Avatar of Andreyich

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Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current "my basement"
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1 day ago
most of them are looking for something quite specific
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17 days ago
I did. Part of advertising for my Sonichu memorabilia resale business.
2 likes
17 days ago
Even with that new data I could still beat up a trex
1 like
19 days ago
i went to karaoke and tried to push my vocal range further than it could go.
1 like

Bio

If you enjoy my posts then consider pressing here to see my 1x1 interest check. Now listen to the tale of a man far from home longing to see its greens again.



About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.

Most Recent Posts

@Jeddaven Feel like Ronto would hate the HFU more the other way around; the HFU is pretty much an embodiment of the American ultra-nationalism they despise taken to a ridiculous and religious level but the HFU doesn't really have all that much interest in Canada. They'd see it as "part of Old America" but otherwise don't really have any ideological claims on it and would rather focus on going west if they ever got that big, taking control of the lower 48 first.

Relations with the Enclave are still up in the air but in a way they see the Enclave as wayward Americanists who became too secular and abandoned the Founders looking at them with a mix of pity and religious contempt.

@TheEvanCat Oh yeah, the Ghouls are not going to like the HFU. The HFU isn't any more anti-mutant than the average wasteland state by nature or intrinsically anti-mutant, their expulsion was purely religious. I'd also like to believe that at least one preacher has wandered up to New York at some point or some merchants have crossed paths in port.

It'd honestly be kind of funny to see a super mutant in a powered wig and oversized laser musket with a roll of the constitution going around asking random New Yorkers if they've heard of the good word of the Founders and of Old America.


opinions on supermutants?
@Andreyich@ClocktowerEchos Not the way I run 'em.

cope enclaveboo
@FalloutJack To the people I'm writing up, the Enclave just look like people who got too enamored with power armor and "forgot" what America is

that's fairly accurate given the enclave are something between high tech raiders and pseudo nazis
Updated the plots.

@Mao Mao

The answer was clear, even if unspoken. The oppressors of Turkey's Turanic brethren had no intent of ceasing their criminality, and worse had come as lapdogs to the foreign conspirators responsible for the insolence.

This would not go unnoticed. Declared terrorists not abiding by the Geneva convention, the republic of Turkey swiftly found itself justifications for planned reprisals against the banditry playing at nation, especially its friends from overseas cabals. The Bosphorus straits were promptly closed to those of the red flag, an effort to cause economic harm and more importantly to reduce the ability to ship support to the Caucasus.

The invasion of the red Caucasus happened before the elapse of the deadline, Turkish troops all too eager to reclaim the birthright of their kinsmen. But the Transcaucasians proved more resilient than the hours of propaganda by film and radio they had consumed lead them to believe. The trucks and other hardy vehicles diverted to the front in an effort to show off the modernization programmes of the republic were ultimately of little effect in the mountains and hills. If anything, vehicles were proverbial barrels of fish that the well-positioned artillery of the defenders was able to both directly destroy columns, but similarly avalanches were able to create effectively impassible terrain, clesring which was a slow process at best to ensure ambushes would not ensue.

But progress was not absent. While ordonary troopers struggled, sleeping bitterly every night dreaming of the retribution they would inflict, Mountaineers, Camel troops and other specialized divisions used the opportunity to go far deeper than their comrades. Infiltrating oft well past the front line of the foe, they would first perform reconaissance operations in preparation for the vengeance they would inflict.

But this was only half of the conflict. As violence escalated abroad, the enemies of the Turkish nation saw opportunity. All the Southern Arabs along with their Kurdish allies grounded in enemy of my enemy began their attack. It was a slow affair, one done with much caution to gauge the preparation of the Turks for the event. Finding it ample, a very slow shadow war begun with no grand declarations or flags planted. In the same night as a Turkish garrison slept and entered the arms of Allah with slit throats, a Kurdish village would go up in flames from incendiary shotte. Despite the underhanded nature of the nascent conflict, it would be a mistake to call it minor if counting the sheer human impact.

For the moment, the losses upon both sides were such that rather than demanding a cessation of bloodshed, mothers and fathers demanded revenge.
Senator Thorpe closed the door to his study, locking it lest his children once more tried to get inside for a looksie about what daddy was up to. He had no idea politics would look anything like this. He should have stayed at the university, waited out his tenure and just retired in whatever remained in the blighted remains of the United States. It was as he poured himself an aged wine he noticed that the light was on, without him having turned it on when entering.

Thoughts raced through his brain, paranoia over this being some retribution for the (at the time seemingly innocent) comments he made during all those fucking meetings. He flopped onto the desk, reaching in the drawer with the gun in it before flopping yet further onto the ground, looking around for whatever intruder might have been there. After he started coughing from all the floor dust he brought up spinning on the ground, he at last got up having not spotted any sign of intrusion. He got up, opening the door and peering out to find his wife asking him what had caused the ruckus. After muttering some explanation about tripping on a sticking floorboard he once more shut the door, wiping his brow with the conclusion he simply must have left it on the night before.

