Big Dread

Get Rich Quick: A 21st Century Heisting RP

Deft and practiced fingers worked while Adrian spoke. They tapped, ground, and separated the keef from the bud proper. Once that was done, it was sprinkled with due care into a paper and tightly rolled. The joint made its way from the table to lips and was lit. The cherry of the smoke bloomed and the thin blue smoke was inhaled, held, and exhaled. A little hum of appreciation left those same lips and then green eyes flicked up from the still glowing cherry to Adrian.

"So, what? Am I supposed to just Smokes company and play with myself?" Whitney asked, a few stray puffs of smoke leaving her mouth as she asked her sarcastic question. The inked up woman reclined luxuriously in the wooden chair of the dining room and raised a brow to their leader. She swung her leg over and crossed it, gesturing in a 'well?' manner with the hand holding the joint she had just finished rolling. She was clearly a bit miffed about being mostly ignored during the entire planning phase. She was damned good at keeping people in line and acting properly spooky when she wanted to, but, seemed to relegated to guard duty, or worse, car duty.

"Rest of the plan sounds tight but I am just trying to figure out how I fit into all this. Then again, I ain't gonna say no to free money." she placed the roll back to her lips and took another long pull, still keeping her eyes locked on those of Adrian. If he didn't really have anything for her do at least she could just get her smoke on with Smokes and wait until they needed her to go carry some heavy stuff.

Get Rich Quick: A 21st Century Heisting RP

You ALWAYS need a cleaner!

Get Rich Quick: A 21st Century Heisting RP

Never pass up a chance to use an owl gif! Owls are the best animals!

Get Rich Quick: A 21st Century Heisting RP

@Techne
It is going to be a hoot and a half, I dare say. We might even get a whole hoot out of it.

D&D 5e - High Seas and Tall Tales

As the pistol smoke started to dissipate, Reemes watched a massive bubble form around the big flying dog thing. Well, shooting through that magic was just not going to work. That was all fine enough as far as he was concerned though. He wondered if that big thing needed to breathe and hoped to the Great Watery Lady it did. It would use up all its air in no time at all and start to choke and suffer like the horrible beastie it was. If the bubble ever went down... Well, he had a few cannon with that damned thing's name on it. For now though, he needed a better way to put lead on target to all these bastards and gashes. No need to assume they all didn't know their fathers or were men. He couldn't tell which set of swinging dangles or meaty holes they might have, he would need to make sure he didn't assume when he started screaming again.

His thoughts were stopped by the loud mouthed wolf making a proper fuss about being stuck in the floating magic sphere. Ha, he should be upset. He was about to become the biggest coat on the planet. The caterwauling scroon howled like the massive bitch it was. Reemes felt something tickle in his head but found the whole thing rather silly. You don't get in the head of Calico Reemes. Many had tried and all those who had succeeded regretted that dearly. Reemes shot the beastie a set of bared teeth and howled right back at it, his mad imitation audible over the howling gale like an echo of the wolf's terrible wail. With that, he turned and darted across the icy deck. As he passed by Dyn, who was coming over to have a better look at the bubbled beast he shouted some encouragement to him, "Saws'em up'en y'can, y'orrible dangin' bollock!" with a hop and a cackle he grabbed the rigging of the mast and scrambled up to the edge of the crow's nest like a monkey. On his way up he noticed the scarred up killie that had done a little dance and touched a bunch of folks. Well, everyone but him pretty much. "No touches fer ol'Calico, eh? I see 'ow y'are! You'll 'ave t'make it up t'me!" he hollered out across the wind to her as he heared the top of the mask and howled with mad laughter. He reached the top the pirate saw it was occupied by a very confused looking kitten and gave her a wink. He hooked his left arm in a rope to steady himself and leaned out for good ol'fashioned killing.

With one arm holding the ropes and his feet planted on the mast, his body sticking out at an extreme angle, he took aim. " 'ere y'are y'squigly scroons'r'trills!" he tilted his arm to the side as the recoil would cause the muzzle of his weapon to jump in a horizontal(horizontal to him at least) sweep and sight up the second of the serpents. His thumbed and shot the first serpent, taking a little more care with that shot, then used the muzzle jump to sight in the second and fire away his last shot at the other serpent.

