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4 yrs ago
6 yrs ago
Roleplay man, roleplay man, does whatever a roleplay can. Does he write? Not at all. He brings plots to a stall, look out... He’s a fucking ghost.
18 likes
7 yrs ago
I hate websites that tell you an email is wrong whilst you're trying to type it out. CALM YOUR TITS, I'VE NOT PUT IN THE FUCKING @ ADDRESS YET, NO SHIT IT'S NOT VALID.
16 likes
7 yrs ago
Does anyone else see a word spelt totally correctly and think 'that can't be fucking right, I've messed something up.'
23 likes
8 yrs ago
When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager!
19 likes

Most Recent Posts


Beginning Ascent: T-2.3 hours


Everyone was loaded into the plane. In front, the pilot and co pilot clambered in, the latter opening a small hatch in the back to stick his head through. "Just a warning folks- it'll get cold, windy, and probably a little hard to breathe back there. We'll try to make the flight as quick as possible, but there's not a whole lot we can do about that. If you feel dizzy, give a bang on this hatch and we'll see if we can't take her a little bit lower for your sakes." The airmen didn't know much, but they knew these agents were important.

"Once down, we'll need you folks to take that pallet there." He pointed towards a small crate, fragile stamps across it. It wasn't a big box- only around 5lbs, but apparently it contained vital cargo. "When you have it, clear the plane as quickly as possible. Every second we shave off of our transfer is another second the boche don't have to locate us. Understood?" He nodded at them all, and then would draw the hatch shut again with a quiet thud. The cargo loading door was lifted up, the only light now coming from a number of poorly-repaired bullet holes in the fuselage.

The twin engines of the plane slowly began to rotate, and then they would trundle down the runway. Seconds ticket away as the intensity of the propellors grew and grew, until the plane would begin to tilt skywards, carrying itself and its passengers up, across towards where the midnight black water of the Channel lay.




"Lindmann?" A smartly dressed administration member would appear at the door of his quarters, holding a clipboard.

"Jawohl?" The stand user would raise an eyebrow, although the fact that he was facing away from the man meant that the gesture was worthless.

"You are being deployed as per Bluthund protocols. I am sure that you know the drill." The man would tap his clipboard authoritively.

"Jawhol." This one was far more of dull sentence. Heaving himself to his feet, Till would pace towards the door. Slowly, he would roll his sleeves down, covering up the marks on his arm with each quick motion of his wrist, thread his cufflinks and button the last few elements of his shirt. He would take his coat down from the wall- holding it almost gingerly, and then finally he would take his glasses and slide them into his breast pocket.

"Actually, you have been reccomended to wear the sunglasses." Till would turn to look at the admninistration staff, seeing him properly. Tall, lanky, bespecled, brown-haired. He would consider it for a moment, before shaking his head a little to clear his mind.

"Jawohl." He would say for the third time, unfolding the glasses and slipping them over his eyes.

As Lindmannn walked through the bunker complex, he would idly draw a cigarette out from his pocket and place it to his lips. Trailing tobacco smoke, he would enter the armoury and take the few pieces of equipment that he needed, before at last emerging into a crisp clear autumnal evening. Crunching across orange leaves, he would take a set of keys out of a small box by the side of a hangar and clamber into a 1930s Peugeot, the sound of a car's engine splitting the serenity as he peeled away.
Siobhan would slowly drag in her breath before releasing it, the curling wisps swept away near-instantly by the wind rushing past outside. "I'm doing just fine." She would say it, sounding quite spacey as she did so, before becoming more grounded. "I've known it was coming for quite some time now. I was just waiting for it to happen for good." She would take another short drag. Her throat burned- she had smoked a lot over the past few days, but she still continued.

"Besides. I'm used to running." She would tap off a little more ash, and then tsk at herself. Retrieving her lighter from out of her pocket, she would, for a brief moment, release her grip on her knife. The flame would catch, she would breathe in again, and then she would return her hand back to where plastic and steel awaited it. Then she would release another plume of smoke.

"You though." She would indicate towards the woman. "You don't seem very fine to me."
Siobhan would, carefully, with one finger, close the blade of her knife. Nonetheless, she still held it inside her pocket, her finger hovering over the button that would cause it's little blade to dart out and be ready to taste crimson. Nodding to the woman- Ana, as she introduced herself, she would open the boot of the car and slide her bags inside, before returning to the front of the car. Gesturing vaguely towards the cigarette that Ana held in her mouth, she would receive a smoke of her own, placing it to her lips with one hand, then holding it there as she retrieved her lighter and lit it.

Her hand never left the hilt of her knife.

When it was lit, she would open the car door and clamber into the shotgun seat. Winding down the window, she would tap out the first few specks of ash that had accumulated at the end, and then breathe out a small plume of smoke into the midnight sky. Turning towards the Polish woman, she would gesture up, the ember of lit tobacco harsh against the barely-visible starlight. "I'm ready when you are."
13!


Let's get started folks.
SOE Briefing: T-2.5 hours


"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Ashford Bomber Base." The individual speaking would normally be a rather imposing figure, but it was hard for any normal individual to seem intimidating to stand users. Nonetheless, Brigadier General Carmond oozed an aura of authority, a bristling moustache completing his resoundly military look. One hand would come up to stroke his chin as he examined the crowd, before continuing onwards. "Normally, you would be being loaded into a Lancaster Bomber for a paradrop into France, but today we have a special delivery for the fine folks in France." He would turn and point towards a much smaller plane. In fact, it barely looked like it could hold two individuals, let alone six or seven.

"Inside that plane are vital medical supplies for a resistance cell located near Orléans. Due to the fragility of these supplies, high command has deemed them far too valuable to drop from the air. Instead, the pilots will be making a landing on French soil. As some of your persons do not have paratrooper wings, you will also be on this plane." He would bring his hand down from his moustache to behind his back, raising his other hand as he did so.

"I will not lie to you. This is a tricky exercise. The whole transferal must take no longer than two minutes, and even that short period of time may bring the Wermacht down onto your heads. If this happens, your mission will be doomed and we will be forced to assume you all MIA." He did not shy away from the hard truths. As powerful as these individuals supposedly were, the boche had their new superweapons on their side... And even if they did pull through, it was likely the entirety of the Orléans resistance cell capable of communication and coordination with London would be destroyed.

"Once down in France, you will rest the night with the resistance, and then proceed northwards, towards Paris." He would turn to an easel by his side and lift up a blank sheet of paper, revealing a map of France beneath it, one side partitioned off and stamped with a large 'Vichy.' He indicated first towards Orléans, and then towards Paris. "Preferably, you will avoid roads, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you how to do your job. Once in Paris, rendevouz with the Parisian resistance. They will outfit you for your trip into the Eagle's Nest." He would point towards the French-German border.

"Once you cross the border to Germany, we will have no further contact with each other. Ladies and gentlemen." The man stood up straighter- a remarkable feat considering his back was remarkably ruler-like. "What you are undertaking is a tremendous and thankless task. The files regarding this case will be locked deep within the SOE, likely never to be seen again in your lifetimes. Yet, it will be the most vital operation ever to take place in this great global conflict. I, and every man, woman and child in all the free nations of the world thank you for what you are about to do." He would incline his head slightly, then straighten it back up and salute.

"The plane will be leaving in ten minutes. Make ready for its departure, and godspeed."
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Oh no you don't! 17!
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