Member
Name: Isaac (Yisake Xiaojian)
Gender: Male
Race: Shi
Backstory: Isaac was born in San Francisco under a pathetic excuse for a researcher and an even more pathetic merchant. His father, the researcher, earned just enough money to keep the family functional, whereas his mother only occasionally made a profit from her workings. His parents constantly argued over how they should be making and allocating their money.
Shi did not want his parents to fight, so he very quickly began to ask around and learn as much as he could about both trades. Shi’s parents claimed that he had a phenomenal gift for learning. He was able to use scientific inquiry to start his own (very basic) research by age nine, and could grasp the absolute basics of economics by age twelve, thanks to the schooling of his parents. Unfortunately, by age fifteen, his mother was brutally murdered by a raging client in an unfortunate business venture.
The client was brought to justice swiftly, but Isaac’s father could not handle his grief. His father resorted to alcohol and drugs to quell his grief. Isaac left his household out of fear by age sixteen, only a year later, and, in his desperation, joined a merchant caravan on route to Shady Sands. Along the way, Isaac was given a hunting rifle to help with securing the caravan, so he helped where he could. Every night was filled with terror, so much so that he barely got sleep. By the time he reached Shady Sands, he only had enough energy to use the pay from his work on the caravan to rent space to rest.
He stayed in Shady Sands for five years, working as an apprentice in a general goods store and spending his extra money on books and tinkering parts. He only ever left his living quarters to work, where he met his friend, June. June convinced Isaac to join him on a trip to New Vegas to make some profit off of 9mm rounds, so Isaac reluctantly accepted, hoping to overcome his fears as opposed to making money.
Along the trip, the caravan encountered a steady increase in danger, eventually leading to June’s untimely demise. Isaac was able to hide away in New Vegas immediately after arriving there and collecting his money, making it by through work as an apprentice under a food merchant. He found it even more dangerous to live in New Vegas, so, after about a year, he quickly sought another caravan. This is how he came to find the Crimson Caravan Company. Thinking that he would be most safe in their company, he decided to ask to join.
Personality: Extremely shy and timid, Isaac can barely look anyone in the face for more than five seconds. Even then, he would feel immense pressure doing so. He becomes terrified in the face of any living creature, and when near a dangerous creature, he becomes absolutely terrified, sometimes losing his ability to think straight. As opposed to fighting things head-on, he tends to run away, fight from a long distance, or hide. Fear is a huge concern to him, in fact, he fears practically everything which can put him in danger, with the exception of robots and constructs.
He fancies himself to be some sort of hero, although he would never admit this to anyone. He keeps his thoughts to himself, and does not speak much unless he has to. Money and power are of little concern to him, because he is almost expressly focused on keeping his composure and conquering his fears. Still, he understands a great deal about the importance of money and power, and could theoretically acquire a great deal of both. He also has a vast vocabulary of inventions, parts, mechanical and technical terms, and scientific theorems and ideas.
Despite his temperament, he is very strong-willed. So long as fear is not a factor, he can overcome desires and suit his needs quite aptly. Although, in practice, fear and paranoia almost always get in his way. Nonetheless, he manages to get by fairly well through willpower alone. His shy temperament can also get in the way of his strong will, as he is absolutely horrible at maintaining conversation and/or lying. Nonetheless, as June would say, “he’s got a heart of gold – soft and dense, but rich in value”
S. P. E. C. I. A. L.
Strength - 3
Perception - 8
Endurance - 4
Charisma - 1
Intelligence - 10
Agility - 9
Luck - 5
Skills (without SPECIAL skillpoint destribution or the 100(FO3) or 75(NV) skill points acquired since level 1)
Small Guns(tag) - 35
Big Guns - 20
Energy Weapons - 20
Unarmed - 20
Melee Weapons - 20
Medicine - 35
Sneak - 20
Science(tag) - 50
Repair(tag) - 35
Speech - 20
Survival - 20
Perks
Level Aquired :
-2:
-3:
-4:
-5:
Quest/Feat Aquired:
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Icicle
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 252 (0.06 / day)
- VMs: 1
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Username history
- icicle 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
Current
It's pretty chilly today. :3
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I would recommend taking a "pre-determined system" and simplifying it, because making a whole new one will not be an overnight task, to say the least. I do not have experience in tabletop roleplays at all, so take my advice as a suggestion if that is an indicator of validity.
