Force and Fury

Absolom

He's in his skivvies.

Absolom

Jacques' eyes fly open and he comes to with the urgent sense that he's in danger. There's a woman leaning over him. He doesn't know her and immediately, irrationally decides that he doesn't like her. In a single smooth motion, he kicks his legs up into the air, and using that momentum, hops up onto his feet. He hears sounds. He feels that his wrists and ankles are bound. He's been in situations eerily similar to this before, just not involving the type of psychos who find the need to advertise their mental disturbances with such enthusiasm.

The thickly-bearded Quebecer ignores the woman, and seeing the posts of an old fence with their twisted metallic edges, he hops over and, without hesitation, brings his wrists down hard on a relatively sharp bit, slashing the the zip-tie in two. The sheer strain of the plastic in the moment before it gives way is enough to send vivid pains shooting up his arms. Then Jacques is free. He flips into something like an awkward headstand, hooks the zip tie between his ankles onto the same barb, and yanks. The nerves in his lower legs howl in pain and protest, but then he's free. Tabarnak, that hurts! but he has no time to bellyache. He begins tearing off his bright orange jumpsuit. It's designed to make him easy to see.

Jacques feels nothing but hatred and disdain for these 'people'. Most of them are scum: those without ambitions, purpose, or meaning in their lives. Violence simply for the sake of violence. They are animals and he is not. Jacques recognizes an attempt to frighten him but is under no illusions: it will be backed up with potentially deadly action. At the very least, these fucking beasts want to test him and the other new arrival. He couldn't care less about her. As he listens carefully for a moment for where the calls seem thinnest, he finishes squirming out of his jumpsuit. They're close. Real close. He picks out a direction and runs as quickly as his legs will carry him, ready to fight at any moment.

THE TRANQUIL CHILDREN [CLOSED]

Tentatively interested.

Absolom

Hey, so I've seen that this is active now. I'm out and a bit busy at the moment, but a post is incoming sometime tonight. No worries!

Deadland Wasteland: //START Recruitment.exe [OPEN - APPLY]

The twins are totally new here. They've been around for no more than a week. If anybody recognizes them from the world before, they're welcome to.

Through the Portal

Just got back from a five day camping trip, and ditto here. Rintor isn't doing much of anything. I can throw in a quick post if @Yuuta doesn't have the chance to put one up by tomorrow night.

Band of Bastards- WW2 Heist/Espionage RP

Posted! Simona talks a lot when she's nervous.

Band of Bastards- WW2 Heist/Espionage RP

Simona Ricci

Simona tries not to turn a paler shade of white. Her Nonna already tells her that she doesn't get enough sun. The men are talking quickly in English - Subtle as a freight train, she remarks inwardly - and she's only able to catch bits and pieces. Still, she gets the gist of it. Lots of shooting. Lots of killing. Dead Nazis. A car. Running. Simona just loves running. It occurs to her that they probably don't realize that she has one leg.

She leans against the table and notices Colani looking her up and down. He makes some kind of comment that she doesn't quite understand, but his body language gets the main idea across. She stops herself from rolling her eyes at him, and manages a little smile instead. Male attention is hard to refuse and also useful. She furrows her brow trying to concentrate on what they're saying, and picks up that Silvio wants to go outside and that Norheim, or uh...Viking, doesn't really like him. Then people look at Simona.

"I ahhh..." Aww fuck it, here goes. "I'ma Simona. I do uh...za nursing. If you getta hurt, I sew you up. Don't getta hurt. I'ma lazy. Zat's ah why I'm here." She pulls up the right side of her dress where the Beretta waits in a leg holster. She pulls it out. "I can uh..." She forgets the word in English. Sparare... Sparare, goddammit! Didn't it also start with 's'? She decides to cut her losses. "Pew pew!" she makes a shooting motion. Making a sterling impression, Simona. Just top shelf. "But, ahh, not so good, you know?" She glances at the big box of big guns. The recoil from any of them will likely knock her on her culo. Truth be told, Simona was hoping this wouldn't be so...deathy right off the bat, that she could pull her usual schtick, and just be a mole, an information broker, and a lookout, but what can you do? "I think ah mebbe I shoulda go outta za side? Pew pew za Nazzis when ah zey come ah run?" English: she is absolutely speaking the fuck out of it. Her confidence grows. "Mebbe I could ah, go ah first. Do a little... distrazione if ah you need? But ah...You za boss."

Simona's heart is trying to hammer its way out of her chest. She wants to die as a wrinkly old woman, many years from now, but these delusions of grandeur that she has, they're likely to get her killed. She is in way over head.

Through the Portal

The demon attempts further mockery. Rintor has seen it before. Beings like that thrive on the perceptions of others: the fear that they generate and the notion that they're powerful. Were it not for the magical shackles that he'd willingly put on himself, Rintor would slice the man's neck open in an instant and proceed to kill the demon as well. It isn't about morality, but rather scale of harms. Sometimes , some innocents must die so that more innocents are saved. An odious thought, to be sure, but practical, and the right choice.

Rintor can only answer the odd scientist's question with an admission of his own. "I can see colour," he begins, "but I fear I've taxed myself too far with all of this recent lightbending. I'm out of practice, and ironically, temporary colour blindness is one of the first consequences a lightbender suffers when he overextends himself." No need to mention the others yet, and pray I don't encounter them. I am dangerously rusty. "At this point, I'm following the others' lead and trusting in their judgement."

