some hope of escape and then jerking the rug out from under them would be a pretty funny thing to do. Just to see them squirm. What if this is Satan's idea of a knee-slapper?”

May, 1996
Mexico


“I love you, Claire. Estoy loco por ti, mi bandido Americano.”

Claire beamed, smiling widely as she turned away from the bathroom mirror and threw herself into the man’s arms. “Aww, I love you too baby! Mi bandido Mexicano!”

Claire tilted her head and returned the kiss Raul offered, with gusto. Running her hand slowly down his back in consolation, she was the first to break the kiss. “Now that lunch is over, is it alright if we actually talk shop? How was the trip?”

Raul shrugged as he draped his arms around her. It was supposed to be comforting. Claire just thought it was annoying. As if he could actually hold her. “We got the whole thing sorted out. Brought in another wonderful partner to our little business venture.”

The guy would be a lot more charming if it weren’t for his tendency to try and make himself sound like some sort of legitimate businessman. ‘Bringing in a new partner’ in this case probably meant a dozen or more people had ended up dead, at his people’s hands of course not his. Raul didn’t ‘dirty’ himself with the actual business of his business. It was something to be proud of, not swept under the rug as if it were distasteful. Yeah, sure it was wrong, but that wasn’t the point. The guy needed to take some pride in his work! But he didn’t! That was why Claire had chosen him, though. His sister was much more upfront about things, much more fun.

“Wonderful, baby! Wonderful.” Claire said just to fill the pause, twisting herself slightly in his arms as if to settle into them.

“It is. What’s more wonderful, though, is that I got to come back to you, and we get the house almost to ourselves for the weekend. Just you, and me, the staff, and my baby brother once he gets home from school in a few hours.”

Claire offered a low growl at the unsurprising news, and twisted her head again to kiss Raul. “I have a few ideas for how we could spend those hours.”

“I do too.” Raul growled back. Claire was legitimately surprised when he removed his arms from around her and took a cautious step back. Her eyes widened slightly as he brought one arm to his waist and then…into his pocket? Why into his—Why onto his knee—

“Claire Trahan, will you marry me?”

Oh. That was why he’d been reaching into his pocket. Huh. She really hadn’t expected this. Huh. She’d just have to make it work.

Huh.

“Oh God, yes Raul! God yes! Si! Si, si, si!” Claire closed the distance between them again, ignoring the ring for the moment and instead focusing on the man. She slammed her lips into his, in a much more excited and lustful manner than she had. She clutched at his back with one hand and squeezed the big man into her, as if afraid he might somehow escape from her overjoyed expression of love.

Then she stabbed a hypodermic needle into his neck with the other hand and slammed the plunger down.

Raul’s body went tense, even as he continued to return her kiss. She could actually feel him sway on his feet as he pulled away in the next instant. If she’d gotten the dosage right it shouldn’t kill him, but it was supposed to hit him pretty quickly.

“Did…Did you just. Drug? Me?” Raul stammered out, shoulders going almost entirely limp and even his eyes beginning to wander aimlessly.

Claire smiled like an idiot as Raul stumbled into the wall. “Welcome home, baby.” She supposed she could just kill him here, but doing it later would be more entertaining. She’d had to wait for so long, waiting a bit longer to make it a bit sweeter would be worth it. Besides, drugs were the coward’s way out.
----------------------
“Oh Raul! Wakey-wakey Raul, Mi bandido Mexicano.” Claire punctuated the words by slapping the butt of her pistol onto Raul’s ear. He made another one of the gurgling groans that had told the men holding him he might be waking up, and his eyes slowly, very slowly, fought their way open. From the expression on his face, he didn’t seem to like what he immediately saw.

A torrent of Spanish so quick and angry and nearly unintelligible Claire couldn’t follow spat out from the man. She did catch the odd slurred word occasionally from the litany though. ‘Puta’ seemed to be one of the most common. Which, she had to admit, wasn’t all that surprising, given the circumstances. It was even, she dared say, quite appropriate as a descriptor for her from his point of view.

Claire turned away from Raul again as he continued his barely understandable ranting. He always had liked to talk. Not really a man of action. He tended to be the family’s negotiator, while others actually did the—what was the term the CIA used? ‘Wetwork’?

There were only so many names she could be called, in English or Spanish, though. Only so many times those could be repeated before Claire grew tired of hearing them. Thankfully, she’d saved one of her appetizers from earlier for just such a situation as this. Claire leaned against the railing of the second story that looked out over the common room of Raul’s family’s mansion and rested her pistol on it directed at the floor.

In another situation, the room would have been impressive. Perhaps even ‘grand’ in the way that somewhat-too expensively decorated rooms could be. A wide marble floor with richly patterned wood beams rising out of it was a bit of a clash of styles, but in this case it had generally worked. Of course, the effect was probably diminished, at least in the eyes of serious architectural critics, by the two dozen or so dead bodies and blood that obscured much of the actual floor. Claire herself was rather partial to the effect. It helped tie the room together. But, she wasn’t an architectural critic, either. Just a really fucked-up killer. She could understand why people wouldn’t take her views on floor design seriously. Plus, how was one supposed to afford the required dead bodies? It just wasn’t practical for most people.

But it sure had been fun in this case. Claire adjusted her pistol so it aimed at the final person on the ground floor who didn’t work for her and wasn’t already dead.

She had to admit, she’d expected the last maid to cry or scream when she trained her pistol on her. That had been how the others had reacted, almost without fail. Screams, sometimes with, sometimes without, tears or other such things. This one had apparently been pushed too far though and just stared up at Claire as if challenging her to pull the trigger. It was a challenge Claire was more than willing to accept. Claire began to squeeze.

Behind her, Raul stopped ranting as he realized what was happening. Smiling, Claire removed her finger from the trigger. Hope could be very amusing.

“What do you think, Raul? Is it too much?” she asked idly, drawing her pistol from the woman and instead waved it in the general direction of the scene.

“You psychotic, backstabbing, murdering—“ Claire gestured with her free hand and one of the men holding Raul punched him.

“Hel-LO, Raul baby, come on! ‘Bandido Americano’ remember? Those are all pretty much my job description. Don’t sound so surprised.” Claire turned and sighed dramatically, bringing her gun-hand to her face and resting the handguard on her forehead. “I swear, this machismo bullshit where women aren’t expected to kill people or kick the shit out of them has always really gotten on my nerves. I thought this might help break that glass ceiling.”

Raul seemed to be at a loss of words for a moment. Instead of actually speaking, his mouth just moved as his gaze shifted between her and the floor below with the single living staff-member. Surely he’d seen dead people before, right? He never talked about it explicitly, so maybe he hadn’t and his bodyguards and such had always handled stuff like that? Oh sweet Mother of God, was he a virgin? That was so cute!

“Why the hell would you do this?” Raul sputtered out, still obviously in the process of clearing his head as the English came out more accented than usual. “If you want money we ca—“

“Money? No, no, no, Raul. You’re not thinking straight! Could be my fault I suppose. Maybe I gave you too much of the sleepy-juice. Either that or you’re just naturally retarded. If I wanted money, I would’ve just married you!” Raul took this like a slap to the face, and Claire grunted a laugh. The guy actually looked like he was about to cry! It really was cute!

“No. This is much better than money, mi bandido Mexicano. This is about…” Claire paused dramatically, sweeping her hand out over the railing and holding it extended towards the ceiling for a moment. But the moment went on a bit too long. “…You know, damnedest thing, I forget now. Fun, I guess? It’s gonna make for a hell of a cartel-war. Some serious fucking blood running in the streets style of shit. I mean, like, Crusaders entering Jerusalem style, baby! There’ll be drive-bys and bombings and all kinds of slaughter of the innocent in the crossfire!”

Raul began to spit another round of half-intelligible slurred Spanish curses at her. Until the guy holding his right arm slammed a knee into his chest. Claire grinned as she turned back to face him and leaned down so her head was just in front of his. She tapped his temple with her pistol a few times to refocus his attention, “And now I remember. That’s what it’s about, Raul. It really is going to be fun. I’m kind of proud, in fact. I set up this whole scheme to make it come out the way I want, and it’s a real doozy. For example, don’t you hate what that damned Gulf cartel and their ‘Zeta’ enforcers did to your family’s mansion? And all your family’s servants?”

Claire waited until she spotted the dawning comprehension in Raul’s eyes before tearing herself up and making her voice crack, “There were—there were gunshots and an—an explosion and then these masked men burst in and they—they—they—Raul! Raul! They killed Raul!” Claire moaned, tears running down her cheeks as she quickly turned, retrained her pistol on the woman on the floor below, and pulled the trigger.

The maid did scream this time. It was amazing how often the ones who didn’t would if you surprised them with something. Or offered them a glimmer of hope before jerking the rug out from under them. Especially if that ‘something’ was a new hole in the chest and the ‘rug’ being jerked out was their stomach. Challenge complete. Cocky little bitch. She’d killed twenty other members of the serving staff, why the devil would she spare one?

Claire had to give Raul credit, all he did was flinch and stare. For a very long time he stared. No babbling of Spanish curses at her. No back-talk. Just the stare at the ground-floor and the woman as she continued to scream. Supposedly being gut-shot hurt a whole lot.

“Don’t. Don’t just watch. Just…Just shoot her again.” He finally muttered, now actually crying.

Claire chuckled, “Okeydokey.” She adjusted her aim slightly and pulled the trigger again.

It hadn’t seemed possible, but the screams got worse as the woman lamented the new hole in the back of one of her legs. Claire graduated to chuckling to an outright laugh. She hadn’t even planned on that one, but it had been such a great opportunity for a real evil bitch move she couldn’t have passed it up!

Raul did not seem nearly as entertained with her actions. Biting his tongue on another string of curses he began, he instead seemed to comprehend the situation for the first time since he’d groaned back to consciousness. “Please. Just kill her. Don’t make her die like that.”

Claire groaned, “Would you make up your mind, man? Geez. ‘Shoot her again’ ‘no, just kill her this time’, fuck me. You’re probably just going to yell at me after this too. Alright, alright.” Claire raised the pistol slightly and pulled the trigger again. And then again. And then once more with feeling. And then one last time out of purely selfish enjoyment that she wouldn’t even make up an excuse for.

