Sounds mighty interesting, friend, and might I also say I seem to be running into you a lot.
CanisMajoris2
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Some Madman with a Pen
STATUS: Hey, pal. Nice looking profile, idn't it? ;) 8 yrs ago
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- CanisMajoris2 8 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
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Hey, pal. Nice looking profile, idn't it? ;)
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8 yrs ago
When in doubt, dab it out
8 yrs ago
Shine onnnnnnnnn you crazy diamond
8 yrs ago
Girlfriend just dabbed. I've never seen anything so beautiful...
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8 yrs ago
Duh duh dee duh dee duh doh doh!
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In
ℳarches of ℳan: ℰxpedition of the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Interacting with @Sovi3t
Nikita's eyes fell back to the security team trailing him. 'Twas an expected outcome. They don't know when they're being helped until they've punished the person helping them. The ship's being attacked, but who knows... this one doctor might be an alien or some foolish thing like that. Nikita grimaced and shook his head, slowly walking towards one of the safe areas, a clandestine twinkle in his eye betraying not a single emotion whatsoever. For he felt no fear, and should they feel any... it would be a shame to think so, anyhow...
The Russian felt through his bag to pull out the mask. Such a simple thing to get chased for. It's like the mask were, as it were, a mask over him, to present an image of this doctor suffering from sociopathic tendencies. What...! This mask was meant to help, to calm... Such is the case with these things... was the guillotine meant to deserve such a macabre connotation? No, of course not. 'Twas the most humane invention of its time, and one of the most unbiased. The blindest blade, for sure.
There they were, looking for him. That Lieutenant there... must be the leader of that particular squad. He was a right good fellow to be doing his job. Must be so proud of himself, chasing down someone with whom he has no quarrel. Ah! Morality! That's it... you dropped them with a lack of morality. Nikita sighed and replaced the mask in his satchel, noticing that a few people were eyeing him warily.
"Shouldn't use it so much," Nikita growled to himself, thinking of the still bodies probably waking from the sedative about now. (That is the other thing about this Tetraoxidine Diphosphate... it works well, but it worked only as long as it needs to... Nikita laughed.) He walked towards a woman sitting ramrod stiff on a bench, staring at the heavens as she quavered, waiting to be blown into oblivion. Sitting down next to her--and startling her in the process--Nikita offered her the mask. Much to his surprise, she took it and gratefully inhaled the sleeping gas. She fell into his lap, her head making a gentle thump against his leg as she landed. Picking her small form into his arms, Nikita carried her to the safe area, placing her on a cot. Sitting down a chair next to the bed, he stared into this woman's face. 'Twas not a beautiful face--flawed as it were--but in it he saw a truer beauty, that one last golden glimmer: hope.
He let the people gather in a circle around him, some petitioning to have some of the gas. He made sure he lowered the dosage to merely calm their nerves rather than render them unconscious, and soon the entire area was silent, listening to the distant shouts of the security teams outside. The place was calm and at the same time hopeful. They had feeling, and at the same time felt no pain nor fear. Nikita himself took a small inhalation and immediately was bathed in a warmth that caused his heart to rise in his chest. A smile came to his lips; 'twas a synthetic happiness, but a happiness present was a happiness existed.
Nikita stood slowly, making his way through the crowd to the entrance, watching the security team slowly make its way up towards him. Looking back at the crowd, all of whom were cognizant of their situation and yet still at peace, Nikita sighed again before walking towards the team, eyes boring into the Lieutenant. Raising his hands behind the back of his head, he moved forward, the pain in his ankle returning as he started to stumble.
"Sir... I believe you want me... no?" He spoke, a gravel sound pitching from his parted lips.
Nikita's eyes fell back to the security team trailing him. 'Twas an expected outcome. They don't know when they're being helped until they've punished the person helping them. The ship's being attacked, but who knows... this one doctor might be an alien or some foolish thing like that. Nikita grimaced and shook his head, slowly walking towards one of the safe areas, a clandestine twinkle in his eye betraying not a single emotion whatsoever. For he felt no fear, and should they feel any... it would be a shame to think so, anyhow...
The Russian felt through his bag to pull out the mask. Such a simple thing to get chased for. It's like the mask were, as it were, a mask over him, to present an image of this doctor suffering from sociopathic tendencies. What...! This mask was meant to help, to calm... Such is the case with these things... was the guillotine meant to deserve such a macabre connotation? No, of course not. 'Twas the most humane invention of its time, and one of the most unbiased. The blindest blade, for sure.
There they were, looking for him. That Lieutenant there... must be the leader of that particular squad. He was a right good fellow to be doing his job. Must be so proud of himself, chasing down someone with whom he has no quarrel. Ah! Morality! That's it... you dropped them with a lack of morality. Nikita sighed and replaced the mask in his satchel, noticing that a few people were eyeing him warily.