His first, and the more important one, hit it's mark for sure and that made the dead man very happy. Of course, his pistol was empty now and smoking with the quickness with which he had expended the shells. " 'old fer me, kitty." he called back over his shoulder and tossed the weapon back over his shoulder into the the crow's nest with Nemiea and snatched the other pistol from his belt with a practiced hand. Hammer back and ready to make more corpses. Oh, this was just so much fun.

Wot'e did

Reemes uses his cunning action to dash and go up the rigging to the edge of the crow's nest and hooking himself there with a rope and occupying his left arm. Then leaning out like an insane person, he shot at both serpents using his dead eye on the first one to gain advantage and hitting with a roll of 27 and dealing 5 from the attack and 8 damage from the sneak attack. The second shot was more haphazard at a roll of 16 and if it hits it would deal 7 damage. With his pistol out of bullets he drops it into the crow's nest and draws the other.

HP:37/69
Grit:1/3
Pistol 1:0/4
Pistol 2:4/4
Second Wind: EXPENDED
Action Surge: READY

@JBRam2002 @Hekazu @Zverda @Gordian Nought

Get Rich Quick: A 21st Century Heisting RP

Whitney "Ink" Hendrix

WHITNEY HENDRIX

Age: 27
Nationality: Stockton California, USA
Alias(es): Whitney White, Heather Sosa
Heist Name: Ink
Weapons of Choice: AR-15(Fire Selection modification, X2/X4 tac-scope, foregrip, collapsible stock, tac flash-light), AM-18 machine Pistol, Machete
Distinctive Feature: Distinctive bar code tattoo on the forehead as well as numerous tattoos covering more than half of her body.
Team Responsibility: Designated Hitter, The Muscle.

Personality:
Grow up pretty in one of the hardest cities in the US with a family that owns nothing and has just as much clout and you get one tough and mean bitch. Whitney might have a sweet face but making the mistake of trying to treat her like a lady might get your arm broken and a few choice parts of your body removed. Calling Whitney antisocial would be a stretch as she loves to interact with people, of course, on her terms. Sharp is certainly a control freak to the world around him but Whitney has a deep hatred for anything that reduces her agency or threatens her in any way. Some people have a fight or flight response, she seems to have missed the line where they handed out the latter option.

All that said, Whitney is still a very outgoing person, one of the members who actually enjoys going out, meeting new people, and spending some of that hard earned cash. Her early life was one of living without and her over correction is perhaps typical of someone who's only friends growing up were Blood gang members and their girlfriends. She has a hedonistic streak that often can land her in trouble as she never seems to know the meaning of "enough" even if there might be a job the very next day. This is a bit of an issue when combined with her hatred for people trying to control her or tell her what to do. Luckily, for whatever reason, she seems to listen to Sharp when he tells her to stop, most of the time anyway.

History:
In Stockton, back when it was really bad, you grow up quick and hard or you grow up dead. Whitney was the daughter of a single mother working two waitress jobs just to keep her and her two brothers, all of different fathers, fed and in a home. Sometimes they lost electricity, sometimes they didn't have food, sometimes the house caught a few stray bullets. They survived like so many other very poor families. They did not thrive though and each and every one of them grew up surrounded by criminals, brutal police, and violence. Anything can become normal if you let it though and Whitney was raised in it. By the time she was ten years old she had seen enough dead bodies and other terrible things to keep her medicated for life. Too bad they couldn't afford anything like that.

As her life went on she became more and more involved in the world of crime around her. Bouncing from one gang member to the other and being privy not only their secrets but also their abuse. It was around this time that she killed her first man. He deserved it, at least she thought so. Some abusive banger who thought he was more man than anyone else. Well, he was wrong about that. Unmanned by his 'bitch' and tossed on the side of the road to be picked up by the apathetic police later. Of course, it was a little obvious who had done that to the poor bastard and that's when Whitney ran. School, family, and home were forgotten in a flash and the 18 year old tore off across the highways to try to actually make a life.