Also, for dice rolls, you can google a random number generator and set parameters for the probability you want. On this site you can set lowest limit(1) and highest limit(6) to make a d6, or lowest limit(1) and highest limit(20) to make a d20, so on and so forth.
Also, for dice rolls, you can google a random number generator and set parameters for the probability you want. On this site you can set lowest limit(1) and highest limit(6) to make a d6, or lowest limit(1) and highest limit(20) to make a d20, so on and so forth.
I like fallout, and I like roleplaying. Are there any more details to go on?
Nestor continued walking through the crowds, aiming for a wide street bustling with activity and vendors. His expression remained unchanged as he walked, his eyes focused on his task. Each step brought another thought to his head, another possible solution to the current problem. Half of his consciousness was excited at the thought of already having the ability to test his new companion, but the other half was on high alert for safety’s sake. He looked back at the gold-eyed archer behind him to see that he had strung his bow and was awkwardly keeping his hand near his side.
As far as Nestor was concerned, the people around them were irrelevant, besides the leather-armored men. He had not bumped into any, and bluntly ignored those who begged for money or booze. The noise in the street was loud and clamorous, yet quiet enough to carry dialogue in. Nestor was greatly annoyed by this, but the great number of people and the large amount of noise would give him and his partner some room for error, and possibly the element of surprise.
Nestor took a breath in order to speak, but quickly remembered that the golden-eyed archer was incapable of recognizing his hidden speech. Shifting his gaze around his partner, he quickly spotted seven or eight leather-armored men spread out among the crowd, most of which quickly averted their gazes the instant Nestor turned. Again, to avoid suspicion, Nestor decided that he would need to say something or risk the leather-armored men catching on.
“So, do you have a name, gold-eyed one?” Nestor asked, shifting his position so as to walk right next to the archer. He continued to look straight ahead for the most part, turning to the archer in order to speak only for a moment before returning his focus to path finding. Nestor had only been in town for a few days, so he had to think hard in order to not get lost, or worse, to reach a dead end. His expression reflected this strain, albeit slightly, as he watched people turning corners and entering shops.
He barely had time to hear the archer’s response before, in his surprise, a group of leather-armored men merrily wandered out of an inn, clambering around the two in a drunk manner. If that was the cut-off, I overestimated these fools Nestor thought, a smirk covering his amused face. As a means to calm himself, he quickly pulled his hood up slightly and combed some of his hair off of his forehead, refreshing his stoic and lackluster expression. The drunk, leather-armored men were immediately confronted by the other men who were following the group, all of which turned and walked into an alleyway to converse.
Taking the opportunity, Nestor quickly said, “don’t let them think that you know they’re there. They can’t attack us in crowds, but they think we’re leaving town, where they can.” He then quickly looked back to see that the leather armored men were still in the alley-way. “Meet me at Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast,” he whispered, looking around once more to ensure that no one was watching. With this said, a rather burly man brushed up against Nestor, causing him to vanish instantly.
As far as Nestor was concerned, the people around them were irrelevant, besides the leather-armored men. He had not bumped into any, and bluntly ignored those who begged for money or booze. The noise in the street was loud and clamorous, yet quiet enough to carry dialogue in. Nestor was greatly annoyed by this, but the great number of people and the large amount of noise would give him and his partner some room for error, and possibly the element of surprise.
Nestor took a breath in order to speak, but quickly remembered that the golden-eyed archer was incapable of recognizing his hidden speech. Shifting his gaze around his partner, he quickly spotted seven or eight leather-armored men spread out among the crowd, most of which quickly averted their gazes the instant Nestor turned. Again, to avoid suspicion, Nestor decided that he would need to say something or risk the leather-armored men catching on.
“So, do you have a name, gold-eyed one?” Nestor asked, shifting his position so as to walk right next to the archer. He continued to look straight ahead for the most part, turning to the archer in order to speak only for a moment before returning his focus to path finding. Nestor had only been in town for a few days, so he had to think hard in order to not get lost, or worse, to reach a dead end. His expression reflected this strain, albeit slightly, as he watched people turning corners and entering shops.