“Damn. I was hoping she’d crawl to the right a little more. That little patch of bare marble has been annoying me for the last hour.”

Claire turned back, and Raul actually puked! Holy shit, he actually puked! All down his chin and shirt and everything. Fuck that was funny! And rather pathetic. At least he put up the best defense he could when he recovered. “They won’t believe you. If the Gulf cartel did this, they would have killed you too.”

Claire tutted at him, pistol serving as her finger, “Raul, Raul, Raul. Do you really think their men would kill me before raping me? I’m the Americano! The one that you’ve been going out with! They’d do it on principle if nothing else. As well they should! And I’ll have a very reliable witness they were raping me the moment that your family’s men…well, ‘my men’ now…showed up to save me and him from this slaughterhouse.”

“Que?” Raul spat out, and then his eyes widened. This time a grunted laugh wasn’t enough, and Claire leaned in and giggled into the man’s ear in a way that may have been seductive in a different situation.

“Your baby brother’s here, remember? That’s the thing with these ‘family’ operations like yours, Raul. They’re very easily fucked with once anybody trusts you in them, because then everybody in the family does. And he’ll be convinced I was ‘raped’. I was the one who told men to beat him, and he’ll think I’M the VICTIM HERE. I killed the maid who makes him breakfast in the morning, and he’ll latch on to me like I’m part of your family and try to comfort me because I was raped! I’ll have been the one who shot you, and every time he sees me he’ll think of you! That is, until I tell him before faking his suicide.”

Raul’s eyes bugged out, “MANUEL! ES—“

Claire slammed the fist that held her pistol into his cheek. The yell broke off into a grunt of pain, and then one of the men holding him quickly twirled a roll of duct-tape around his mouth. Claire rubbed her knuckles to relieve the soreness, switching the pistol to her other hand as she did so. Using one’s hands was so uncivilized. It was great just for the sheer intimidation of it, yeah, but it was so ineffective! Much easier just to hit someone with a baseball bat. Or stab them. Or, best of all, shoot them. Repeatedly. Then they didn’t get back up to bother you again, and blood spatter was a lot more intimidating than just bruises.

Claire gave the man a peck on the cheek she’d hit, taking a petty but very visceral pleasure in how Raul pulled away from her lips with his whole body. “By the way, on a semi-related topic to the whole ‘sex’ thing, you know how your sister has some decidedly non-Catholic proclivities for other women?”

Raul’s face went from an all-encompassing sadness and rage into the blank-eyed stare a deer might have before a car hit it.

“She’s a much better lay than you ever were.” Claire whispered as she pulled away from the man so she could better see his reaction.

Mouth moving behind the duct-tape, Raul’s moth released a muffled humming that may have been more Spanish curse-words, and then he thrashed in an attempt to break out of the grip of his captors. Presumably in order to somehow physically assault Claire. She had hoped that lie would inspire a new reaction in the man. Machismo could be fun to exploit sometimes. Unfortunately, Raul seemed rather boring even when offered all kinds of inspiration. She’d killed his servants, threatened his life, insulted his manhood, and bragged about how she was going to fuck with his brother, and He couldn’t even come up with a good argument! He couldn’t even provide a clever retort or a final rhetorical slap at her. Of course, maybe the duct tape had something to do with that. But too bad. Hopefully his sister would be more fun.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have a seven-thirty meeting I really do need to attend.” Claire explained, grinning at her mocking usage of ‘business’ lingo. “By which I mean I need to go get banged ‘against my will’ in front of your baby brother. I do apologize we couldn’t chat longer.”

Claire’s men hauled Raul to his feet and pulled noticeably harder on his arms. He kept trying to jerk one of them free, but neither of the two were having any of it. Claire just shook her head at how futile the gesture was. Either die with dignity or don’t get in a situation where you couldn’t take a bunch of people with you. “To quote Arnold Schwarzenegger ‘hasta la vista, baby’.” Claire said, mimicking the flat, robotic voice the actor had used in the line as best she could.

Two in the head, one in the chest. Rumor had it that was how the Gulf cartels ex-Mexican Special Forces hit squads liked to finish off their targets. Claire approved. It was very thorough. Plus it felt damned good. So she did it twice to Raul.

The two men holding Raul’s now-limp body hauled it to the railing and slammed it through. The body of the man who Claire had ‘loved’ for more than a year tumbled to the floor below and began leaking blood into the general pool that was forming. Herself, the boy, and a half-dozen staff members who worked for her and been emphatically told to take the night-off were all that would be left. Claire did a slight double take at the floor. Raul’s body had leaked onto the bare patch of marble that had annoyed her. Nice. Fuckin-A this was fun.

Claire flicked the safety on her CZ, and carefully handed it to one of the men who had been holding Raul. With a grin, she coughed slightly to loosen up her throat. Holding up a finger, she rubbed her throat for a moment as she coughed again, and ran a hand through her hair to muss it up. That final piece of business done, she nodded at her two ‘rapists’ as she took a long, deep breath.

Claire screamed like a madwoman as the two men roughly ‘dragged’ her away, occasionally calling Raul’s name or pleading at her ‘abductors’ to stop. She continued until the sound of more gunshots outside stopped her ‘attackers’ mid-event and they began to rush out in order to follow their instructions and make the scene look good to the kid they were having watch.

One being shot by her men as he exited the room probably helped the scene look realistic. Claire choking the other with the sling of his rifle, then stealing her pistol back and unloading it into his body likely made the scene look very realistic.
------------------------------------
“She won’t talk to any of us that have gone in to see her, and we can’t get her to come out or let us bring Manuel out. She pointed a pistol at ME when I went in past the door. We just, didn’t know—”

The voice stopped as the door opened. Just as she had the other times, Claire tensed every muscle in her body and twisted so that Manuel was behind her. She didn’t, quite, raise the pistol to point at the door, but it was clearly pointed more there than it was at the floor.

Raul’s sister stood there staring at her. Presumably because his mother wouldn’t or couldn’t make it past the mess of dead bodies that were still in the main room. Inwardly, Claire giggled, remembering Raul’s anger, as well as the astonishment and fear of the serving staff before she’d used them to redecorate. Outwardly, she didn’t allow her expression to change a bit.

Maria just stood there for a long moment, staring at Claire even as Claire stared at her. The woman’s shoes were coated in red that told she had, indeed, had to step through a puddle of blood to get to where she was. Claire’s estimation of the girl went up again. Raul had been outright squeamish. Maria looked much more like Claire imagined she herself did. Like a woman pushed beyond rational anger and into a vengeance-fueled bloodlust on temporary standby. She even had the same tiny, almost imperceptible smile that Claire had kept pasted onto her own features for the last hour. She’d always liked Maria’s personality more than Raul’s. Much more appropriate for a drug cartel.

“Claire? Do you remember me? It’s Maria.”

Claire let her pasted-on smile falter for a moment, expressing more with the faint recognition that changed the edges of her eyes than she could ever hope to with her lips. “Ra—Raul’s sister.”

Maria nodded and began to take a few very tiny steps into the room. “That’s right. And I’m not going to hurt Manuel, so you don’t have to point that gun anywhere near me.”

Claire started as if she hadn’t realized the pistol in her hands had followed Maria’s movements. Coughing slightly, she shifted it so it remained pointed at the door, but away from Maria. Maria seemed to sense that she was pushing her luck anyways, however, and slowed even more.

“Is Manuel alright?” Maria asked calmly, correctly guessing the fake object of concern Claire had. People saw what they wanted to see. Amused at the sudden thought, Claire clutched at the boy with the hand that held him, and flicked her eyes to him as if to make sure for herself. It was the one-thousandth and eighty-first time she’d done the ‘eye thing’ as she’s begun to mentally refer to it. But she hadn’t started counting with the first one and only started when she worried she was getting bored, so who knew how many times she’d actually done it.

Manuel offered a small, very brave and, unbeknownst to him, lying, nod. He wasn’t anywhere near ‘alright’. The woman who had just murdered his brother and inflicted a quite disturbing scene onto the boy’s conscious was cradling him in her arms, and he APPRECIATED it. ‘Alright’ was very far removed from his situation.

“I’m—I’m fine. Like I told Claire when she kept asking. They just…hit me, a little. But Claire they ra—”

“I’m fine, little one. No need to be worried about me.” Claire snapped, letting the false smile grow incredibly strained for the fraction of an instant. She had to stay in character. Keeping that in mind, Claire snapped her eyes back to the doorway, and let a slight shake enter into her hand as if brought on by Manuel’s innocent statement.

“Then I guess we’ll wait until the rest of the family arrives. We can trust family.” Maria said, nodding at Claire and smiling as if the woman actually were ‘fine’ instead of ‘obviously’ bordering on going into shock. But the careful phrasing told Claire everything she needed to know. Success.

With slightly exaggerated slowness, Maria sat down and then scooted over to rest against the same wall Claire was cornered in with the boy. Over the course of the next few minutes, she shifted her way closer to Claire and Manuel’s position in the corner of the room until she was beside them both. All without inspiring any threatening gestures with the pistol from Claire.

“Claire? Are you alright?” The woman asked very carefully.

“I’m. Fine.” Claire repeated, letting her hand shake slightly more for an instant before exaggeratedly shifting her eyes to it and forcing it to stop.

“Would you like me to watch the door with the pistol for a little while?”

Claire quickly glanced at Maria and let herself hesitate for a moment. Maria very slowly extended a hand, and wrapped it around the top of the slide. Claire loosened the finger she had on the trigger, but tightened her actual grip and began to drag it back away from Maria’s grasp. She stopped herself. With a very noticeable reluctance, Claire dragged her arm away from the pistol and instead wrapped it around Manuel to join her other.

Maria seemed to take up the duty Claire had abandoned. She kept the pistol that had killed her brother focused on the door, protecting his killer from any potential threat. If she could have, Claire would have laughed. Instead, she channeled the impulse into a single sobbing breath.