"Shouldn't use it so much," Nikita growled to himself, thinking of the still bodies probably waking from the sedative about now. (That is the other thing about this Tetraoxidine Diphosphate... it works well, but it worked only as long as it needs to... Nikita laughed.) He walked towards a woman sitting ramrod stiff on a bench, staring at the heavens as she quavered, waiting to be blown into oblivion. Sitting down next to her--and startling her in the process--Nikita offered her the mask. Much to his surprise, she took it and gratefully inhaled the sleeping gas. She fell into his lap, her head making a gentle thump against his leg as she landed. Picking her small form into his arms, Nikita carried her to the safe area, placing her on a cot. Sitting down a chair next to the bed, he stared into this woman's face. 'Twas not a beautiful face--flawed as it were--but in it he saw a truer beauty, that one last golden glimmer: hope.
He let the people gather in a circle around him, some petitioning to have some of the gas. He made sure he lowered the dosage to merely calm their nerves rather than render them unconscious, and soon the entire area was silent, listening to the distant shouts of the security teams outside. The place was calm and at the same time hopeful. They had feeling, and at the same time felt no pain nor fear. Nikita himself took a small inhalation and immediately was bathed in a warmth that caused his heart to rise in his chest. A smile came to his lips; 'twas a synthetic happiness, but a happiness present was a happiness existed.
Nikita stood slowly, making his way through the crowd to the entrance, watching the security team slowly make its way up towards him. Looking back at the crowd, all of whom were cognizant of their situation and yet still at peace, Nikita sighed again before walking towards the team, eyes boring into the Lieutenant. Raising his hands behind the back of his head, he moved forward, the pain in his ankle returning as he started to stumble.
"Sir... I believe you want me... no?" He spoke, a gravel sound pitching from his parted lips.
@Sovi3tHe's not, like, flooding the room with gas, you know. He dropped like five people who were out of their minds with a mask, so there shouldn't be any residue whatsoever.
@SepNo, I'm aware. That's sort of the point. ;)
@RaxacoricofallapatoriusMore like MacGruber.
Yeah, I can't even keep up with the OOC. Gave up after a while. :P Edited post and finalized.
@SepYeah, my bad. (In case you didn't know, I'm sort of new to forum RP. I'm used to 1x1, responding quickly, etc.) Still getting used to it. ;)
God damn it...
The alarms became somewhat penetrating as Nikita administered to yet another corybantic person, struggling underneath him as he gently placed the mask over the woman's face. She gradually stopped moving, her breathing slowed, and Nikita removed himself as the noise seemed to increase in volume. All around him were fallen bodies--the product of his drugs--that only seemed to exacerbate the problem rather than fix it. He knew it had to be done, however--these were the cases of people blind with fear. Their continued consciousness would only feed the great fear fire that was a-swirling in this claustrophobic atmosphere.
The psychiatrist looked around carefully, making sure the last of the frenetics had been dealt with before bolting to the nearest elevator--or lift, what have you--and mashing the button for the bridge only to realize that he was being coldly watched by several security guards. Right... no clearance... All right. These damn military types... they don't understand how the human psyche works. Not everyone will respond with cold, measured tranquility when they're about to be obliterated. Nikita ground his teeth as the door opened. Almost immediately he was shoved aside as various specialists crammed themselves into the lift and shot down to where-ever they were needed.
Setting his jaw, Nikita turned on a dime and bolted away from the lift, going down to the main deck--that is, the largest of them and the nucleus of human activity.
It was there that he saw the frenzy turn into a mob. Panic was a strange epidemic, striking through each heart so quickly that it spread mere seconds after it already corrupted the body with an inky smile. The Russian chewed his lip thoughtfully, looking around for a place to stand before deciding on a bench. A speaker...! Thank goodness... Reaching up, he pulled away the console cover and yanked out several wires. Now, which one was it? He was taught this at some point. Dear Lord... he wasn't a technician! Yammering softly to himself while the mass still huddled in numb terror, he finally decided on this orange and blue one (seemed right; 'twas the color of that Dakota's eyes). Splicing the wire with his scalpel--and getting a small shock in return--he pulled out the comm that everyone carried, wiring it into the now frayed PA system.
"Test. Test... Ah... Pravda, Pravda..." Nikita looked around with a proud smile as the group looked around in confusion.
"Up here, comrades. The bench." Nikita waved and once again looked inside the console. Yanking the yellow wire out and cutting it, he muted the alarm, allowing his voice to be the only thing these people would hear. A thousand or so eyes all bored into him; they expected a great speech. A stirring militaristic sort of thing; well, he wasn't about to give one of those, but he could soothe 'em some.