He barely had time to hear the archer’s response before, in his surprise, a group of leather-armored men merrily wandered out of an inn, clambering around the two in a drunk manner. If that was the cut-off, I overestimated these fools Nestor thought, a smirk covering his amused face. As a means to calm himself, he quickly pulled his hood up slightly and combed some of his hair off of his forehead, refreshing his stoic and lackluster expression. The drunk, leather-armored men were immediately confronted by the other men who were following the group, all of which turned and walked into an alleyway to converse.
Taking the opportunity, Nestor quickly said, “don’t let them think that you know they’re there. They can’t attack us in crowds, but they think we’re leaving town, where they can.” He then quickly looked back to see that the leather armored men were still in the alley-way. “Meet me at Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast,” he whispered, looking around once more to ensure that no one was watching. With this said, a rather burly man brushed up against Nestor, causing him to vanish instantly.
As he urgently walked along, Reggie weaved his way through the sidewalk traffic and listened intently to Matt through his phone, hoping to understand him over the sound of his vehicle. After Matt finished talking, the medic could only deduce that his comrade still needed to get a feel for the situation. With this conclusion, Reggie slowed down and continued along casually, looking around to stay aware of his situation.
He passed by a few streets, and nearly got hit by a rather aggressive driver, before receiving another update from Matt. Matt described the place to him, but stuffed his observations with conjecture. Not surprisingly, he hung up before the medic had time to say anything, leaving Reggie annoyed. They would not call us in if the situation was as it seems. That’s why were staking it out he thought to himself, running through how he would explain this obvious fact to his partner as he continued to walk.
Only a minute or so after the second update, Matt quickly called Reggie again. “No! Do not compromise your identity!” Reggie growled, barely too late. This time, the medic was angry. He understood that his comrade was eager for some action, but far better opportunities would open up later on, if they were careful. Now, if Matt tried to return under a different alibi, the opposition force would become suspicious and might delay or cancel their operations. But, if he was smart… he continued, playing out different situations to pass time as he walked along.
After twenty minutes or so, Reggie checked the gps location of Matt's helmet and concluded that he was fairly close to the objective. Knowing this, he crossed the street to the side opposite the auto-shop and continued walking still upset at his partner’s decision. I can hope that the workers switch shifts later, or that he brought other disguises, he thought, walking behind a rather large lady as the cross beacon started flashing in combination with the annoying bleep sounds.
He passed by a few streets, and nearly got hit by a rather aggressive driver, before receiving another update from Matt. Matt described the place to him, but stuffed his observations with conjecture. Not surprisingly, he hung up before the medic had time to say anything, leaving Reggie annoyed. They would not call us in if the situation was as it seems. That’s why were staking it out he thought to himself, running through how he would explain this obvious fact to his partner as he continued to walk.
Only a minute or so after the second update, Matt quickly called Reggie again. “No! Do not compromise your identity!” Reggie growled, barely too late. This time, the medic was angry. He understood that his comrade was eager for some action, but far better opportunities would open up later on, if they were careful. Now, if Matt tried to return under a different alibi, the opposition force would become suspicious and might delay or cancel their operations. But, if he was smart… he continued, playing out different situations to pass time as he walked along.
After twenty minutes or so, Reggie checked the gps location of Matt's helmet and concluded that he was fairly close to the objective. Knowing this, he crossed the street to the side opposite the auto-shop and continued walking still upset at his partner’s decision. I can hope that the workers switch shifts later, or that he brought other disguises, he thought, walking behind a rather large lady as the cross beacon started flashing in combination with the annoying bleep sounds.
As Reggie listened to Matt’s words, he could not help but wonder, is he trying to simplify the briefing? Nonetheless, he walked over to the gun rack and grabbed his primary and sidearm. Whether they were staking out or not, the medic’s primary combat tactic was either suppressing fire or primary target takedowns, so his loadout barely changed. The medic placed his M27 on the bedside and pulled his side-holster out from under the couch, one of the few places he liked storing gear. He assumed that by “try to be discreet,” Matt was inferring that they would need to use a back exit into their steakout site, though he needed to be sure. As he listened to Matt’s final words, he fitted the side-holster around his waist.