She had been right. Raul’s sister was going to be very fun.
Last edited by Occupied Deutschland on Tue Mar 03, 2015 12:27 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Reverend Norv
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Posts: 2531
Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Mon Mar 02, 2015 8:14 pm

After a fair amount of snarking and grumbling, the group of travelers - Applicants? Mason wondered idly. Or perhaps postulants? Pilgrims? HARPers? Oh, HARPers is best. - fell into a single-file line and commenced trudging off through the snow toward the distant mountains.

Some of the HARPers moved with greater ease than others. One of the demons, toward the rear of the party, didn't so much as leave footprints on the snow. One of the two Nazis, for equally mysterious reasons, also seemed barely to notice the treacherous footing. Maybe all that Third Reich occultist bullshit had some truth to it, Mason thought. There was a time when he would have dismissed the notion out of hand, but given that he was now marching through hell toward heaven in the company of demons, that time was long gone.

Most of the rest of the group were simply slogging along. Lawrence Prideaux was almost swaggering through the snow, the woman in the bunny boots was making her way with some difficulty, a silent woman carrying a bow and dressed in fur was making decent time, and the other demon seemed to be having no difficulty at all. Looks like everyone will be able to keep up, Mason realized with a vague sense of surprise, at least initially. The recognition brought only a distant feeling of satisfaction.

The hellhound - which, to Mason's surprise and vague amusement, now appeared to be wearing a suit of armor - suddenly bounded past the sniper to the front of the group. Mason snorted derisively. I wonder if this overgrown dachshund was one of the wolves that chased me for all those years. Already, the eternity of running through the snow seemed like another life in Mason's memory. I wonder if he remembers me - the soul they never caught. The idea pleased Mason's sense of professional pride.

Claire - the woman had mentioned her name back at the warehouse - was plodding through the snow alongside the teenager who had been haranguing her a few moments ago. Mason could hear Claire behind him, ranting about Mason's use of kilometers-per-hour. Abruptly, she stopped mid-sentence, and on instinct Mason dropped one hand to his MCX and glanced over his shoulder, halfway expecting a bullet between his shoulder-blades. Sure enough, Claire was staring at him, and Mason could see recognition in her eyes.

"Fuck me," she muttered.

So she's figured out something about me. Good. Mason was under no illusions that Claire was afraid of him; people like Claire, in Mason's experience, tended to lack the capacity to fear much of anything. But if Claire had some sense of his capabilities, then at least she was (probably) less likely to take a shot at Mason any time the mood struck her. That, in turn, allowed Mason to focus on more important things, like navigation and reconnaissance.

A tiny, tiny smile flickered across the sniper's face, and he turned back to the path ahead. His boots sank deep into the snow under the weight of his pack, but he nevertheless walked quickly, confidently, tirelessly. Mason's whole body fell into the rhythm of his walking, from the swivel of his head as his eyes searched the horizon for threats down to the tiny twisting of his ankles as he unconsciously checked his footing with each step. It was not to strength that Mason trusted; it was to efficiency of motion, and to grim endurance. Let others glide across the snow, Mason thought. I am a professional, and I will do the job with what I'm given, and I will still be plodding on when the magic tricks of the demons and the Nazi have laid them back in their frozen graves.

The second Nazi suddenly appeared on a pair of skis, gliding across the snow toward the head of the column of HARPers. Skis are not a bad idea, Mason reflected, although, from what I've heard, they won't be of much use anywhere but in this Circle. The Nazi's smug smile and mocking jibe failed to provoke a rise in the sniper - if for no other reason than the fact that Mason was, in his own way, enjoying the wintery walk. Hard work, toward a clear goal, with clear progress to show for it. It had been too long since Mason had known such a thing.

But there was no point in letting the benefits of the Nazi's skis go to waste. Mason raised his voice to call over to the other man. "If you want to make yourself useful, scout ahead." The Nazi could move faster on skis, reconnoitering an area before the other HARPers reached it. "Let us know if there's trouble. Don't engage without support." Mason shrugged slightly, or as much as he could with a forty-pound rucksack on his back. "You're more likely to make it as part of the group than alone. Do your part for us, and I'll do my part for you." Mason nodded to the horizon, a peremptory dismissal. "Get going."
Last edited by Reverend Norv on Mon Mar 02, 2015 8:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
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Nekronia
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Postby Nekronia » Mon Mar 02, 2015 10:18 pm

Occupied Deutschland wrote:-realization that Mason is a snipper-

Claire began walking again, twisting her head to glare at the boy who was following her. Oh God, he was like a puppy, an exceptionally annoying, naïve puppy! He’d imprinted on her when she’d made eye contact! Why had she had to make eye contact? Shit, shit, shit.

But he had called the soldier gay, so at least he had a few proper sensibilities buried in there...That’ll do, puppy. That’ll do.

“Bucko, I’ve got two quick questions for you.” Claire said as she began moving again. “First of all, much as I enjoy calling you ‘bucko’, what the devil is your name? I may end up threatening your life at some point in the near future, and not using someone’s actual name when you’re doing something like that I've always thought to be terribly rude.”

Claire held up a gloved hand with two fingers raised to forestall any answer on that point and continued, “Second, doesn’t this whole cockamamie situation seem a bit ridiculous?” Claire twisted her neck to try and look at the boy, though she could only spot him out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, you ever read the Bible? Ain’t nothing in there about random chances at getting out of hell. Seems a teensy bit on the nonsensical side to this girl. I mean, if I were running this place, I imagine giving some group of schmucks some hope of escape and then jerking the rug out from under them would be a pretty funny thing to do. Just to see them squirm. What if this is Satan's idea of a knee-slapper?”


Jackie trotted alongside the sociopath so they could hold their conversation more conveniently, side-by-side instead of having to twist. The girl he found more tolerable than the rest of the group had asked him his name, alongside some hypothetical questions about their quest. The former warranted a simpler response, whereas the latter warranted... uh... Jackieducation. In an overdramatic manner, Jackie threw his arm up as though to say 'Alas, poor Yorick', and proudly stated with emphasis, "I am Kira!"

After a short moment, the brat turned his hand over and moved it lazily, as though to shoo the previous lie away. "Nah, nah. Name's Jackie; I died just a few days before 2021 on my nineteenth birthday (♪Happy birthday to me♪). Ice to meet you, et cetera, et cetera." Acting as though he hadn't dropped a bad pun in relation to their arctic environment, John proceeded to nonchalantly start rambling in response to her second question. He didn't even bother to give his last name as he didn't feel too attached to his inherited name, and he certainly didn't give his first name given how badly he hated being referred to by it. Neglecting those details, he began his strange response:

"As for the whole adventure, eh. Hell's extremely vague in the Bible, and the King James has plenty of mistranslations alongside bias from the ol' Catholic Church's interpretation at the time of writing. I mean, the word Hell doesn't even show up in the Bible, with some random things like a specific ancient burial pit being mistranslated as Hell. Modern Christianity has more influence from Greek philosophers than from the actual book it's based upon, especially since no one reads the original thing and only reads translations then massacres cities over the biased interpretations' details which lack any basis in reality in the first place. The closest thing to Hell is Lord Generic Evil Guy being thrown into a 'pit of gnashing teeth and thorns' or something like that. I mean, the most accurate depiction of Hell in modern media is Boba Fett falling into the Sarlacc on Tatooine. And that wasn't even intentional. This depiction's much closer to the much later version of Hell depicted in Dante's Divine Comedy, which is actually of questionable accuracy to his time's version of Hell. However, despite this, the fictional work would ultimately affect later interpretations of Christianity, creating yet another step away from the Bible and the original version. In conclusion, the Bible is completely wrong and this whole situation is fucking retarded. As far as we know now, Yahweh's the one stuck in the ice and Satan's the one ruling with a mentally-ill fist. Given the conversations I've overheard, it seems to still be 'God's in control from his alternate dimension, Satan's still a shithead prisoner in Hell'."

"So, yeah, going by 'normal' logic, we have no givens. Just guns and magic swords. Roll for brain damage, because this whole premise is nonsense. But what do I know, IIII'm just some mantis-peddling atheist who doesn't believe in Hell." The nerd ended his rant by watching his breath writhe its way out of the scarf wrapped around his head as he maintained his steady walk alongside Claire on the ice.
The Templar High Council wrote:The number of times Nek makes sense is grossly outnumbered by the times he doesn't.
IC Info: TL;DR verson of Nekronia: Authoritarian government with elements of the USSR and national socialism. Everyone works for the government, and buys from the government, obsoleting taxes as the money does not leave the country, save for government buying of items of foreign nations. Military is advanced but unconventional, focusing on infantry and psychological warfare. Primary method of national income is export of armaments and other war-related items.

OOC Info: I am a male and an atheist.
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Barapam
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Postby Barapam » Tue Mar 03, 2015 6:01 am

Reverend Norv wrote:[...] there was no point in letting the benefits of the Nazi's skis go to waste. Mason raised his voice to call over to the other man. "If you want to make yourself useful, scout ahead." The Nazi could move faster on skis, reconnoitering an area before the other HARPers reached it. "Let us know if there's trouble. Don't engage without support." Mason shrugged slightly, or as much as he could with a forty-pound rucksack on his back. "You're more likely to make it as part of the group than alone. Do your part for us, and I'll do my part for you." Mason nodded to the horizon, a peremptory dismissal. "Get going."

Daniel didn't like Kane's bossing tone, the Arab-American acted as if he was his superior officer, which of course was absurd. His proposal was however still a good idea, he couldn't argue against that. There was just one catch: He didn't have a radio.

"All right. I can do it." The Nazi smiled. "But when, and I say when - not if, I encounter the red-skinned, long-tailed, blackbearded demons with hooked noses, yellow eyes, and goat feet, how will you know? I have neither binoculars or a walkie-talkie with me, so if I'm going to believe that you're not simply trying to get rid off me early on, I suggest you lend me the gears I need."

Would they trust him? If he had been in their position, he wasn't sure he would have, knowing himself. He had to hope they were softer than him, or at least more naive.

