Liliya

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

"Don't be silly, miss teach, you can't learn sexy! It's, like, part of your character, or whatevs. Besides, it's for a totally legit figure study portrait class thingy, Dean okayed and everything, peachy keen. What are you teaching this semester? Like, I love the hair, but I know I didn't sign up for cosmetology or any of that vocational stuff,".

The signature above you wants to fight. What do?

EDIT: Language warning on the video. Dunno if that matters, but it's there.

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

"Excuse me, miss teach, but, uh, is this room two oh four? 'Cause I'm, like, pretty sure I didn't sign up for women's studies, or weightlifting or whatever this semester,"

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

"Oh, hey, I know you! From some old game, right? 'What is a man, but a miserable pile of secrets!' The name, the name is, uh... Vincent! Vincent Valentine, right! From Silent Hill!? That's rad, I totally loved Nintendo. Are you teaching about the, like, T-Virus, or whatever?"

Arena Chat Thread

I don't enjoy causing koalas pain and suffering, mind you, I just like to watch. And occasionally direct. ^^

Arena Chat Thread

Never seen any of them. I just want to kill stone age teddy bears with claw gauntlets and tromp around the jungle invisible. I can just see their cute little faces, "Yub bub, nub a bub b--, ahhh!!!!" as they watch their friend take a blade through the back of the neck and out of his mouth, dangling six feet up in the air held aloft by an invisible alien octopus... And then have to try and use traps and rocks and whatever to attempt to kill the predator. It's like recasting the first movie with koalas.

Arena Chat Thread

I want to make a character profile for the Ewok race. See whose characters can defeat an army of Ewoks.



"YUB NUB!"

@Doc Doctor

If I can play a Yautja hunting Ewoks on Endor, I'm totally into this idea.

MASKS - A New Prequel

@Tengri the pair of would be heroes recoil from Warbird, at first and only for a moment, before reasonably gladly taking the breathing assistance. Mark Guilty and Insecure. This is hell, a dream, a nightmare, must be. The feeling is overwhelming, nearly unbearable. Anne wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to break down, shut down, let it all drift away, --, but she doesn't. Nucleus puts her hand on Anne's shoulder. This is not to say that she in an emotional sense feels her sister put her hand on her shoulder, you can see, feel, smell your sister, --, and for all intents and purposes, she is floating there next to you. This would normally be some freaky shit, because you know in the logical lizard brain computer mind that she couldn't possibly be here, in this building or at the bottom of the sea, you just talked to her while she was speeding down the Turnpike like ten minutes ago, but right now it's more comforting than anything else. You feel the world around you slipping away, the low whooshing of flowing water along with the emotions floating downstream. Warbird knows that this is not okay, but for right now she allows herself to slip into the machine aspect of her psyche, allows her sister to guide her, --, and right now, she's whispering something faint in Anne's ear. "-ehi-- -ou, be---d y--," What? just as the thought crosses your mind, of course, a different part of her mind puzzles it out. Just then she feels herself pushed aside, forcefully, and flicking back to reality sees that an appendage twice as thick as any arm is currently wrestling it out with puke boy. It seems that it must have been headed for you, and in the distance you can see that at least three more are on their way towards you. It's dark, murky, almost impossible to see, but from the silhouette you don't think this seems like anything friendly. Out of the corner of Anne's eye she catches sight of the girl, panicing in response to her friend engaging a sea monster in melee without knowing how to swim, attempt to, --, wait... What the fu--, is that a tail!? "N- T-me," Warbird, still hovering behind you whispers seemingly without caring about how sound operates under water, and you know she's right, --, time to worry about how the girl seems to have grown a snake like tail from where her legs used to be and what looked like fangs later. She was clearly engaging the monster, had wrapped her, 'tail,' around the tentacle puke boy had been wrestling with and ripped it clean off in one fluid motion, and not Anne or her sister who probably wasn't actually there, so this seemed far more pressing.

Ken:
8

Talia:
Unleash: 9
Engage: 12

@Ermine the woman said nothing, the expression on her face didn't change a smidge from generic smart ass faux-bored smirk, and didn't stop or even slow her pace in response to the casual nature of her opponent's mention of having seen through her invisibility, though Berserker knew what she was thinking. How the hell!? Damn sensors... Super, obviously. Should deal with her quickly. The blaster? Nah. She has axes. Haven't had a good melee in a while, the harpē. The harpē was an ancient, magical sickle sword. It was also directly linked to the first of the steps that would be required to ever release Cassiopeia, --, Talia, from her doom, and should this woman die in the melee it would almost certainly ensure that Sophia's future teammate's doom would indeed take her one day. Circling her foe for a second the woman opened her mouth, uttered a single syllable as if she was going to begin the normal, "I will be your doom, hero, this will be where you die!" speech, but, --, what's this!? She instead darted faster than most could possibly have reacted to in time forward and to the direction opposite that which she had been moving in her circling, drawing her blade while slashing in a single motion aimed low, toward Berserker's legs, raising her mirrored shield high with her left hand in preparation for a potential counter attack. Of course, Berserker saw all of this coming long before it had ever happened. Then again, that didn't mean that she had the physical strength or dexterity to match a legacy the likes of her opponent blow for blow. Roll 2d6 for my satisfaction, --, on an eight or above Berserker has her opponent figured out and measured up, at least enough not to fall prey to a sneak attack that she saw through from the beginning, and on a seven or below mark afraid and take a minor cut on one of her shins, your choice, --, it won't cause any real damage to her, but it'll scar and be totally obvious whenever she's wearing knee length or shorter skirts and shorts, swimwear, whatever, then role regularly to do whatever you please with your turn.