“Where are we going to meet?” the medic asked, watching his friend run out the door. A look of distain immediately followed his remark, coating his face as he looked back at his assault rifle. “Screw it, I’m walking,” the bulky medic concluded, disassembling his rifle as he looked around for his medical pouch and his cheap BP underarmor vest. After spotting the medical bag, he pulled out the barrel and shoved it in his favorite carrying case – a pillow.
With this done, he carefully fit the pillow into his medical pouch and placed the pouch on the couch. Quickly checking the G22, the medic concluded that he would travel light with ammunition and sheathed the gun in his side-holster. He then pulled his hoodie out of the closet and threw it over his shoulders, fitting into it roughly as he stumbled back over to his couch. After nearly stubbing his toe, the medic sat down and quickly shoved a pair of boots over his feet. He could not pass for a civilian from the waist down, but his appearance was not jarring enough to draw attention.
After getting fully dressed and organizing his equipment thoroughly, Reggie got up and walked out the door, setting the security system to “on” and locking the door behind himself. He then casually walked over to the elevator and greeted a few neighbors on his way down to ground floor. He awkwardly paused mid-sentence as he remembered that Matt had not told him where they would be staking out, but continued a second later. He determined to call Matt after leaving the apartment complex.
Of course, someone on the ground floor happened to drop their luggage and spill it all over, so Reggie offered to help. Overall, it took him around fifteen minutes to leave the apartment complex after Matt left the door. Reggie was not worried about a time constraint, despite his eagerness to complete the new job, so he was fine with the delays. Nonetheless, after giving his farewells to the careless lady who dropped her luggage, whose name was Maria, Reggie quickly walked out the door and started to head left, pulling his sat-phone out from its place in his pocket.
After quickly finding Matt’s contact in his address list, Reggie pressed call and held the phone up to his face, avoiding a beggar as he J-walked through an empty street. He assumed that Matt was either really close to his destination or he was already there, so he expected an answer as he walked along the street, firstly heading for 4th street.
“Where are we going to meet?” the medic asked, watching his friend run out the door. A look of distain immediately followed his remark, coating his face as he looked back at his assault rifle. “Screw it, I’m walking,” the bulky medic concluded, disassembling his rifle as he looked around for his medical pouch and his cheap BP underarmor vest. After spotting the medical bag, he pulled out the barrel and shoved it in his favorite carrying case – a pillow.
With this done, he carefully fit the pillow into his medical pouch and placed the pouch on the couch. Quickly checking the G22, the medic concluded that he would travel light with ammunition and sheathed the gun in his side-holster. He then pulled his hoodie out of the closet and threw it over his shoulders, fitting into it roughly as he stumbled back over to his couch. After nearly stubbing his toe, the medic sat down and quickly shoved a pair of boots over his feet. He could not pass for a civilian from the waist down, but his appearance was not jarring enough to draw attention.
After getting fully dressed and organizing his equipment thoroughly, Reggie got up and walked out the door, setting the security system to “on” and locking the door behind himself. He then casually walked over to the elevator and greeted a few neighbors on his way down to ground floor. He awkwardly paused mid-sentence as he remembered that Matt had not told him where they would be staking out, but continued a second later. He determined to call Matt after leaving the apartment complex.
Of course, someone on the ground floor happened to drop their luggage and spill it all over, so Reggie offered to help. Overall, it took him around fifteen minutes to leave the apartment complex after Matt left the door. Reggie was not worried about a time constraint, despite his eagerness to complete the new job, so he was fine with the delays. Nonetheless, after giving his farewells to the careless lady who dropped her luggage, whose name was Maria, Reggie quickly walked out the door and started to head left, pulling his sat-phone out from its place in his pocket.
After quickly finding Matt’s contact in his address list, Reggie pressed call and held the phone up to his face, avoiding a beggar as he J-walked through an empty street. He assumed that Matt was either really close to his destination or he was already there, so he expected an answer as he walked along the street, firstly heading for 4th street.