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Cylarn
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Postby Cylarn » Tue Mar 03, 2015 8:28 am

Lawrence looked at young Jackie, and he gave a frown. He had no idea whatsoever what the kid was even talking about, as he knew nothing of modern pop culture. The only reference he got was Divine Comedy, which he had read - and forgotten - while still a cadet at The Citadel. No matter the unknown references that Jackie made, Lawrence had a low opinion of the boy's attitude, which was magnitudes different from the conduct of youth during his time. Back then, kids were taught to respect adults, to be obedient and use proper manners. They were strong, hard-working, especially with regards to the American settlers heading west and the Boers. Tired of the kid's chatter, he lifted up his right hand and prepared to trudge out along the side and give the boy a taste of his open palm.

However, he thought better of it. Amid the confusing passage, Jackie mentioned his age. Lawrence had only been 19 when he earned his commission, 20 when he fought his first battle. He had to excuse the boy for his age, and because in-fighting would get him nowhere. He dropped his hand, and decided to engage the group in conversation.

"Miscreants!" he declared. "Tell me of yourselves, so we may all be familiar of one another. I'd like names, occupations, where you're from, what you specialize - or think you specialize - in."
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Postby Occupied Deutschland » Wed Mar 04, 2015 6:48 am

Nekronia wrote:...
"So, yeah, going by 'normal' logic, we have no givens. Just guns and magic swords. Roll for brain damage, because this whole premise is nonsense. But what do I know, IIII'm just some mantis-peddling atheist who doesn't believe in Hell." The nerd ended his rant by watching his breath writhe its way out of the scarf wrapped around his head as he maintained his steady walk alongside Claire on the ice.

Claire stared at Jackie for a long moment after he’d finished. She’d always considered herself somewhat well-read, at least in comparison to the other people around her, but the Divine Comedy? Like, from the Medieval Ages? And had he just included it in a rambling speech about depictions of Hell? Wait, had he just referenced fricken’ Star Wars? Boba Fett was Star Wars, she wasn’t so out-of-touch as to not recognize that one, but what the devil was the Sarlacc? And how the holy hell did you connect those two to the same point?

Claire shook her head to dismiss the errant thought. It hadn’t exactly been the answer she’d expected. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected. But it certainly hadn’t been that. The puppy had surprised her, and not in an ‘accident on the new carpet’ kind of way but in a ‘holy shit the puppy can speak and has a flair for the dramatic’ kind of way.

“What a fun way of thinking about it, Jackie-boy. On the bright side, at least it’s nonsense in our favor, right?“ Claire was about to continue, but was instead interrupted.

Cylarn wrote:...
"Miscreants!" he declared. "Tell me of yourselves, so we may all be familiar of one another. I'd like names, occupations, where you're from, what you specialize - or think you specialize - in."

Claire shifted her eyes to the speaker, and a corner of her mouth perked up. ‘Miscreant’. Now there was one of those old-school insults that nobody used anymore. She kind of liked it. It reminded her of her younger years. It was a bit too tame to accurately sum them up, but it sure had some style that ‘cold-blooded murderer’ or other such descriptors lacked. Why did everybody always use 'cold-blooded murderer' anyways? As an expression it didn't make much sense, and besides that it got so dull after a few hundred or thousand repetitions. Now 'miscreant', that was a change of pace she could get on-board with. It was like turning back the clock.

“Hello! I’m Claire Trahan and I’m a hot-blooded murderer," Claire's grin widened for a moment, "Who did some drug-running and gun-running and human trafficking and, well, a lot of those other objectionable ‘-ing’ words back up in the early 21st century. I’m from Montana, and I like long walks in the freezing cold and shooting up places. Or, alternatively, supplying other people with the means to shoot themselves up. Heroin or Hornady, made no difference to me.” Claire sing-songed the line as if it were an advertisement on the radio. "I'm a Gemini, and my horoscope always said that made me unpredictable or something. Pleased to meet'cha." Claire sketched the man a mocking salute with three fingers.
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Malshan
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Postby Malshan » Wed Mar 04, 2015 8:28 am

Cylarn wrote:"Miscreants!" he declared. "Tell me of yourselves, so we may all be familiar of one another. I'd like names, occupations, where you're from, what you specialize - or think you specialize - in."


One thing to be noted was that, as with all canines, hellhounds have extraordinary hearing. So when Lycaon heard the human male toss out the petty insult to the group, he felt obliged to respond and correct the man's behavior. Normally this would be accomplished by ripping his soul in two and slowly devouring the man's still beating heart. However, different rules were in effect now as opposed to his normal days in the wintery forests of his unlife.

So Lycaon opted for a more measured approach. Especially now that the souls in question apparently had weapons capable of harming demons and other souls. Lycaon had been shot at before, but never had the rounds penetrated the thick layers of ice, snow, and scales that covered his body.

Lycaon split off from his route straight away from the group and circled back around in a large counterclockwise motion. He loped up alongside Lawrence, towering over the soul. Lycaon huffed, blasting the soul with an icy blast with power akin to a leafblower before speaking for the first time in company since the first few decades in Hell. His voice was deeply resonant, rich with bass tones that commanded a certain respect from his subjects when he was still alive.

"Curb your tongue, low born cur! You are in the presence of Λυκαων (Lycaon), son of Pelasgus by Cyllene, King of Arcadia! I created and maintained the only utopia on the planet until the gods themselves arrived to challenge me. When that bastard Zeus arrived, he slew my people and cast me into this infernal place. In more recent millennia, I have taken up the role of the Alpha Hellhound of the Seventh Ring. I have not once lost a soul which I've pursued."

Lycaon smiled cruelly, "And the taste of soul blood far surpasses any mortal food of my time."
ET IN ARCADIA EGO
A certain therianthropy thing.
*sigh*
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Dude, don't insult the werefurry.

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Cylarn
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Postby Cylarn » Wed Mar 04, 2015 9:14 am

Before Lawrence could respond to the squall, he was promptly surprised and knocked to the ground by the hellhound, but he did not show fear. Although his bones and flesh were chilled by the icy breath of the beast, he narrowed his eyes at the beast, giving it a firm glare. He knew not how many years he had spent in Hell, but he had witnessed horrors beyond comprehension. Lawrence was not intimidated by the show of force, interpreting it as impulsiveness, and an inherent inability to comprehend deprecating humor. Hopefully, his fellow souls saw what he saw, and he kept his hands down, as a sign that he was not willing to compromise the integrity of their motley crew of miscreants.

He listened intently to the dog's sob story. Royalty...cast down here for violating the natural order... He did not believe in Greek lore, but he knew that anything was possible, even Hell. The concept of a utopia was a flawed one; simple human nature prevented coexistence, and one group had to be in control in order for the cogs, gears, and levers of society to turn sufficiently. The same thing applied in the South; for the entire region to remain economically viable, servitude and labor were hand-in-hand. Everyone living peacefully? It could not happen.

At the dog's threat, Lawrence gave a smirk and cocked his head to the side, maintaining eye contact.

"And I have heard many Chinamen say that dog meat is a most succulent delicacy," he said, before lifting himself to his feet and maintaining eye contact with the animal. "You'd best learn not to threaten me, dog. You need me as much as I need you, and since you so claim to be a leader, you should understand that concept. If you wish to pursue a policy of violence against me, then I will respond in kind. Expect the others to see you as nothing more than a rabid dog, as well. We're in this together, like it or not. I will fight alongside you, and relinquish my participation in this program, but if you continue to behave in an aggressive manner, then I assure you that you may very well soon return to your pack."

His rifle was gripped in his right hand, though the barrel was pointed down. If the demon wanted to kill him, it could very easily do it. Lawrence observed the creature's further movements, readying himself in case a fight broke out. He knew that none of his companions felt any loyalty towards him, but he knew that they could comprehend a threat.
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Nekronia
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Postby Nekronia » Wed Mar 04, 2015 6:15 pm

Occupied Deutschland wrote:“What a fun way of thinking about it, Jackie-boy. On the bright side, at least it’s nonsense in our favor, right?“
Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. SOMEBODY ACTUALLY SEEMS TO BE STARTING TO GET IT. CODE RED, CODE RED!

Oh great, now Gen Lee's trying to start a group chat.


Occupied Deutschland wrote:-grand poobah of villainy-
Boing.

Seriously, stop being so perfect god damn it. Composed of 100% real waifu mater- Wait. Oh, she's probably faking something somewhere, given the low odds of someone being this perf'. She IS from the circle of fraud, after all, so lying to make oneself seem more dangerous, intelligent, or useful isn't much of a stretch. Dammit. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted.


While cynicism began to kick in and kick Jackie out of craving someone more than twice his age, he observed his increasingly-chaotic surroundings. To be specific, Lycaon bellowing at the ex-Confederate. Either the furry's Drax, or he's trying to be top dog in this group in one of the most moronic manners possible for his context. Eh, probably both. Ancient characters tend to be out-of-touch and-or humorless for some reason. At least Lee's got some balls.

Maintaining his walk alongside Claire and slowly leaving the two allies to duke it out, he dismissively mocked the dog with only a partially-turned head and a hand-wave. "I AM JACKIE FRIEDMAN, DESCENDANT OF DRACULA, KING OF ARCADES. Yeah, yeah, inherited power and used it, got sent to Hell for having moral standards and actions separate from Christ Ahmahteh's, fear me for I am a dangerous killer, fuck with me and I'll kill you, blah blah blah. Isn't that every other person's story here? Ugh. It's getting older than you at this point. At least threatening to eat people is new to the group, but the effect's kinda lost when that trick's been played out during our sentences so often. I mean for FUCK'S SAKE I was using a previous iteration of my leg to farm those drug bugs that fly around pestering people. That's how mundane mutilation is, I use the leftovers from trying to flirt and bargain as mantis mulch. OH NO, I'M DYING! OH NO, IT'S PAIN! It gets boring after the millionth fucking time. At this point your threat is just ‛OH NO I'LL GET KICKED OUT OF THE TEST’ instead of ‛OH NO MY FLESH WILL BE RENT APART AND DIGESTED BY A FLEA-MAGNET’. If you're going to start threatening people who've literally been in Hell for a while, you really need to try to get creative. Besides, like Larry said, shooting eachother up is just shooting yourself in the foot in the long run. Even if you're ‛alpha’ of the seventh ring, I really doubt you can fight off every single member of the seventh ring by yourself, let alone all of Hell. Given your flipping your shit at some mild joking, you'll still lose to hubris if you try this alone."