Too bad that isn't how things work. Like someone marked with a scent that only sons of bitches can smell, Whitney, became the play thing of terrible man after terrible man her seemingly never ending journey to find some kind of place to be free and her own person. Years past and eventually, enough was enough. She dumped the last guy after giving him the bad end of a kitchen knife and tore off on her own. He didn't die but he sure as hell would remember what would happen when you pushed someone too far. She would remember all the things he taught her. He might have been a real piece of shit with a vicious mean streak but the Marines do turn out some tough and skilled boys. She picked up everything she could when she was with him and added it to her arsenal of gangster, bastard, and son of a bitch knowledge she had. She might not be the best marksman or fighter out there but she is one of the quickest on the trigger and the last person to think twice when it comes to putting an end to a threat.

Not too many years after that she found her new gang. Now, here are some men who don't need to get the holy hell stabbed out of them, well, not all the time anyway. Either way, they are loyal, fair, and sure as shit a hell of a lot nicer than any of the other folks she has met up with in her past. A real far looking lot that understands about personal freedom and taking what is theirs. A match made in heaven.

Skills:
Threat detection and danger senses are trained and on a hair trigger, just like most of her guns. She is a practiced hand at marksmanship with pretty much anything that shoots bullets and never hesitates to act when the time comes. Plus, she is pretty good at street surfing.

Favourite song:
Let Me Ride - Dr. Dre

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Haemar's lips tugged into a smirk at the Asimar's flustered state at not only her discomfort from the machinations of filth that things like battle would no doubt drive into them but also at her own internal conflict. She was rather young. Many of the companions he found himself with were and all were younger than he was. He sensed the roiling dissonance in his companion. She had vows and thoughts and they seemed to clash with her instincts. All people felt this, save the most base of individuals and greatest of saints. Haemar was never one to deny himself what his instincts wanted when the time was right but locked them firmly under control when the time was not.

With no words aside from those needed for the spell itself Haemar used the ever useful cantrip he knew to cleanse the attire of Wick and then himself. He folded his arms back over his chest and shook his head at the words she spoke to him in their shared tongue. "Subtlety is an art often lost on many. Particularly the young and fiery of heart. Try not to fret over this too much, Sister Wick. If you would like, I am here to speak with about your troubles or if you would like a meditation partner. I might not be as in tuned with the cosmos as Katia but I have spent my life in contemplation and study before all of this." he replied with an offer and hopefully some comfort for the small Celestial in Elven.

Mechanics

Haemar uses Prestidigitation on himself and Wick to clean their clothing.

@Gordian Nought @The Harbinger of Ferocity

DnD 5e - Beginner's Game

Now there were more people adding to the whole cluster of bad berries that had become their situation. Luckily, they spoke that weird language Paws and Stary seemed so fond of. Well, that means that at least people could translate. Harriet did not bother to walk over and stand before the men. Stary had it handled and she would let at least her know what was going on and was important when she needed to know. She might keep Ole Blue out of the loop and probably Teary too, but, she was always forward with her at least. She rested her hand casually on the butt of her gun and took a few casual steps up to the massive cat-man. She kept one ear out on the totally alien language she was hearing and resisted the sudden urge she had to just reach out and pet the fur of Paws. It just looked so soft. She took note of the look he gave the elder and turned her own gaze to the elder and mirrored the feline's expression of curiosity. She then added a look down at her gun and then over at the two men and offering the elder a quick wink. She knew he knew what she was getting at. Any elder worth his salt knew the subtle nature of "Hey, want me t'shoot'em up for ya?" It was a universal language.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

An amused smile sat on Haemar's face as his companions played about in either jest, seriousness, or just relaxation. It was good they were doing so as well. When the forces of evil drew close and threatened to overwhelm it was the best defense to always keep your mind light and mood bright. At least that was what he had been told by his teachers and that was something he took to heart. He agreed with Wick's assessment of the situation and knew lingering for too long would be a disasterous choice. When things seemed so peaceful and serene it was oft just a calm breeze before the storm. He would enjoy that calm breeze a little though. Haste to be sure was the call of the day, but, trekking without being prepared or ready would be even more foolish.