"Comrades, friends... 'tis our beautiful existence on the line..." A few squeals of panic threatened to boil over into hysteria, so he quickly followed: "No, comrades! We will not fail! We will not die... we are the greatest, a culmination of the most perfect genetics all crammed into one singular ship, all in one seven-kilometer brain, one body, one heart... comrades, we are in debt to one another by virtue of our shared desperation. Comrades, think not of yourself in these most dire moments..."
"These times try our souls, and were we lesser... were we a more fickle people, should we not deserve the annihilation that these monsters wish to thrust upon us? Comrades! We must fight! We will not all fight with weapons--indeed, I'm not very good at that myself, but I can make one hell of a sermon, hm?--but will we stand idly by, screaming isolated thoughts of woe while our destinies are stamped out by these... demons we don't even see? Comrades! Stand up, together, like brothers and sisters! Comrades, you will not die today, for now as we stand here-"
A racking vibration shook the area, causing Nikita to stumble, twisting his ankle in the process. Cursing in Russian, he glanced around at the crowd gathered before him. They too were as afraid as he was, but it was the fear that kept you alive (we were human, after all). He knew he was afraid: his voice was the strongest it had ever been. Raising the intercom to his lips, Nikita whispered, "Comrades... this is for something greater. This is our survival... comrades... we will not go gentle into the night... comrades... fight... and win."
There was no resounding cheer--they were far too rattled for that--but Nikita knew he had at least mesmerized them into a tranquil state of acceptance (at the least). In the forefront there stood a man with two pistols strapped to his leg. Looking up at Nikita, this man slowly raised a salute before bolting off through the crowd towards the stairs (stairs! That's... my God!). Nikita watched in dumbfounded amazement as this number started to increase. Mothers with their children (children...? how did they get on board? oh... robots... some people...) swarmed in a quite organized fashion to their respective rooms, some running off to help in any way they could. It wasn't until the last of them went away that Nikita fell to the ground, gasping in pain as he pulled off his boot to examine his ankle.
"That's the way of the doctors, damn it... we get injured--while there is a battle going on, no less!--by God-damn benches. Chert voz'mi..." It was a little purple globe, thankfully not bleeding too much, that Nikita quickly wrapped in compression bandages. He grit his teeth as the tightness of the wrappings came into effect, but at least now he could walk. Standing on unsure footing, he pulled the intercom out of the console and haphazardly jammed all the faulty wiring back inside before slamming the cover back on.
"Ah... someone else will fix that..." Nikita grinned to himself as he hobbled down to the lift to help out in any way he could. Somehow the largest of the blasts didn't come until he was fully underway, when a sprinting security guard sent him sprawling again. Moaning and picking himself up, he glanced around to find that security teams had been sent down to clear everyone into their rooms. They must've been confused to see no one here, because they paused robotically for a moment before resuming their tramp down the corridor. Down, down, down... to clear out that sludge...
Nikita saw one woman lying on the ground with a pretty sizable gash in her head. Putting his finger to her neck, he found that she did have a pulse. Someone had almost died. Probably because she was trampled on by all the mass hysteria. Regardless... this was humanity's last ditch effort for survival... and someone nearly died. Nikita ground his teeth and fought back a growl before dragging the lifeless form to the side so that it wouldn't be stepped on. Running--and ignoring the pain--the Russian made for the nearest nucleus of humanity. This was when he passed the bar, looking in to see three people... or something like that, at least. He rapped on the window and gestured for them to get out before running down to the next place--another bar--and doing the same. He continued this, periodically jumping down to assist someone in need of medical attention before security teams even came to clear out the place. Nikita grinned with self-satisfaction: "Doing better than you, Admiral..."
The alarms became somewhat penetrating as Nikita administered to yet another corybantic person, struggling underneath him as he gently placed the mask over the woman's face. She gradually stopped moving, her breathing slowed, and Nikita removed himself as the noise seemed to increase in volume. All around him were fallen bodies--the product of his drugs--that only seemed to exacerbate the problem rather than fix it. He knew it had to be done, however--these were the cases of people blind with fear. Their continued consciousness would only feed the great fear fire that was a-swirling in this claustrophobic atmosphere.
The psychiatrist looked around carefully, making sure the last of the frenetics had been dealt with before bolting to the nearest elevator--or lift, what have you--and mashing the button for the bridge only to realize that he was being coldly watched by several security guards. Right... no clearance... All right. These damn military types... they don't understand how the human psyche works. Not everyone will respond with cold, measured tranquility when they're about to be obliterated. Nikita ground his teeth as the door opened. Almost immediately he was shoved aside as various specialists crammed themselves into the lift and shot down to where-ever they were needed.
Setting his jaw, Nikita turned on a dime and bolted away from the lift, going down to the main deck--that is, the largest of them and the nucleus of human activity.