"By the way, nice comeback Lars."

STILL keeping his back to the irritated magical being that could undoubtedly rip him in half on half of a whim, John then began a calm response to Claire as though his rant to the demon had never happened. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty confident that we're gonna win if we don't do something outrageously idiotic like what the furry looks like he'll do, but that would require leaving 'normal' logic to explain my reasoning fully. But doing my best: this whole situation is extremely unlikely and given how nonsensical and unlikely everything that's happened is, it would be REALLY unsurprising to me if one more impossible thing happened." Even disregarding the fact that the reason he danced around is that he thinks they're all fictional in order to better-explain the situation, the situation was still becoming increasingly crazy.


Given that Jackie STILL kept his back on the disgruntled Lycaon, you can easily tell that he has very poor survival instincts.
Last edited by Nekronia on Wed Mar 04, 2015 8:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Templar High Council wrote:The number of times Nek makes sense is grossly outnumbered by the times he doesn't.
IC Info: TL;DR verson of Nekronia: Authoritarian government with elements of the USSR and national socialism. Everyone works for the government, and buys from the government, obsoleting taxes as the money does not leave the country, save for government buying of items of foreign nations. Military is advanced but unconventional, focusing on infantry and psychological warfare. Primary method of national income is export of armaments and other war-related items.

OOC Info: I am a male and an atheist.
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Rupudska
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Postby Rupudska » Thu Mar 05, 2015 10:38 am

Cylarn wrote:Lawrence looked at young Jackie, and he gave a frown. He had no idea whatsoever what the kid was even talking about, as he knew nothing of modern pop culture. The only reference he got was Divine Comedy, which he had read - and forgotten - while still a cadet at The Citadel. No matter the unknown references that Jackie made, Lawrence had a low opinion of the boy's attitude, which was magnitudes different from the conduct of youth during his time. Back then, kids were taught to respect adults, to be obedient and use proper manners. They were strong, hard-working, especially with regards to the American settlers heading west and the Boers. Tired of the kid's chatter, he lifted up his right hand and prepared to trudge out along the side and give the boy a taste of his open palm.

However, he thought better of it. Amid the confusing passage, Jackie mentioned his age. Lawrence had only been 19 when he earned his commission, 20 when he fought his first battle. He had to excuse the boy for his age, and because in-fighting would get him nowhere. He dropped his hand, and decided to engage the group in conversation.

"Miscreants!" he declared. "Tell me of yourselves, so we may all be familiar of one another. I'd like names, occupations, where you're from, what you specialize - or think you specialize - in."


Anna rolled her eyes. Even if now was as good a time as any for introductions, it didn't mean she had to like it. And she didn't like the 'miscreants' comment either. It was like getting berated by her grandfather. Which, judging by his clothes, didn't seem that far off.

"Anna Sniegowski, general practitioner of medicine, Chicago, and bone fractures. In that order."

"And Jason, or whatever your name is, try to avoid antagonizing the overgrown wolfdog. If he actually has been here longer than you have, I'm pretty damn sure he's a lot more creative when it comes to torturing than the common pug-faced demon fatass."

Anna had a feeling she and Jackie wouldn't get along. He reminded her a lot of this drug dealer that used to operate not far from her home. Used to. He probably made it into hell before her when she 'accidentally' ran over him. Charges were dropped when the jury 'decided' that he had 'ran in front of her', and thus she wasn't to blame. Amazing what a bit of money could do.
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Malshan
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Postby Malshan » Thu Mar 05, 2015 8:48 pm

Nekronia wrote:
Maintaining his walk alongside Claire and slowly leaving the two allies to duke it out, he dismissively mocked the dog with only a partially-turned head and a hand-wave. "I AM JACKIE FRIEDMAN, DESCENDANT OF DRACULA, KING OF ARCADES. Yeah, yeah, inherited power and used it, got sent to Hell for having moral standards and actions separate from Christ Ahmahteh's, fear me for I am a dangerous killer, fuck with me and I'll kill you, blah blah blah. Isn't that every other person's story here? Ugh. It's getting older than you at this point. At least threatening to eat people is new to the group, but the effect's kinda lost when that trick's been played out during our sentences so often. I mean for FUCK'S SAKE I was using a previous iteration of my leg to farm those drug bugs that fly around pestering people. That's how mundane mutilation is, I use the leftovers from trying to flirt and bargain as mantis mulch. OH NO, I'M DYING! OH NO, IT'S PAIN! It gets boring after the millionth fucking time. At this point your threat is just ‛OH NO I'LL GET KICKED OUT OF THE TEST’ instead of ‛OH NO MY FLESH WILL BE RENT APART AND DIGESTED BY A FLEA-MAGNET’. If you're going to start threatening people who've literally been in Hell for a while, you really need to try to get creative. Besides, like Larry said, shooting eachother up is just shooting yourself in the foot in the long run. Even if you're ‛alpha’ of the seventh ring, I really doubt you can fight off every single member of the seventh ring by yourself, let alone all of Hell. Given your flipping your shit at some mild joking, you'll still lose to hubris if you try this alone."


Lycaon was grievously injured in the worst way possible; his pride had taken a beating when the humans began taunting him. Short-fused as he was both in life and afterlife, it never took long to incite a response, usually violent, from the king. And the fast track to detonation was to patronize and belittle him. Of course, after millennia in Hell, Lycaon had learned to temper his rage with the knowledge that he could exact cruel and terrible vengeance upon those who wronged him, whether they be demon or soul.

So not only did he put his rage into use by dismembering, castrating, disemboweling, eviscerating, and otherwise cause grievous physical trauma to his victims, but he also played the psychological game. Hellhounds have the ability to appear to the viewer as that which they most fear, of course.

So Lycaon's form slowly shimmered as shadows overtook him, though the rest of the group would only see him glowering at Jackie. The pissant in question, however, would feel the full weight of Lycaon's mind driving down into his soul, picking it clean of all that he feared and then channeling it directly into his mind's eye. Lycaon poured his power through Jackie's very being, trapping him in a living nightmare as he slowly advanced upon his prey. For Jackie, time slowed to a crawl; hours, weeks, and years blurred together and passed in his mind while only seeming seconds to those on the outside. For years, Jackie was chased through his mind by gigantic arachnids that taunted him with all of his failings while hunting him down through a labyrinth of quaking, heaving walls of sticky silks. The labyrinth's walls echoed Lycaon's growls and manic laughter as the spiders caught him over and over, pouring their legs into his mouth and crawling down his throat. Time and time again they ate his organs and burst from every orifice they could find. Eggs planted in his eyes and massive hairy tarantulas used his face as a grindstone for their fangs.

Time and time again, the world reset itself and the nightmare played out over again, each time feeling as real and fresh as the first, with Jackie sprinting through the maze of his mind and time and time again being caught and devoured by those he feared most.

Stalking Jackie while he was trapped in the dream world was nothing but child's play. Lycaon towered over the soul, a guttural growl sounding in his throat. Allowing the dream world to slip and vanish, returning Jackie's mind to the present, Lycaon gave him no time to recover, impaling the soul on all ten of his front claws and lifting him high into the air so that he slid down the length of the hellhound's grip. Lycaon had learned from those who had designed the infamous torture device called the Iron Maiden and had perfected the art of causing the maximum amount of pain without causing extraordinary physical damage. He applied this method meticulously, piercing the soul's flesh and lapping up the blood that flowed wetly from the wounds. His tongue scoured the flesh from his soul's bones, feeling like a cheese grater being dragged up and down his limbs.

Lycaon tossed the soul to the ground and stepped on him, pinning the body to the ice with a vice grip. He reached down and methodically ripped Jackie's arms from his body and applied the dream world again, forcing Jackie to watch and feel the scurrying feet of spiders flowing where there would have been blood.

Finally, Lycaon landed back on all fours and howled at Jackie, projecting the visage of a giant huntsman spider over his own and crunching down on the soul's neck, siphoning the last of his juices out through his jugular.

With a sigh, Lycaon sat back on his haunches and licked the still warm blood from his claws in satisfaction. Confident that he had made his point and avenged his pride, he laid down next to the pile of flesh that had been Jackie as he waited for the soul to respawn.

Though, what would respawn might not be what had been Jackie before...
Last edited by Malshan on Sat Mar 07, 2015 11:30 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Olthar » Thu Mar 05, 2015 10:01 pm

While Lexi had been silently walking amidst the group, she stopped to witness the exchange between Jackie and Lycaon. Throughout it all, she remained silent, but her expression became more and more horrified. At the end of it all, she was the first to speak up.

"What the fuck!? That dog can talk!? I didn't know they could do that! I thought they were all mindless beasts! This is weird."

After having made her comment, the succubus continued walking onwards, ignoring the rest of what happened.



For Maralah, she didn't bother caring about any of it. That event had been just about the most normal thing that had happened that day.
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Postby Nekronia » Sat Mar 07, 2015 6:09 pm

Malshan wrote:-HOLY SNIPPING MOTHER OF GOD THAT WAS PAINFUL-
And thus, Anna's prophecy was fulfilled and the cocky child of the group was suddenly cut off from the world, trapped in an illusion that lasted for years within seconds. The real Jackie suddenly stopped walking, staring blankly ahead at the frozen wastes as his mind was suddenly assaulted with the horrific daydreams of his severe specific phobia: spiders.