That was until his hand lowered, and he found a beaming woman in his chair. He tried to scream, but as she cocked her head to one side he found himself unable. It was only after the third attempt that he gave up, prompting a nod from her. “Who the fuck are you.” He finally said.

“A friend.”

The man groaned, putting his hands to his head.

“Cut to the fucking chase, please my fucking God I don’t have the patience for this.”

She sighed. “They told me you people love this shit. Alright. I represent a special interest group that can see the troubles your country is going through. We have solutions.”

Senator Thorpe’s mind races. Special interest group? Could be just about anyone. “Who?”

“You’re on the West Coast, who the fuck do you think?”

“I’m not a traitor.”

“We’re not asking you to be. Quite the opposite. Keep doing a great job! It’ll make us look all the more credible when you become a governor.”

“You got to be fucking kidding me. Think I’m going to risk anything on the off chance commie fucks take over this place?”

She laughed. “I thought you wanted to cut to the chase? I can kill you where you stand, your family, your children, and destroy everything you’ll be longing for in whatever hell you’re sent to.”

Once more the Senator found himself unable to perform the movements he wanted. The hand bearing his pistol simply could not rise, and if anything dropped to the ground.

“Pick that up, bring it to me.” she demanded, and once the order was completed continued with “thank you.” Holding the gun she inspected it to ensure it was loaded, before putting it on one of the handles of the chair. “Not sure yet if I’ll kill you if you decline, still have the night. I don’t actually like it you know, I’m not an evil bitch. Still have time to be ordered to spare you and all. But the chaos your death would make is probably a lot more useful to the Union. So, before you try to make some grandstand sacrificing yourself and your family to avoid the horrible fate of a cushy desk job, think about all the things you’re standing for now. You’re all about the big old nuclear WASP family, but when’s the last time you’ve seen a little cluster of bright eyed kids playing happily? Save your own with that negro mistress, I’m sorry, maid you have? When’s the last time you had a vacation that was shining with equatorial sun instead of Langium?” She held out a small receipt to sign. “You’ve got like, ten seconds before I shoot you. I’ve got some fucking teenagers to give guns to.”





Proctor Yesenin strode down the corridor, fuming. He wanted to say “what is the meaning of this”, or “who do you think you are?” to all these bureaucrats stomping about his university. But he didn’t want to be laughed at in his own office.

Nevertheless, he made sure to ask very pointed questions until he was at last lead to the lab where all the attention was pointed.

Arriving there, he raised an eyebrow, spotting the acne covered intern… Vadim? Vladimir? Something with a V. Valeriy! He was surrounded by important looking men in suits, men who weren’t wearing any safety equipment and did not belong here and who’s importance wasn’t enough to justify their intrusion.

“Professor!” The student exclaimed, motioning for him to come over before running close himself. “What have you done?” Yesenin demanded, assuming some sort of crime had transpired to warrant the presence of people from without the university.

“Well, I just took the new Langium samples and well….”

It was pure accident. The boy had somehow through luck in playing with a great many artifacts created the first ever observed tachyon. The explosive results described to him certainly explained all the new lab equipment that replaced the rusting pieces from the 70s.

Slowly, the conversations that circled around him turned into a feint ringing. Government men were now ordering him around, he who so desperately avoided the subject of scientific communism from corrupting his pure place of science. A fat general strode in, discussing moonbases and deep sea submarines to tap into the rare artifact deposits that would hold the means for more of such particles to be investigated.

Yesenin felt sick. This was a place of science, one unfettered by the organized chaos that was the Soviet Union’s bureaucracy and governance. A single youth had changed it to now be a place to further the geopolitical goals of the nation’s elites. For long the Soviets had eyed all other scientific efforts with suspicion, ensuring that the ancient research apparatus of the Union published papers with more [REDACTED] than UFO documents from the 40s. Now he felt it was going to get worse. The Professor had considered using the communist arguments of internationalism and solidarity to protest this, but he knew that at best he would received auditoriums of laughter. Defection briefly entered his brain, but he knew he couldn’t get his whole family abroad. All that was left was to try to turn young minds like the young Valera on a better path.

Thinking about an Egyptian corporate state taken over for the fertile nile megafarms


“That’s all, thank you!” the photographer said. Everyone clapped, Mr. Nelson the loudest of all of the men present. With a hand motion, a pair of dragoon officers came over and both bowing before the respective representatives of China and Korea, opening the boxes they held with the gold (well, gold tinted) revolvers. “Now then, gentlemen, let’s drink!” the Secretary of State said, going down the stairwell of the manor selected for the event. The waiters were of course white Mexicans - a strange sort of fashion symbol for wealthy Whigs - but they were all instructed in functional Korean and Chinese in addition to their English literacy.