As the Vanisher finished his subtle gesturing, he fought to keep himself from frowning. The golden-eyed man barely seemed to recognize that he was being spoken too throughout their brief conversation. The man seemed to understand the basics, and looked to where Nestor pointed quite bluntly, but otherwise appeared lost. The Vanisher had no other way to convey the concepts he wished to show without the men in leather armor noticing, so he decided to give it up. If my partner is too dense to catch on to this, he’s probably got other talents he concluded, watching the golden-eyed man avert his gaze.
Without a word, the archer then handed his group number scroll over to Nestor, who quickly accepted it. The Vanisher already concluded that the golden-eyed man had the right scroll, otherwise the stranger would have said “farewell” and left after getting confused by Nestor’s gestures. Nonetheless, to keep the spectacle going for the leather-armored men, Nestor opened the scroll and took a few seconds to read the three large numbers plastered in the middle. As he did so, it took all the psychological inhibition in his body to keep him from whispering, “you blithering fool!” under his breath.
Nestor debated making a more obvious gesture to the golden-eyed man, but determined that more attempts to covertly provide information would lead the leather-armored men to suspicion. Additionally, Nestor figured that the man was too poorly educated to understand what he was doing. As a result, Nestor smiled a dreadfully forced smile and rolled up the scroll, handing it back to the golden-eyed gentleman once he was done. His hand moved painfully slowly as he reached out with it, speaking as he did so.
“Well then,” Nestor started, “I guess you really are in my group! We should get out of here, but let’s take the South gate. The main gate will be too crowded.” With this said, Nestor walked past the golden-eyed stranger and began to quickly move through the crowd, heading South through the plaza. By this point, the plaza was thinning out, making the groups of leather-armored men slightly more visible amid the crowd of people.
As he continued along his path, a large group of rather wide drunk warriors wandered into his way. (Time – 0) Nestor gritted his teeth after realizing the necessary detour he would have to make as a result, staring to the left of a rather fat man to see the leather-armored men surrounding a fountain. (Time – 1)
The fat, drunk soldiers had a rough appearance, but these leather-armored men were slightly more refined, almost deceptively so. A few in the group had cards out, and a few others calmly sharpened their blades or cleaned equipment, leaving two rather scrawny men seated on a dry lip of the fountain to keep watch. None of the men were particularly noteworthy in appearance, besides scars, odd patchwork armor repairs, and randomly assorted weaponry, however the way the men treated each other was cold and harsh, almost violent. None of the men who were playing cards smiled, whereas all of the fat, drunk soldiers blocking Nestor’s favored route were merry and happy.
The two scrawny men on the fountain nudged each other as Nestor looked their way (Time – 1.5), then one jumped off the fountain and started to whisper in the ears of the other men. (Time – 3) Nestor gestured for his new companion to follow him as he weaved his way around the fat soldiers, moving past the men at the fountain. As they walked past, the leather-armored men paid no heed, but after the two passed by, all of the men watched eagerly, steadily getting up from their spots and replacing their equipment as the two got further away.
Without a word, the archer then handed his group number scroll over to Nestor, who quickly accepted it. The Vanisher already concluded that the golden-eyed man had the right scroll, otherwise the stranger would have said “farewell” and left after getting confused by Nestor’s gestures. Nonetheless, to keep the spectacle going for the leather-armored men, Nestor opened the scroll and took a few seconds to read the three large numbers plastered in the middle. As he did so, it took all the psychological inhibition in his body to keep him from whispering, “you blithering fool!” under his breath.
Nestor debated making a more obvious gesture to the golden-eyed man, but determined that more attempts to covertly provide information would lead the leather-armored men to suspicion. Additionally, Nestor figured that the man was too poorly educated to understand what he was doing. As a result, Nestor smiled a dreadfully forced smile and rolled up the scroll, handing it back to the golden-eyed gentleman once he was done. His hand moved painfully slowly as he reached out with it, speaking as he did so.