It was the most intense, utter, and complete fear Jackie had felt in his entire life or even after it. It was a more intense fear than the entirety of his life's fear combined. More than all unpleasantness of his stay in Hell combined. It lasted hours, then days, then months, then years. If Jackie was dying a slow and painful death of constipation, this would be the miracle cure to end all miracle cures for it. (Thankfully Jackie hadn't eaten recently so no messiness. None of us want to deal with that.) Strangely enough, the only flaw in Lycaon's strategy was over-doing it. The fear was too vast, irrational, and all-consuming to create true despair, and making the phobia-abuse last for years was playing the incomprehensible torture too long and allowing Jackie all the time in the world to slowly become jaded to his phobia. It took months upon months, but eventually the torture lost its effect. It was still unsettling and extremely painful and unpleasant, but the span of time for reflection and adaptation was too long. So the irrational fear phase skipped over despair into jading and sanity damage. There was more effort than necessary, and the surplus sentencing in the mental prison jaded Jackie so that there was only slightly more discomfort than a normal person would have at suddenly being mauled to death and having spiders crawling their way out of his real body then having his life drained via the throat by a giant horrifying spider. So, all in all, it was quite a horrific torture for Jackie the likes of which were unparalleled and would likely never be even close to contested by anything being, human or magical, could ever conceive, but there was too much time for gathering wits involved for the maximum effect on the incessant shithead.

After being attacked mentally and killed physically, there was just a bloody, mangled corpse with a grayer-than-usual skintone. A few moments after the king's feast, Jackie began to get back the minor color his pale skin had and writhed from one side to the other in order to get his arms back on. The severed limbs re-attached, and the flesh and clothing that was damaged by his ally reknitted itself back together. Unsure if the recursive hell had actually ended, he stood up carefully and proceeded to vomit heavily onto the ice due to the intense accumulated stress. The lack of spiders in his vomit and the lack of spiders in the general area confirmed that, indeed, Jackie was back to square one and unliving again. Verfickt' Handlungrüstung...

Ignoring the small puddle of bile and blood, the local nerd muttered (with poor pronunciation) "Soshite toki wa ugokidasu" to himself before redirecting his attention towards Lycaon. Oooooh THIS motherfucker. THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. THIS FUCKER. RIGHT HERE? MORE THAN A BIT FUCKING IRRITATED TOWARDS HIM AT THE MOMENT. Resisting his (understandable) urge to attack the object of his anger, John mentally did his best to contain himself. Don't get mad, get even. Don't get mad, get even. Don't get mad, get even...

Given how the wolfman had no weapons pointed at him, the general emotional atmosphere, and the mental magic capabilities thoroughly demonstrated to him just moments before, Jackie deduced that the giant spider attacking him was an illusion of Lycaon himself attacking him. So no one saw anything other than damned-by-hubris Lycaon mauling Jackie over pride attacks. This gave Jackie an idea. The brat, acting as though he didn't just get mauled to death and horrifically tortured, proceeded with an equally custom-tailored retaliation against the object of his intense rage: He simply shrugged as things were business as usual, and lazily scratched the large stress rash on his back that was itching intensely as he scanned his peers and tried to remember people's names after the years that had passed mentally. As no one else saw the hallucinatory attack or Jackie's terror before he died, his retaliation was to not help rebuild face for Lycaon with a deception of the wolf being a simple brute and not having powerful magic capabilities. Basically, to falsely make it look like Anna was dead wrong while artificially lowering the perceived worth of the demon.

His nonchalant counterattack in progress, the now-jaded teen recollected the names and personalities of his comrades with mnemonics. Lycaon the lycan, the stupid hubris fuck that stuck me in... 'that'. Useless cheerleader from Heroes: Claire, yeah. Claire's the alleged crimelord chick I thought was a reporter. 'WHAT DO THE NUMBERS MEAN' Mason the... buzzkill Turkish-American sniper or whatever. Oh right, he kept hitting me for stupid reasons. Uuuuh... what's the confederate guy's name...? Something to do with snails or something I forg-LARRY, Larry, right. Uuuuh, succubus chick, I dunno. I forget the two Nazis' names. Did I overhear them or...? Eh, I forget. Whatever, moving along. That's the sassy doctor chick that shares part of the name of my ex. Boring ice demon. Pocahontas. Okay, we're good. Now, what was I talking about? Something about Star Wars? Aaagh. Reeeeally FUCKING ticked right now. If I don't get some fucking TV or something soon I am going to do some acrobatic FUCKING pirouette off the FUCKING handle and kick that fucking dog or someshit I DON'T FUCKING CARE OKAY I AM TWO FUCKING SECONDS AWAY FROM DROPPING MY FUCKING COOL LIKE SERIOUSLY THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING IS GOD DAMN BULLSHIT HOW CAN SOMEONE BE SO FUCKING RETARDED AS TO[...]

Still looking bored and nonchalant despite the intense stress and rage seething just beneath the charade, the ever-dissonant John was correct in the self-analysis that he needed some form of outlet soon before he gave in and did something stupid. Well, something stupid out of only impulse instead of the usual delusional deliberation. Years in a personal hell tend to build stress, y'know?




"Verfickt' Handlungrüstung": German for "Fuckin' plot armor..." or "Fuckin' plot shield..."
"Soshite toki wa ugokidasu": Japanese for "And time flows again." or something like that. He's quoting a Japanese game. Neither I nor Jackie speak Japanese and the translations vary, dangnabbit.
Last edited by Nekronia on Sat Mar 07, 2015 6:30 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Occupied Deutschland » Sun Mar 08, 2015 2:21 pm

“You were wrong, Anna. That was downright boring. Thousands of years in hell and the best he can do is tearing arms off? Please.” Claire griped, dismissively tracking the hellhound with her rifle as he sat back on his haunches. Jackie the puppy hadn’t been too good at situational awareness it seemed, though he was apparently very good at coming back to life, and big hell-puppy had an easily bruised ego. As well as a lack in the rational cost-benefit analysis part of his whole mental bits. Yes they were all evil, but was it too much to ask for some maturity from your evil? Some development and patience? Rationality she didn’t need, after all being truly screwed-up meant ignoring that one many times, but was it too much to ask for an avoidance of playground ‘I-kill-you’ evil over petty name-calling? Name-calling was part of the excitement of the game, why kill someone just because they were better at it than you? Childish.

But that was the problem dealing with savages from who-knew how-long back in time. It was all personal and direct evil to them. They didn’t plan out a treatment for their victims that would leave them broken and dysfunctional before killing them. No, it was just straightforward death. Just killing. Granted, that was certainly nothing to object to, but it was a bit underwhelming. Killing for minor reasons was just killing for minor reasons. Take the time to brutalize someone first, geez!

“Nice comeback, Jackie-boy.” She said, echoing the words the boy had spoken to Lars just before being ripped apart by the hellhound. His return was certainly…Unexpected, though. Was he just magically granted wondrous come-back-to-life powers? Or was it some kind of devious trick by the angels in charge of the HARP program they all enjoyed?

On a whim, Claire pulled the trigger on her rifle and sent a bullet into Lycaon’s head. A hole appeared on the hellhound’s head and Claire felt a spike of pride at the knowledge she had overcome whatever restriction there might be. Then the hole closed, and the demon was none the worse for wear.

“And the same to you, your Highness hellpuppy.” Claire forced out between clenched teeth. “Sorry about wasting a bullet on you.”

It would be a typically ‘heavenly’ thing to do to bar them all from killing each other so everyone had a ‘fair’ chance at making it. As if the angels or ‘God’ actually cared about fairness now when they’d dumped a bunch of people into torture for eternity because they didn’t do what Sky Magician wanted them to. Hypocrites.

“I wonder if we can even kill ourselves?” She continued, shouldering her rifle. She wasn’t going to be the one to investigate that one, though. There was an angel and his boss to kill yet, anyhow.

“You know what you were saying about impossible things happening, Jackie? I think I see what you mean. I don’t think we can kill each other.” Claire paused and took a long breath. It made sense, in an asinine goody-two-shoes bullshit way, but how could even an angel manage to be such a buzzkill? What was the point in betraying someone, committing horrific things to their still-living bodies and minds, and then killing them if they just came back? Hell, what was the point in even just killing them? It lost all its fun and meaning if they just popped back to life. Oh sure it could be enjoyable in a base, barbaric way, but there wasn’t any style or spiritual satisfaction in it. It’d be like the murder and pain-afflicting equivalent of binging on ice cream and candy bars. Claire didn’t want just ice cream and candy bars all the time, she wanted steak and potatoes! FOLLOWED by ice cream and candy bars. Or preceded by them. Or at least hypothetically available when she wanted them. Just so long as the whole meal could be there. But nooooo, angels had to steal the steak away and hide the potatoes from her! Fucking bastards with their winged shitheadery! Who the hell were they to keep her from doing something? Even if she wouldn’t have DONE it, it was still garbage to have that choice removed.

“Screw you, Angel-man. Taking all the interesting parts out of this crazy shit.” Claire muttered, tossing her head back and glaring upwards, though she was under no illusion the target of her ire could hear her. She wasn't crazy, after all.
Last edited by Occupied Deutschland on Sun Mar 08, 2015 2:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Rupudska » Tue Mar 10, 2015 5:58 pm

And then, in the distance, the accepted could hear a rather odd noise. It sounded at once like a light propeller aircraft and a very heavy sled, moving across the ice at incredible speed.

Only Daniel would recognize that sound, but all of them would know that whatever it was, it wasn't good. It was the sound of aerosanis, heavy-duty, propeller-driven sleds often used by the Soviets as light multipurpose vehicles in the Second World War and Winter War. Of course, this being the 21st Century and yuki-onna being nothing if not pragmatic during wartime, these particular aerosani were equipped with turboprop engines and a remote-controlled, turret-mounted M134 Minigun.

Were Daniel to listen close enough, he would be able to identify ten of them.
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Postby Barapam » Tue Mar 10, 2015 7:11 pm

His request for extra aid had seemingly gone unnoticed, partially interrupted by the Dixie's roll call, but instead something far more entertaining had happened. Initially a bit shocked by Lycaon's actions, he had soon seen the fun of it. Served the boy just right. To his surprise, Daniel found himself laughing. Oh, what a sight! Jackie's arms being torned off, his endless screams of panic, and afterwards his attempt at playing unaffected. Priceless! Only in Hell...