The Perses:
8

OOC: I originally typed your name as Ermione, like Hermione, which I totally think should be a nickname. :D

@Raijinslayer the hunger and the anger grow within, though you find yourself helpless to fulfill either. As Gamma lunges for the throat of the Wascaly Wabbit she finds that, with a simple sidestep and jutted elbow, not only did she not find her mark, but she was sent slipping, and then crashing, into the wall, landing unceremoniously on her ass. Okwaho has fallen silent, apparently unnerved by the situation enough to feel neither anger or pity toward you. Mark Angry. You yourself, however, see an opportunity.

@Grey "splat," red, sticky, wet awful burst from the left shoulder of the rabbit headed freak, spattering the floor, the walls, the ceiling, more blood then it would seem to a casual observer that there properly should be. You are not a casual observer. You know exactly how much blood was shed, and that the loss in blood pressure would have dropped any normal humanoid. That doesn't change the fact that, to your terror, you watch the blaster in her right hand moving upward centimeter by centimeter, frame by frame as if the world around you had been plunged into slow motion. The blaster is being trained, on you, --, and you can see her finger moving to pull the trigger. Mark Insecure. If you cannot defend yourself, you have no doubt that she will fire on you, and, somehow, you know she isn't going to miss.

@Raijinslayer the overwhelming iron aroma overwhelms your senses, and the rabbit headed freak bends at the shoulders for just a moment, but it's enough. Okwaho at last speaks, parroting back to you the same thoughts flowing through your own mind. "Take the rabbit, take her now! Before she turns with fire and thunder, on you daughter of wolf and woman!" The urge is total, the knowledge absolute, --, the rabbit must be taken now! She is not looking at Gamma, and any attempt to catch her unawares before she can fire on the human woman before her or, spirits forbid, turn her fire and thunder on you receive a +2 bonus. If you fail the role the rabbit will seriously harm her, of course, so no pressure.

Rabbit Headed Freak:
9

OOC: Our friend the rabbit was seriously harmed, but hasn't yet been legitimately taken out of combat. Grey's successful Unleash bullet role has kept her firing role from affecting anything until after your turns, giving you both an opportunity to disable her or in Grey's case defend yourself. @Grey I put down Insecure as the marked condition for Nova because you'd already picked afraid. @Raijinslayer I stated Angry as your condition because I don't know if earlier, when you mentioned marking Angry for Gamma of what I think I remember as having been of your own volition, if you actually, well, did or not. If you did mark Angry of your own volition, you don't have to mark another condition. If I made you mark it and have for some reason forgotten all about having done so, mark another condition, and if you didn't mark it earlier then, of course, just mark it now.

OOC FOR EVERYONE

In case there's any confusion as to the manner in which I'm posting IC details in the OOC, I intend for the IC of this thread to read kind of like a comic book. Basically I'm using the OOC to explain the result of dice rolls and whatever, and expecting you to in the individual, "panels," read posts, explain in a narrative what happened, what your characters saw and experienced and did in response to these stimuli, and then the eventual result of whatever you tried to do would be explored in the next post IC, getting ultimately resolved at the end of the, "issue," read chapter. In my mind it's kind of like watching these little clips like the moving news article pictures in Harry Potter following each of our characters post by post with all the meta stuff kept to the OOC. I'm pressed for time at the moment, so I'm leaving my IC stuff for Saturday when I'll actually have the whole day off to write and can catch up on everything, but feel free to continue with your own posts, I hope to have lots to respond to on the weekend.

MASKS- A New Generation

“Pfft,” f@#$ing Riley. Of course she’d get a computer virus on the phone Alex had used to piggyback onto the Guardian’s hard light room control system mainframe with. At least, she assumed that’s what this was all about. Nothing else had been changed, so far as she knew anyway, this was the one and only new variable, the only variation in the cold, calculated universe of Anne Scarborough’s neurotically hyper controlled, pet project pocket dimension. Then again, with the general shittiness of her mom and the rest of their little cabal taken into account, this could just as feasibly be something they programmed to happen from the get go, really, ‘test them youngins’,’ with something they wouldn’t see coming and couldn’t have prepared for ahead of time, ‘‘n all,’. She couldn’t help but notice that, ‘coincidentally,’ none of the grownups happened to be around offering advice or jumping to the aide of their, ‘young charges,’ as the pr@n mannequin so eloquently referred to their little group, her little group, and it was almost impossible not to consider the fact that this might just be their way of mixing things up. Purposefully throw them into a situation that they knew would split the group along party lines, those for and against the absolute rule of their elders commands being followed as if codified, deliberated and notarized legal ultimatums, before throwing them into a tricky situation that would require them to work together as a team across a distance to accomplish the ultimate goal of shutting down the computer system and saving one another from, ‘gasp,’ certain peril! The kind of peril followed with a capital d, colon emoji.