Now, Nelson had already heard of the yellow peril some men spoke of, and behind closed doors he himself was one of the people disseminating said racial topic. However, the gentlemen he was speaking with were most enchanting. Though he didn’t know a lick of Korean or Chinese their oriental ways were swaying him around. They were so… polite. Oftentimes the almost ritualistic nature of even the basic matters of everyday life that explorers to the orient had described had its own appeal. It had almost the behavioural aesthetic of Greek stoicism, and yet was so different from it in practice. The trouble of course was the it made figuring out whether or not the men had a good time ever so difficult; he would only know if he had done his job many days later, maybe even months. He wondered if in some months, or even years the ambassadors would become more American and be easier to judge. He wondered if the same was happening to all the John Smiths over in the lands of mystery.

A man tapped him on the shoulder, and he half-turned from a conversation with a Korean man in a dashing silken suit. “Sir, your attention. Europe’s calling.”





The President sat with his boots on the table of the oval office, advisors of all sorts around him.

“Mr. President, if I may-”

“Cool it Danny. You’re new to this, you’re not thinking right.” he said, speaking to a middle-aged man. “Tell them this, after you’ve had your Viennese beers. You will support a unified rail gauge for Europe, Africa. However you will insist that the rest of the conference acknowledge the supremacy of the American gauge in Asia, and the Americas. Are we in agreement gentlemen?”

There was a murmuring of half hearted agreement to the compromise from the extremes proposed by the impromptu council assembled. “Good. Now then, lunch.”




Mr. Jenifer, surrounded by a slew of translators, clerks and other staff puffed on his cigar, of course not being the only one of the delegation to do so. Politely refusing requests to stop smoking inside, a small cloud reminiscent of a steam engine emanated from the American party as it awaited the commencing of the conference. Their message was a simple one, though despite being a middle ground that the President was so insistent upon he had his doubts that the organizers of the event would agree. The Austrians weren’t full of the same conservatism their Northern cousins held, but they had the almost peacockish arrogance that had lead to the dissolution of the “Holy Roman Empire” as it had styled itself. He rummaged in his pocket, removing the pocket watch therein with a frown. He still had the Samoa and Hawaii briefings in the evening. It would certainly be a long day, and thus he hoped that at least there would be an invitation for drinks following the business being done.




A little less happily, Ambassador Jenifer sat in the much smaller conference room of the American embassy surrounded by a few staff. As a Whig, he truth be told could not endorse what he was hearing. The man presenting it, was as far as he knew also a Whig, but the fact remained that they were all hearing words they’d more expect from a Southern Democrat twirling his mustache with his legs on the back of a negro. But, the worst was hearing they didn’t really have any say in this. Neither in Samoa nor Hawaii was the domination of local industries and businesses in any way ordained by the federal government. Yet, it was being roped into supporting the very same men that the Whig government had been sworn in to curtail.

Something was wrong here. The fact American cannons and flags were flying side by side the hastily designed ones of Pacific island tribes was almost a foreshadowing of American getting dragged into wars over these God-forsaken mosquito breeding grounds that would end with thousands of good American boys dead. For land that wasn’t even a State of the Union. Well, it wasn’t up to him he supposed. He had all the faith he could in the president to ensure that the United States would act in its own interests, rather than in the interests of little cabals in the United States. Somehow, he feared that this wouldn’t be enough.




Captain Donovan looked down at his revolver, a droplet of sweat falling from his nose on the smoking barrel. He looked back up at the Mexican with his mangled face falling into the tropical dirt. He had shot and killed men before, but he had never seen such a mess made of someone’s head, the battle around him for the briefest of moments escaping what little attention he had outside of his stupor. But he charge of another Mexican with his bayonet quickly brought him back into the world of now. Parrying the spear with his saber he raised the pistol and once more fired. A third, a fourth, a fifth. Six times he took a life in less than a minute. No pistol of the past could reliable achieve such a performance unless it was a lucky pepperbox, and then it was hardly usable for the rest of the battle. Parrying again and riposting with a stab, the Captain fell against a tree. He got to the arduous process of reloading that was nevertheless in the past accomplished by simply drawing another pistol. Looking about in anxious sweeps of his vision, he noticed his fellows had likewise already inflicted a bloody toll on the Mexican ambush. They knew their land, oh they sure did appearing in every damn corner. But the home field advantage had not saved the Mexicans before, and it wouldn’t now. Santa Anna ran with his tail between his legs long before Colt’s finest work was in the hands of good American warriors. Now it was another matter entirely, a fact he would be happy to demonstrate to the damn beaners as he got up with his newly loaded rifle. Again a half dozen men fell to pistol fire, the latter three of them receiving the shots into their backs as they ran. He smiled. Mr. Monroe’s Doctrine would stand tall today.

Captain Donovan was one of the men that joined the army because he believed in all that America stood for, and today they proved that the Stars and Stripes would not only have the slow march of progress, it would herald the bold charge of advancement.
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