One of the women, who's name he'd forgotten, evidently then shot the dog between his eyes in retaliation for some reason, which obviously did not work. Not surprising, since...

Wait. What was that?

A sound he hadn't heard in a long time. Aerosanis. Russians. Or, remembering were he was: Demons. Whichever it might be, the enemy was coming for them. The first test. He listened. Slightly less than a dozen vehicles, if he could believe his ears.

Daniel made himself and his weapons ready. He looked at the rest of his so called "team". He didn't like it, but he would need them now. Muttering some Norwegian curses, he tried to get their attention. "Listen! What you hear are aerosanis! Soviet war sleds! Now, get ready, because they're without doubt out to kill us all! And I don't think either of you are immune to it this time..." he said, with a special look on Jackie and the Greek dog-king.

Did any of them know what was coming but him? Maybe general von Schwarzthal did, but he couldn't be sure of it. Glancing out in the distance, Daniel tried to see the yuki-onnas, as the sound came closer.

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Postby Nekronia » Wed Mar 11, 2015 12:25 am

Occupied Deutschland wrote:-Claire it's rude to blow people's brains out-
“You know what you were saying about impossible things happening, Jackie? I think I see what you mean. I don’t think we can kill each other.”
-Calling Gabriel a buzzkill is also rude-
Just when Jackie was about to explode, good ol' Claire was there to calm him down and bring some grim satisfaction in a lead package. Petty vengeance being partially sated, the teen was also delighted to hear Claire slowly being swayed (or, at least, sounding like it to Jackie) to his odd perspective. John was slowly moving from wanting to kick Lycaon in the face to wanting to give Claire a pat on the back, so he responded appropriately. No, he didn't give her a pat on the back, that would be too direct and obvious. Also being covered in one's own frozen blood would probably make things awkward. So in Jackie fashion, he gave a light smile towards the spree killer through his scarf and whipped out his MP3 player with his left hand, playing the obligatory sound clip as a response to Claire's statement. However, his silly celebration was cut short by a sound in the far distance coupled with the closer sound of Daniel's warning.

Barapam wrote:Daniel made himself and his weapons ready. He looked at the rest of his so called "team". He didn't like it, but he would need them now. Muttering some Norwegian curses, he tried to get their attention. "Listen! What you hear are aerosanis! Soviet war sleds! Now, get ready, because they're without doubt out to kill us all! And I don't think either of you are immune to it this time..." he said, with a special look on Jackie and the Greek dog-king.
Internally cackling at Daniel's nondeluded thinking that Jackie could die, the team brat reflected on what could be done about the situation. The idea of a modern age power such as the Soviets having war sleds was mildly amusing but an obvious possibility, but that led to a realization when the trickster put two and two together. The WWII soldier could recognize the Red Army's war sled. The war sleds had audible propellers. Sleds have skis. Everyone's sliding on ice.

In that moment, the team's resident trickster had the widest shit-eating grin imaginable under his scarf. Quietly humming Disco Inferno to himself, he slid his iPod back into his pocket and rummaged through his satchel. He pulled out two items: The blessed slingshot and one of his incendiary grenades. He held the slingshot in his right hand and pulled back the final resting place for the grenade in the other, aiming at a high arc towards the incoming hostiles. BUT THAT WOULDN'T BE ROUNDABOUT AT ALL, NOW WOULD IT? Jackie then proceeded to aim at the frozen ground just infront of the main group, pull the pin with his teeth like an action star, and launch the grenade sliding forward with it leaving a spread-out streak of burning thermate and molten iron. John would have just used his hands to lob it, but he figured that a blessed slingshot would probably ruin Hell's ice faster. There were two possible outcomes for this step of his zany scheme, presuming that the ice wasn't magically impenetrable: It would either become a pond that would ruin any vehicles/victims that slid into it, or the water would evaporate enough from the several thousand degree fire to create a tough trench for the group to take cover in in the flat wasteland. A trap or some cover. Woohoo.

Then Jackie put his slingshot back in his satchel and slid the used grenade's ring over his finger, monologuing to himself as though reenacting a play. "Oh, sweet Creator! Your compassion has touched me! Bless ya, Victor! Now I may know true companionship, oh thank ya, thank ya! Truly a moment of unbridled gaiety and joy such as this is nowhere to be seen in any land!" Dancing to himself while giving his bizarre speech to the air, Jackie was back to being annoying as usual. If you want a practical reason for the dancing, erratic movement tends to make you harder to hit, especially when the hostiles are too close for it to be worth wasting ammo on and there's no cover anywhere. ♪Hmmm hmmm hm hmmmm~♪


Oh, let's not forget Jackie failing to inform anyone of his plan or if he had one. Informing everyone of why he just lit a random patch of ice on fire would be the obvious course of action, NOW WOULDN'T IT?!
Last edited by Nekronia on Wed Mar 11, 2015 10:12 am, edited 1 time in total.
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IC Info: TL;DR verson of Nekronia: Authoritarian government with elements of the USSR and national socialism. Everyone works for the government, and buys from the government, obsoleting taxes as the money does not leave the country, save for government buying of items of foreign nations. Military is advanced but unconventional, focusing on infantry and psychological warfare. Primary method of national income is export of armaments and other war-related items.

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Postby Videssos » Wed Mar 11, 2015 1:40 am

Quietly having bore witness to the earlier events, such as the amusing brat's dismemberment by the Griechisch-hund, and Claire's headshot at the dog, following the incident, Alexander's senses had continuously been trained on his surroundings, and indeed, like Daniel, he was once of the first to hear the sound of the Russian aerosanis. Though he had not spent the majority of the war purely on the eastern front, the SS general had nonetheless been there a number of times, and similarly, had been involved in a fair degree of fighting with the Soviets in many of those instances. He recognised them rather rapidly, recalling that there were a number of variations developed by the Soviets. Naturally, they would be camouflaged, and would, certainly in this, offensive instance, have 7.62mm machine guns on the front, and be lightly armoured, supporting non-armed transport ones, unless there had been upgrades since the war. Which was of course possible. The engines sounded a little different, which raised said possibility, somewhat. From the apparent speed of their approach, they may have forgone armour, or upgraded their engines. Or both.

Readying himself for an imminent conflict, Alexander von Schwarzthal's already present smile widened, his silver gaze oddly bright. With the StG 44 ready, and the three grenades within easy reaching distance, he chuckled at the state of affairs, a hell in which the demons mirrored the real world in a variety of ways, this circle with Soviet equipment being utilised against them, and the circle he'd been in previously, being ruled over by demons replicating various elements of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, for whatever reasons they might find. Another amusing thing was what that youngster, Jackie, had done in an attempt to utilise some primitive form of tactics. Although the assault rifle he possessed wasn't a particularly long range weapon, it did have a ZF 4 telescopic sight, which would make things a bit easier when the Russian snowmobiles grew within range. Organising the ragtag group would likely be difficult, especially with a non-existent chain of command, and a number of people and ...things, likely less than eager to obey. For now, he would deal with the issue as best as possible.
Last edited by Videssos on Wed Mar 11, 2015 3:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Olthar » Wed Mar 11, 2015 4:15 am

For the most part, Maralah had been lost in her own world, pondering thoughts on the nature of her situation. As such, she hadn't paid enough attention to ger surroundings to notice the sound of incoming enemies. However, she snapped back to reality, if this could be called that, at Daniel's warning.

Now focused, she heard the sound clearly. Pulling three arrows out of her quiver, the ancient spirit nocked one in the bow while keeping the other two in her hand. Facing the direction of the noise, she aimed up high at a 45° angle and pulled back. After letting the arrow fly, she quickly shot the second then the third, firing them all off in a timeframe of about a second.

Before she could prepare more arrows, however, Maralah noticed a peculiarly. Shortly after launching her three arrows, they had each split into half a dozen separate arrows. That hadn't happened earlier when she shot the wall in the warehouse. What changed? Why now? Was it a reaction to being aimed at hostile targets? Nevertheless, she couldn't worry about it at that moment and proceeded to fire off another three arrows, all of which split like before. This certainly seemed like a useful ability, assuming the arrows actually flew far enough to threaten their approaching enemies.



Lexi had been paying more attention to hear the vehicles, though she had no idea what they were. Of course, she didn't really care. All that human technology was the same to her. Due to her lack of cowardly ranged weapons, she merely moved to the front if the group and dropped into a combat pose, ready to use the hook on the back of her weapon to pull people off their mount, assuming that was at all relevant. If not, she'd merely stab the things. She was briefly distracted by Jackie's nonsense but quickly regained composure.
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Postby Barapam » Wed Mar 11, 2015 4:53 am

Daniel dove into the just made trench and quickly took his skis off. At least the annoying kid was good for something. Looking up, he heard the aerosanis coming closer. They were modernized, but the basic idea was still the same. To utterly destroy all life ahead, while gliding through the Arctic environment.

He put his MP40 to his cheek and shoulder. "Right, this stuff is enchanted... like wielding Mjølnir..." The Mosin Nagant might have been better for taking them out one and one, but there was too many now. "General!!! Any ideas!?" he yelled to the other Nazi, the man he trusted the most in in this ragtag group of sinners.
Last edited by Barapam on Wed Mar 11, 2015 11:56 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Occupied Deutschland » Wed Mar 11, 2015 1:28 pm

“Why did you drop a grenade in front of us and why in the name of goat-fuck are you dancing!” Claire screamed at Jackie as she took a knee. She could have gutted the kid. The Norwegian Nazi, Daniel, had barely finished speaking warning of the incoming ‘war sleds’—and didn’t that just make the stupidest image in Claire’s head—than Jackie had lit up a damned flaming signal fire right in front of them! The boy got points for style and drama, that was for sure, but lost a whole hell of a lot of them for randomly throwing a grenade and exposing their position.

Then again, maybe she should be thanking the kid. Soon she’d have the chance to shoot some of the denizens of hell who could, hopefully, actually die. Maybe she’d get that steak and potatoes she’d wanted after all, at least in a roundabout way. This way there was no chance of Mister Tacticool McSoldierasshole trying to make them ‘hide’ or let the demons pass by without murdering them. It seemed like the kind of thing he’d try to make them do, being too focused on ‘achieving the victory conditions’ or some such tripe to bother taking the time for some entertainment in the process. Square.