“Well then,” Nestor started, “I guess you really are in my group! We should get out of here, but let’s take the South gate. The main gate will be too crowded.” With this said, Nestor walked past the golden-eyed stranger and began to quickly move through the crowd, heading South through the plaza. By this point, the plaza was thinning out, making the groups of leather-armored men slightly more visible amid the crowd of people.
As he continued along his path, a large group of rather wide drunk warriors wandered into his way. (Time – 0) Nestor gritted his teeth after realizing the necessary detour he would have to make as a result, staring to the left of a rather fat man to see the leather-armored men surrounding a fountain. (Time – 1)
The fat, drunk soldiers had a rough appearance, but these leather-armored men were slightly more refined, almost deceptively so. A few in the group had cards out, and a few others calmly sharpened their blades or cleaned equipment, leaving two rather scrawny men seated on a dry lip of the fountain to keep watch. None of the men were particularly noteworthy in appearance, besides scars, odd patchwork armor repairs, and randomly assorted weaponry, however the way the men treated each other was cold and harsh, almost violent. None of the men who were playing cards smiled, whereas all of the fat, drunk soldiers blocking Nestor’s favored route were merry and happy.
The two scrawny men on the fountain nudged each other as Nestor looked their way (Time – 1.5), then one jumped off the fountain and started to whisper in the ears of the other men. (Time – 3) Nestor gestured for his new companion to follow him as he weaved his way around the fat soldiers, moving past the men at the fountain. As they walked past, the leather-armored men paid no heed, but after the two passed by, all of the men watched eagerly, steadily getting up from their spots and replacing their equipment as the two got further away.
Reggie plopped down on the couch, just in time to peel open his bowl of ramen. The scent of well-cooked noodles filled the air and brought a smile to the medic’s face. It was one of the few things in the world which could make him smile. It did not last long, however. Before Reggie even managed to fit his chopsticks in his right hand, he heard the phone ringing. “Matt!” he yelled, fiddling with the plastic sticks as he carefully placed the lid of the ramen bowl in his pocket, “Phone!”
Of course, before he was done with his second word, Matt had already made it to the phone, sliding across the floor in the process. All the medic saw in Matt’s action was a waste of sock durability and possible carpet wear, then again, it was small enough that Reggie was not willing to point it out. Instead, the medic began mixing the noodles around in the bowl to mix the flavoring around.
As Matt gestured and spoke on the phone, Reggie watched, holding the noodle bowl under his chin, slurping away at his food. He could not tell if Matt was using code words or just acting silly as he spoke, but it seemed to work fine. As his comrade continued to speak, Reggie tried to eat faster. As Matt hung up the phone and called out his name, Reggie looked up at the guy and nodded. He felt that Matt’s next few words were a bit cliché, but he could not point it out, because his face was stuffed with noodles.
As such, Reggie was not planning on suiting up quite yet. In fact, he did not even know what the details were. As soon as he was done chewing, the medic called out, “What’re the details?” and continued chomping down noodles, ignoring the capsaicin as he continued. He nearly spilled his food a few times as he listened for Matt, but managed to hold his ramen bowl with surgeon-like precision. There was no time to play around with the noodles, however. As soon as he plucked out the last few noodles, he gulped down the spicy soup and shot out of his seat, running over to the kitchen to throw the stuff in their proper places for later cleaning.
Of course, before he was done with his second word, Matt had already made it to the phone, sliding across the floor in the process. All the medic saw in Matt’s action was a waste of sock durability and possible carpet wear, then again, it was small enough that Reggie was not willing to point it out. Instead, the medic began mixing the noodles around in the bowl to mix the flavoring around.
As Matt gestured and spoke on the phone, Reggie watched, holding the noodle bowl under his chin, slurping away at his food. He could not tell if Matt was using code words or just acting silly as he spoke, but it seemed to work fine. As his comrade continued to speak, Reggie tried to eat faster. As Matt hung up the phone and called out his name, Reggie looked up at the guy and nodded. He felt that Matt’s next few words were a bit cliché, but he could not point it out, because his face was stuffed with noodles.