Alex tightened her grip on Andrea’s hand and locked her elbow in front of and pressing against her friend’s shoulder toward her core, not to hold her back from engaging the opposition, she hardly had to move into brawling distance to fight as it were, but rather to ensure a clear firing lane for herself. Unlike her reluctant dancing partner, she couldn’t maneuver corners, or much of anything else, to launch attacks at range. Standing a foot taller than her best friend had elicited stares and comments practically all their lives, even when they were kids there was always a dramatic difference in their size and she’d been taken as a year or two older than she actually was while her bestie had been thought to be two, occasionally even three years younger than was the reality, but in this particular situation it just might save them both a whole lot of trouble. She had no way of knowing what the intentions of the virus, the Guardians, or whatever it was that controlled the blue sex plastic Barbie were, but considering what she feared they might be, after all, no one wants to play around with what might happen to be a sentient pr@n virus that can manifest physical form and has you and your friends locked in a tiny steel cage, and assuming from the suddenly violent holograms that had been dancing to Livin’ La Vida Loca only moments before the blue bitch arrived on the scene that it clearly wasn’t anything so benevolent as to make them smoothies, she decided she’d rather not let them grab her and her friend in order to find out.

“Ssst,” lasers, as it were, are rarely so loud as the gregariously booming, ‘WOHNK,’s and, ‘WHOO,’s most popular Space Operas would lead you to believe they should sound like. Alex’s sounded a bit like raw bacon thrown on a frying pan coated in some butter. What was left over after taking her lasers head on also, often as not, smelled like cooking bacon. It was probably the least super gross thing she could do to a living being with her super powers, nothing broke or cracked under the pressure of her fist, caved in around her flesh or covered her in sticky, goopy nastiness; it seemed like a pretty baller alternative until her vision came back into focus a moment and a blink or two after using the ability, and she could see just what had become of whatever it was that she had likely just sliced in half with a precision beyond that of any surgical tool. She’d never done it to a human, of course, but the holo room did a pretty good job of simulating the visual experience in all its grisly detail, all the leftover bits and pieces cauterized as they were simultaneously removed from the rest of the body to which they had formerly belonged, even got the smell pretty right somehow. She’d never actually considered how it was that holograms could actually smell like much of anything let alone the correct something, some kind of fancy concoction of Anne’s no doubt, molecular particle fabricators of some form or another, maybe simple common use, “smells of the battlefield,” attached to some kind of aerosolized sprayers hidden in the floor and wall panels?

That hardly mattered now, though. Alex trained her eyes on the furthest hologram to her direct right, and let loose with her laser eyes. “Ain't gonna play nice, bitch!” she yelled at no one in particular, meant in response to the pr@n mannequin’s comment on her taste in music of course though she couldn’t know for sure if the thing could even hear her, and should everything go according to plan she would attempt to sweep everything in a full two hundred seventy degree turn with her lasers. That particular degree of movement was no accident. The one thing the Guardians had that gave them the power to have places like this little hidden fortress straight out of some movie or something was a vast degree of funds, and even though the computers lining the wall no doubt cost tens of thousands of dollars, she had no qualms with slicing them to bits in order to save her friends, well, teammates anyway, and as far as she knew they were the only things causing this simulation to even run whatsoever. Hard light projectors shouldn't be any good without receiving code to tell them what to do by the computer. Hell, she had cereal companies offering her enough advertising monies to replace the mainframe, “Hey there, I’m Polaris, a mildly popular superheroine who happens to be the daughter of Lodestar, and in my morning routine, I always choose Qwik-E-Os as a part of my balanced breakfast,’ ‘_{Qwik-E-Os may contain an excessive amount of pencil lead, rat poison, and/or crushed glass, and should not be consumed by anyone. Consumer takes all responsibility by unwisely choosing to consume Qwik-E-Os products}.”

MASKS- A New Generation

Err meh gerd, guys, work has been way busy this week. D: I'm working on getting posts up in everything tonight, sorry about the delay. Tomorrow will be super busy, too, but I have the day after that (Saturday) off, so it should be regular posting tonight and Saturday. @Joshie @Ermine @Tengri @Raijinslayer @Grey

EDIT: To be safe, considering I don't know what exactly firing lasers at the computer qualifies as roll-wise, and I feel a case could be made for directly engaging enemies, unleashing powers, and trying to defend her teammates, I'm just going to roll 2d6 and if it's Danger mine's -1, Freak is 0, Savior is +2.

9