But there was no chance of that now. Jackie had seen to it. Decent kid. Kind of entertaining. Couldn’t really dance, it didn’t seem, but he was a white kid so that wasn’t too surprising was it?

“Alright, nevermind. Ignore that first question you crazy dancing bastard.” Claire finally admitted as Daniel used the newly-burned trench in the ice for cover. Frowning more than she actually felt like she needed to, Claire glared at the boy for a moment, "A little warning next time maybe, eh?"
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Reverend Norv
Minister
 
Posts: 2531
Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Wed Mar 11, 2015 5:42 pm

Mason Kane heard Lawrence's question, but said nothing. He glanced back to observe Lycaon's response, but said nothing. He watched as Jackie spoke, and then was torn apart, and then was put back together. He watched as Claire shot the hellhound in the head.

And he said nothing.

There was no point. There was walking to do. Mason knew that there would be time enough for introductions - later, around a campfire, when the day's journey was over. And while it was important to know that the HARPers would not be able to kill each other, there was no need for Mason to comment on that discovery. It's another point in our favor, the sniper reflected. Less odds of us fighting among ourselves if we can't actually do damage.

And then Mason heard it: a distant engine-roar, combined with a vague scraping sound like skis or sled runners. A vehicle. Moving fast, and getting closer. The sniper's mouth formed a tight line. That didn't take long.

"Listen!" cried the Nazi on skis. "What you hear are aerosanis! Soviet war sleds!" The rest of his words were aimed at Jackie and Lycaon, and Mason ignored them; he had learned what he needed to know. The American moved quickly, efficiently, unbuckling his rucksack and letting it fall into the snow so that he could move rapidly, readying his MSR and flipping up the cover on its scope. His mind was still, clear, bright.

And then an incendiary grenade soared over Mason's head, hit the snow in front of him, and detonated in a rush of heat. Mason reacted immediately: dropping to the ground, rolling backward, turning toward the source of the grenade, raising his rifle -

At which point he saw Jackie dancing and ranting at the top of his lungs. Distant annoyance washed over Mason, combined with a strange and dreamlike amusement. The boy just lit a giant signal fire in front of our position. The sniper shook his head. "You," he growled, "are an idiot."

Turning, Mason saw that the grenade's detonation had melted a shallow trench into the ice. One of the Nazis had already leaped into the depression, and a woman clad in furs was firing arrows at the sky; Mason could swear that they were dividing somehow in midair as they flew. The roar of engines was closer. They know where we are, Mason thought. And all we have is that trench, and a bunch of semi-trained amateurs only half of whom even have ranged weapons.

And snow. We have the terrain.

Mason bent down, and tossed his rucksack into the trench. No point endangering survival gear. Then he spoke, swiftly and clearly, for there was not much time.

"When those sleds get here, they will see the trench," Mason explained briefly. "They will move to flank us, surround us, make us face all directions from within the trench; that's the tactical advantage of their speed. We can anticipate that, and hit them when they attempt it." Mason pointed to Lycaon. "I want you on the left of the trench, about ten meters out." The sniper nodded to Lexi, and then Annis. "I want you ten meters to the right, and you ten meters behind it. The rest of us will be in the trench."

Mason raised his eyebrows. "I want you three to break through the ice, and bury yourselves underneath. Got it? Get out of sight. When the vehicles move to flank us, they should pass right next to you. When they're right on top of you, break cover and hit them with your swords and your teeth. They'll inadvertently bring themselves into range of your hand weapons by trying to surround the rest of us. We ambush their ambush, take back the initiative, force them to fight on our terms."

Mason jerked his head. "Now go. There's not much time." The sniper leaped into the icy trench. "The rest of you, with me. Let's try to thin their ranks."

With that, Mason unfolded the bipod of his rifle, and pushed its legs down into the ice on the edge of the trench; save for his shoulders and head, the sniper's whole body was protected by the ground itself. Mason nestled the MSR into his shoulder, let his cheek fall gently to rest against the stock, and carefully adjusted the zoom on his scope until the far horizon of the ice-fields was in perfect focus. Several times Mason had killed met from more than a kilometer away; in such perfectly clear air, over such level terrain, he knew that he could do so now as well. And so Mason Kane let his breathing become soft and slow and even, and he waited for the enemy to bring themselves to him.
Last edited by Reverend Norv on Mon Mar 16, 2015 6:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
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Malshan
Senator
 
Posts: 4468
Founded: Sep 08, 2010
Father Knows Best State

Postby Malshan » Wed Mar 11, 2015 6:46 pm

Lycaon was knocked off his paws with a yelp of pain as the bullet blasted through his helmet, his skull, brainmatter, and penetrated through to the other side. When he stood up, the hole had already disappeared, thanks to the apparent healing factors that the group had been given against supposed self harm.

Reverend Norv wrote:"When those sleds get here, they will see the trench," Mason explained briefly. "They will move to flank us, surround us, make us face all directions from within the trench; that's the tactical advantage of their speed. We can anticipate that, and hit them when they attempt it." Mason pointed to Lycaon. "I want you on the left of the trench, about ten meters out." The sniper nodded to Lexi, and then Annis. "I want you ten meters to the right, and you ten meters behind it. The rest of us will be in the trench."


Lycaon listened to the human issuing orders and bristled. Who did he think he was, giving a king orders like that? Especially being of non-noble birth as the human was. But Lycaon was no fool; he recognized good tactics when he heard them. Of course, back when he used to issue commands to troops on the battlefield, he'd had multiple squads of varying capabilities to command; archers slinging flaming arrows, spearmen locking shields and holding the line against incoming cavalry, and magi in support, healing the injured with power straight from the gods themselves.

But none of that was available now and had not been available those long years in the seventh circle. Lycaon knew that he would have to rely on his extreme speed to get close enough to use his teeth and claws. So he took up his position as the human indicated and, unable to resist, showered Mason with snow and ice with a flick of a paw as he loped by.

Lycaon's keen sight soon picked out the aerosanis speeding across the snow and ice and he grinned with mad pleasure. Scout vehicles were nothing to him at range, but their armaments would provide an issue at close range. So he would have to be fast; this of course was not a problem for him.

So when one of the aerosanis came within firing range, Lycaon immediately accelerated, reaching his top speed in mere partials of a second. To the casual viewer, it would seem that he had just disappeared into thin air, though a concussion of ice and air surrounded his launch point. And, thanks to the extreme cold, Lycaon quickly broke the sound barrier as the freezing temperatures fed him energy.

Lycaon, now a steel clad projectile, slammed into one of the approaching aerosanis at just under Mach .5 as he decelerated, completely destroying the vehicle's forward velocity and killing the driver instantaneously, crushing the demon under the weight of his armor. Soon after, the screaming of the gunner was silenced as a massive spurt of red blood geysered out of the top hatch. The vehicle then detonated, lobbing Lycaon back toward the group where he cratered into the snow not six feet from Mason.
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Rupudska
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20365
Founded: Sep 16, 2010
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Rupudska » Sun Mar 15, 2015 9:13 am

Olthar wrote:*snip*


Two of the aerosani found themselves under a hail of arrows. The first had its Minigun jammed stuck, which wasn't too much of a problem as it could still fire out of the one barrel that it was stuck on... once. The other was less lucky: Two arrows managed to penetrate the roof just enough to get through. And that was enough to spear the driver's skull.

Ouch. The driver yanked the steering column, perhaps a bit too hard, and rolled the aerosani over.

Malshan wrote:*snip*


The aerosani in question was violently crushed with extreme prejudice. The resulting wreck looked like it had encountered a freight train.

Unfortunately, the other aerosanis retaliated in kind, following the Grecian king's retreat with a hail of fire all the way back to the trench. Anna managed to avoid a headshot by diving into the trench just before the Minigun's fire reached it. Still, she managed to take a seating position (at the back of the trench) before Lycaon got in.

"Congratulations, Marmaduke, you managed to get them angry. And now they know exactly where we are."

She was right, on both accounts. The aerosanis were now close enough for Mason to clearly see them through his scope, and he would notice that they were headed directly towards the trench, with the crew now completely inside them to minimize the chance of a headshot.

There were still ways he could damage them with just his rifle, though - the walls of the aerosanis were relatively thin aluminum alloy, the steering joints were thin and easily broken, and if he was lucky enough, he could possibly hit the propeller to cut their speed... or get a bullet into the engine's intake.
Last edited by Rupudska on Sun Mar 15, 2015 2:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Nature-Spirits
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10984
Founded: Feb 25, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Nature-Spirits » Sun Mar 15, 2015 1:45 pm

Annis had continued to ignore the group's exchanges as they travelled across the ice fields. Lycaon's outburst was unnecessary and somewhat childish, in her opinion, but she couldn't blame the dog for its actions -- Jackie was irritating, after all.

And then, there was a sound. A strange, unfamiliar noise that the yuki-onna couldn't quite place. "Listen!" one of the humans -- Daniel -- shouted. "What you hear are aerosanis! Soviet war sleds! Now, get ready, because they're without doubt out to kill us all! And I don't think either of you are immune to it this time...."

A smile flickered across Annis's face again. The last two sentences were glaringly obvious; his comments were hardly needed. Suddenly, the procession became a flurry of momentary chaos as an explosion erupted just ahead of them, creating a burning trench, and some of the others began screaming at one of the humans -- Jackie -- who was apparently the cause. The primitive human shot arrows at the sleds -- which at this point had come into view in the distance -- and some of the group prepared their weapons.

Then, the strong, intelligent human spoke, and Annis turned to listen. He was clearly a survivor, and it would do well to pay attention when he spoke. After he explained his plan, she nodded to him -- and then the hellhound seemed to completely disregard the man and ran off to destroy one of the aerosanis himself. Idiot, she thought. What a mindless beast you are. But no matter. She reached her right hand around to her left hip to grasp the backsword fastened there, and, like a ghost, sank into the ice where Mason had directed her to do so.
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