As such, Reggie was not planning on suiting up quite yet. In fact, he did not even know what the details were. As soon as he was done chewing, the medic called out, “What’re the details?” and continued chomping down noodles, ignoring the capsaicin as he continued. He nearly spilled his food a few times as he listened for Matt, but managed to hold his ramen bowl with surgeon-like precision. There was no time to play around with the noodles, however. As soon as he plucked out the last few noodles, he gulped down the spicy soup and shot out of his seat, running over to the kitchen to throw the stuff in their proper places for later cleaning.
(OOC: ( For Oruin, he is a doctor. At this time, there might not be much he can actually do to help, but if a patient looks somewhat unwell, a medic will do things which might ease a patient’s pain, like give the patient some water, or clean their hands if they look caked in filth. Maybe a prison medic wouldn’t clean the patients, but Oruin can at least give people he likes a damp towel or some kind of herb to chew on. Just something to add to his character a little.))
Unable to keep his eyes closed, as Flake lied on his matting, he stared at Oruin and Raine. When Oruin checked on Raine’s wellbeing, Flake frowned and thought, Is he asking that to an assassin, or a friend? as he weighed the man’s voice. The medic seemed to use gentleness and ease in his speech, but it also seemed to be rehearsed, as if he said it to everyone he met. The bounty hunter smirked after the two briefly interacted, amused by making a mental comparison of the two.
After Oruin rose from his seat next to Raine, Flake watched Oruin flip through a few keys, barely able to see the tooth arrangement of the key the medic used before he put it away. Flake figured that it might come in handy if he needed to pick the lock, in the event that his plans failed. After Oruin opened the door, Flake closed his eyes and relaxed, trying his best to look asleep. He could already feel Raine’s eyes on him, so he knew she would not fall for his ruse, however he kept it up nonetheless.
Once she started to talk, Flake opened his eyes and watched her. The position she took up reminded him of beggar children and sleeping drunks, the position itself shouting loneliness and hopelessness. Flake continued to stare at Raine as she spoke. Her words were quite amusing, but the bounty hunter figured it would not fit the situation to laugh. After she finished her words, he felt that he did not quite understand why she needed to keep watch, but nodded anyways. They were in prison, so nobody was going to try to kill them unless they were condemned to death, and if the guards decided to pop in and beat them up, there was nothing they could do about it.
Of course, Flake did not want to spoil Raine’s fantasies. He only barely knew who she was, so observing her in trying times would be a great indication, especially considering she lost her composure. I had best start talking at sunrise…I likely will not be able to think well at the moment he thought, closing his eyes. He was not nearly tired enough to fall asleep, but as he relaxed on the mat with his eyes closed, he got fairly close.
Unable to keep his eyes closed, as Flake lied on his matting, he stared at Oruin and Raine. When Oruin checked on Raine’s wellbeing, Flake frowned and thought, Is he asking that to an assassin, or a friend? as he weighed the man’s voice. The medic seemed to use gentleness and ease in his speech, but it also seemed to be rehearsed, as if he said it to everyone he met. The bounty hunter smirked after the two briefly interacted, amused by making a mental comparison of the two.
After Oruin rose from his seat next to Raine, Flake watched Oruin flip through a few keys, barely able to see the tooth arrangement of the key the medic used before he put it away. Flake figured that it might come in handy if he needed to pick the lock, in the event that his plans failed. After Oruin opened the door, Flake closed his eyes and relaxed, trying his best to look asleep. He could already feel Raine’s eyes on him, so he knew she would not fall for his ruse, however he kept it up nonetheless.
Once she started to talk, Flake opened his eyes and watched her. The position she took up reminded him of beggar children and sleeping drunks, the position itself shouting loneliness and hopelessness. Flake continued to stare at Raine as she spoke. Her words were quite amusing, but the bounty hunter figured it would not fit the situation to laugh. After she finished her words, he felt that he did not quite understand why she needed to keep watch, but nodded anyways. They were in prison, so nobody was going to try to kill them unless they were condemned to death, and if the guards decided to pop in and beat them up, there was nothing they could do about it.
Of course, Flake did not want to spoil Raine’s fantasies. He only barely knew who she was, so observing her in trying times would be a great indication, especially considering she lost her composure. I had best start talking at sunrise…I likely will not be able to think well at the moment he thought, closing his eyes. He was not nearly tired enough to fall asleep, but as he relaxed on the mat with his eyes closed, he got fairly close.