His attention flicked to the solitary cleric for a moment before he heard Teodore yelling about people undressing. His golden eyes flicked back to the side of the lake where most of his comrades gathered. He was about to say something in defense of Thea pulling off her breastplate when suddenly she snatched the mask from the young templar's face and replaced it with a little kiss. He knew there was something lingering between the two of them but neither had been brave enough to act on it. It seemed the bold paladin he'd known for decades was willing to take the first step. Best to make sure the templar did not get away from this unscathed, "Oh, Theodore." Haemar called, voice filled with his own dry humor, "I think you may need to work on your reflexes. Were she a snake she might have bitten you. Or, would that have been something you would be interested in?" he questioned, teasing the poor sheltered boy before he turned and walked after Wick. He hoped Theodore would turn a shade of red that might make the loveliest rose ashamed but he would have to hear about that afterwards. He had contributed to the situation and that was enough for him.

Haemar announced himself as he stepped up beside Wick with a clearing of his throat, not wanting to startle her. He looked out over the landscape she was observing with his arms crossed before his chest. "You spoke wisdom back there." he expressed simply. "Whatever brought us here is beyond me in scope and level of power. My best assertion is that we have been transported somewhere Other." He stressed the last word, giving it more meaning than it might otherwise have had. He did not want to speak what he suspected, that they had been moved to some other place of existence, but, he was unsure if those places even existed and had not gathered enough information to make that a certain statement. He looked over at Wick and saw her shifting slightly, obviously experiencing a bit of discomfort. "Is there something wrong Sister Wick?" he asked, arching one dark brow in curiosity. "Are the disrobing antics of our compatriots unsettling you? I would think you might be used it by now."

@Zverda @Hekazu @Gordian Nought @The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e - High Seas and Tall Tales

Spend a couple hundred years on the seas in storms of all kinds and you go overboard eventually. While this was not the first time the dead pirate Calico Reemes had been tossed overboard by a storm; nor the first time he had been tossed overboard in general, this was the coldest he had been during such a trip into the embrace of his love. Almost as soon as he had hit the freezing wake he had twisted himself back to his right way up and kicked himself to the surface. A stream of curses and hate spewed forth from his mouth foul enough to make the ears burn off of any upstanding cleric. Were he a dragon, his breath would be a string foul insults so severe it would turn the poor adventurers who faced him minds to jelly and soap. Luckily for his companions and for the populace at large, Reemes was not a dragon. He was just a wet and very cold pirate.

Each sailor has fingers like fish hooks and Reemes had been trig enough to keep a line 'round himself when he was up in the rigging. You learned things like that when you were always on a ship, see? A quick grasp of the rope and a couple quick loops made the thing into a nice line up the side of the slick ship. Gritting his teeth and hissing curses in every language he could muster up in the freezing air, he hauled himself up and onto the deck with a damp thwap. Dripping from the ocean and steaming from the pure hatred he left towards that loud bitch that was flying down towards him, Reemes drew forth his pistol on his belt and returned his own shout at the uppity dog-thing. "Shush'er gob y'mangey fuck puddle!" He howled into the storm, thumbed the hammer back, and let the thunder of his own weapon match the crashing storm around them. As soon as the first shot rang out he sent another streaking after it.

His aim was true as it could be and the balls of lead death leaped from the muzzle of his weapon and right into that opened mouth of the cold spewing beastie. Reemes grinned like a mad man, icicles hanging from his jawline breaking from the motion of the skin and clattering to the deck. He'd see that damned thing choke on a mixture of burning lead and its own blood for making him shiver. Reemes was already planning on ripping that skin off the thing's bones and seeing just how many coats he could make. Of course, he'd never tried his hand at tailoring but there was a first time for everything. Reemes took a deep breath, steadying himself for the comming battle. This was going to be a good one. His left hand dropped to the hilt of ghostly blade and was ready. Oh yes. Finally ready.

Mechanics!

Reemes gets himself out of the water with the help of his handy dandy rope and then uses a point of his grit to get advantage on his pistol attack on the big flying wolf thing! He rolls a https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/265525 on that attack and then hits that thing in the mouth for a great https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/2656 14 damage plus https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/26577 more sneak attack damage. His second attack was a https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/265919 and dealt https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/266013 more damage! After that he prepares himself for the battle to come by using his bonus action to second wind and regain https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/26587 of his hp.

HP: 37/69
Grit: 2/3
Pistol 1: 3/4
Pistol 2:4/4