He walks quietly, watching, listening, and letting the others sort themselves out. He will have order prevail here even if he has to personally pound it into each and every one of their skulls. There are too many self-important people, hotheads, and liars. He's guilty of being the first himself. The sun is low. Colour starts returning to his world. The grass is strange. He's struck by its appearance. That doesn't mean that it's automatically a threat, but when dealing with an unknown, it's best to minimize your variables. It would be best to reach bare ground.

He watches Esailia stalking ahead of the others. For a moment, he's selfishly glad that he comes from a faraway land. Were there more people from the deep south, perhaps he would be as infamous as Victor. Perhaps his past actions would come back to haunt him. Perhaps he would be threatened with death. And he would deserve it.

Rintor Otorik divides his attention between his surroundings and the half-elf, who's approaching Esailia and trying to offer some sort of apology. Clueless child, he thinks. All strength and no brains. Surreptitiously, his hands brush the hilts of his daggers and he checks for the threads. It's so much easier - less taxing - for him to lightbend at night. He hopes that he won't have to, but he is ready nonetheless. There is little grass where they are now. The ground rises and falls. The mountains loom overhead, and a thin halo of sunlight crowns the summit of one of the lesser ones.

Deadland Wasteland: //START Recruitment.exe [OPEN - APPLY]

Hannah and Amanda are new here, and while 'here' is great - at least compared to 'out there' - It presents its own problems. Where to begin? Amanda thinks. How to begin? Hannah ponders. People are curious about the 'two-headed woman'. They always are. However, the twins know that being a special snowflake isn't going to put food in their stomach. It's not going to earn them any respect. We'll have to produce. Maybe Hannah thinks it. Maybe Amanda does.

They lie in bed for a few more moments, staring at the ceiling. Hannah's always the one to wake them both up. Amanda's always the one to get them both moving. "Mandy," says Hannah softly, "We doin' the thing today?"

"What thing?" Amanda questions, stretching her side of their body.

Belatedly, Hannah stretches too. The twins get themselves in sync for the day. "You know, that scav run."

They swing out of bed and stand. Walking is a collaborative effort. It used to amaze doctors, back when there were doctors, but the twins don't give it any thought. They slip on a pair of slippers and pad over to the fridge. It's old and scavenged, buzzing and humming unevenly, with a couple of hastily patched bullet holes. "It's so post-apoc chic," Mandy observes. "God, I love it."

Sensing that her sister is avoiding the subject of the scav run, Hannah tosses her opinion into the ring. "I mean, I'm not necessarily for it," she tries.

They bend down and Amanda pulls some apple juice from the fridge. They only have three cans left from that supermarket they hit right before coming here. "I'm not necessarily against it," she eventually replies.

"My turn?" Hanna enquires. Only one of the twins really needs to drink for the both of them. The other can get by with just wetting her mouth.

Amanda shoots her sister a sidelong glance and tilts the can back. She takes a swig. "Get rekt."

Hovering between playfully and legitimately annoyed, Hannah reaches over and plucks the juice away. It's a fairly precious commodity. "Mandyyyyyy, what the fuck?!" she whines, before crossly gulping down the rest of it. Amanda quirks an eyebrow. "Look, I just needed some apple juice to start the day. Sometimes a girl needs apple juice."

Their home is big (since they count as two people) and empty, recently renovated and converted too. Others should be moving in anytime now. Introductions will be...interesting. The sisters have made a game out of guessing what they might be like and when they'll arrive. Their morning routine hasn't changed in years. They get through it quickly. They go for a morning jog. It seems like everybody here jogs. Probably a good idea, Amanda thinks to herself. She doesn't even need to confirm that Hannah's thinking the same. Sometimes, she just knows. They catch one of their neighbours, Elijah - he's important people, Hannah remembers - heading towards the command center. "Now or never," she prods her sister.

"Ugh, you're a pest, Hannie." By mutual agreement, they slow to a fast walk. "Ponytail?" Amanda asks. They reach up and tie her hair into one.

"I really think we should," Hannah pushes. It's usually her sister who takes the initiative, so these are shoes that she's not entirely comfortable filling. "The servers are working around here, but there's no way to get something worldwide back online or to connect to it right now. We've been sitting here and doing nothing for almost three days now. We should make ourselves useful. besides, aren't you bored?"

I'll let you win, Amanda thinks. They start walking slowly in the same direction as Elijah. Heads turn. "I fully see your point, it's just, I'd rather not die. This is kinda jumping into the deep end, dontcha think? We're total noobs."

Hannah stops walking abruptly and her other half is caught somewhat off-guard. The twins stumble a bit. "Well, we'll just keep a lookout," she promises, "and these people know what they're doing. Besides, apple juice."

"Bitch, you can't bribe me with apple juice." Amanda cranes her neck in the direction of their house, considering. Twist my rubber arm. "Ugh fine, I'll do it, but let's run home and get our shit. If we're going out there, I wanna be packing heat."

"Dealio!" Hannah's expression is disgustingly sunny.

"I hate you."

___

A couple of hours later, the twins are there in the parking lot dressed to leave the safe zone and shouldering a backpack. Hannah rolls a single die between her thumb and pointer, while Amanda idly twirls their keychain. "Damn, this is some legit hardware," the latter observes, letting out a low whistle. Hannah grins like a big child. "God I want turret," she says. "Do you want turret, because I need turret."

"Only if you can beat me there," Amanda counters wryly.

Hannah lets out a snort of laughter. They wait.