With a sigh, Reggie turned towards the water heater just in time to hear the “bing.” He jumped in shock, a gut reflex momentarily deceiving him into thinking it was an explosive, but afterwards, he convinced himself that it had not happened and walked over to the device with his ramen in hand. The medic effortlessly peeled half of the lid off of the ramen container, slid the heated pot of water out of the water heater, and poured the liquid into the container. He had done it hundreds of times throughout college and ex-millitary life, so the reflex was set. Nonetheless, something about his situation made him feel that concentration was necessary to succeed at the task.
Upon mixing all the ingredients into his cup of ramen, Reggie carried the container over to the coffee table in the living room and took a seat on the couch. He placed his trusty plastic chopsticks on the lid of the container to keep the steam in as the noodles soaked, then leaned back, closing his eyes to think.
For the past few days, the two roommates had done upkeep work and training, to make sure their skills were sharp, however they did not have a single job or request. It was almost as if they owned a restaurant with no customers. Reggie was used to using stress-reducing and calming techniques so as to work effectively while under fire, but it was impossible to reproduce any remotely similar stimuli without actual combat. Sparring with Matt, breach-and-clear simulations at the firing range, even horror movies couldn’t make him flinch. Of course, the more pressing issue was that his equipment was going to expire if he did not get to use it by a certain date, which would waste a great amount of money.
By the time his brief meditation met a satisfactory conclusion, Reggie heard a loud “smack” followed by a tremor. Without a thought, the soldier shot to his feet, darted around the corner and threw Matt’s door open to see him wielding a giant metal rod, facing the door. Reggie stared at Matt grimly and asked, “what exactly made you think that this was a good idea?” as he gestured to Matt’s weapon. “The gym is much sturdier than our apartment,” he spat out, “plus, the tenants below us threatened to have us kicked out if we kept up the loud noises.”
Reggie didn’t doubt Matt’s intelligence, nor his planning, but he knew full well that his team-mate could not care less about the people living around them. This was more of an ongoing character issue he had while off-duty. They both had their flaws, but Reggie seemed to point Matt’s out more often. He was more interested in money and in efficiency than in personal comfort, a trait that made him horrible at extended care. Clearly, this was noticeable in how he treated Matt on a regular basis. Nonetheless, his intentions were honest and well-intended.
Upon mixing all the ingredients into his cup of ramen, Reggie carried the container over to the coffee table in the living room and took a seat on the couch. He placed his trusty plastic chopsticks on the lid of the container to keep the steam in as the noodles soaked, then leaned back, closing his eyes to think.
For the past few days, the two roommates had done upkeep work and training, to make sure their skills were sharp, however they did not have a single job or request. It was almost as if they owned a restaurant with no customers. Reggie was used to using stress-reducing and calming techniques so as to work effectively while under fire, but it was impossible to reproduce any remotely similar stimuli without actual combat. Sparring with Matt, breach-and-clear simulations at the firing range, even horror movies couldn’t make him flinch. Of course, the more pressing issue was that his equipment was going to expire if he did not get to use it by a certain date, which would waste a great amount of money.
By the time his brief meditation met a satisfactory conclusion, Reggie heard a loud “smack” followed by a tremor. Without a thought, the soldier shot to his feet, darted around the corner and threw Matt’s door open to see him wielding a giant metal rod, facing the door. Reggie stared at Matt grimly and asked, “what exactly made you think that this was a good idea?” as he gestured to Matt’s weapon. “The gym is much sturdier than our apartment,” he spat out, “plus, the tenants below us threatened to have us kicked out if we kept up the loud noises.”
Reggie didn’t doubt Matt’s intelligence, nor his planning, but he knew full well that his team-mate could not care less about the people living around them. This was more of an ongoing character issue he had while off-duty. They both had their flaws, but Reggie seemed to point Matt’s out more often. He was more interested in money and in efficiency than in personal comfort, a trait that made him horrible at extended care. Clearly, this was noticeable in how he treated Matt on a regular basis. Nonetheless, his intentions were honest and well-intended.
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