It was there that he saw the frenzy turn into a mob. Panic was a strange epidemic, striking through each heart so quickly that it spread mere seconds after it already corrupted the body with an inky smile. The Russian chewed his lip thoughtfully, looking around for a place to stand before deciding on a bench. A speaker...! Thank goodness... Reaching up, he pulled away the console cover and yanked out several wires. Now, which one was it? He was taught this at some point. Dear Lord... he wasn't a technician! Yammering softly to himself while the mass still huddled in numb terror, he finally decided on this orange and blue one (seemed right; 'twas the color of that Dakota's eyes). Splicing the wire with his scalpel--and getting a small shock in return--he pulled out the comm that everyone carried, wiring it into the now frayed PA system.
"Test. Test... Ah... Pravda, Pravda..." Nikita looked around with a proud smile as the group looked around in confusion.
"Up here, comrades. The bench." Nikita waved and once again looked inside the console. Yanking the yellow wire out and cutting it, he muted the alarm, allowing his voice to be the only thing these people would hear. A thousand or so eyes all bored into him; they expected a great speech. A stirring militaristic sort of thing; well, he wasn't about to give one of those, but he could soothe 'em some.
"Comrades, friends... 'tis our beautiful existence on the line..." A few squeals of panic threatened to boil over into hysteria, so he quickly followed: "No, comrades! We will not fail! We will not die... we are the greatest, a culmination of the most perfect genetics all crammed into one singular ship, all in one seven-kilometer brain, one body, one heart... comrades, we are in debt to one another by virtue of our shared desperation. Comrades, think not of yourself in these most dire moments..."
"These times try our souls, and were we lesser... were we a more fickle people, should we not deserve the annihilation that these monsters wish to thrust upon us? Comrades! We must fight! We will not all fight with weapons--indeed, I'm not very good at that myself, but I can make one hell of a sermon, hm?--but will we stand idly by, screaming isolated thoughts of woe while our destinies are stamped out by these... demons we don't even see? Comrades! Stand up, together, like brothers and sisters! Comrades, you will not die today, for now as we stand here-"
A racking vibration shook the area, causing Nikita to stumble, twisting his ankle in the process. Cursing in Russian, he glanced around at the crowd gathered before him. They too were as afraid as he was, but it was the fear that kept you alive (we were human, after all). He knew he was afraid: his voice was the strongest it had ever been. Raising the intercom to his lips, Nikita whispered, "Comrades... this is for something greater. This is our survival... comrades... we will not go gentle into the night... comrades... fight... and win."
There was no resounding cheer--they were far too rattled for that--but Nikita knew he had at least mesmerized them into a tranquil state of acceptance (at the least). In the forefront there stood a man with two pistols strapped to his leg. Looking up at Nikita, this man slowly raised a salute before bolting off through the crowd towards the stairs (stairs! That's... my God!). Nikita watched in dumbfounded amazement as this number started to increase. Mothers with their children (children...? how did they get on board? oh... robots... some people...) swarmed in a quite organized fashion to their respective rooms, some running off to help in any way they could. It wasn't until the last of them went away that Nikita fell to the ground, gasping in pain as he pulled off his boot to examine his ankle.
"That's the way of the doctors, damn it... we get injured--while there is a battle going on, no less!--by God-damn benches. Chert voz'mi..." It was a little purple globe, thankfully not bleeding too much, that Nikita quickly wrapped in compression bandages. He grit his teeth as the tightness of the wrappings came into effect, but at least now he could walk. Standing on unsure footing, he pulled the intercom out of the console and haphazardly jammed all the faulty wiring back inside before slamming the cover back on.
"Ah... someone else will fix that..." Nikita grinned to himself as he hobbled down to the lift to help out in any way he could. Somehow the largest of the blasts didn't come until he was fully underway, when a sprinting security guard sent him sprawling again. Moaning and picking himself up, he glanced around to find that security teams had been sent down to clear everyone into their rooms. They must've been confused to see no one here, because they paused robotically for a moment before resuming their tramp down the corridor. Down, down, down... to clear out that sludge...
Nikita saw one woman lying on the ground with a pretty sizable gash in her head. Putting his finger to her neck, he found that she did have a pulse. Someone had almost died. Probably because she was trampled on by all the mass hysteria. Regardless... this was humanity's last ditch effort for survival... and someone nearly died. Nikita ground his teeth and fought back a growl before dragging the lifeless form to the side so that it wouldn't be stepped on. Running--and ignoring the pain--the Russian made for the nearest nucleus of humanity. This was when he passed the bar, looking in to see three people... or something like that, at least. He rapped on the window and gestured for them to get out before running down to the next place--another bar--and doing the same. He continued this, periodically jumping down to assist someone in need of medical attention before security teams even came to clear out the place. Nikita grinned with self-satisfaction: "Doing better than you, Admiral..."
@boomloverFor some reason I'm in a Clapton phase.
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