Prosaic
StarBoi
Skai"Late again, Sven" Troike chastised him, Sven's eyes sealing shut as the words played over in his head, his fingers curling as a touch of rage blossomed in the back of his mind. Troike made no effort to so much as look at him either, that is until the door slid open once again and Ralen came through, taking the opposite side of the door from Sven. She seemed to be hiding something behind her arm, probably some of her usual witchcraft or whatever it was. Sven would've been money she was keeping it hidden to try to surprise some of the new blood once the meeting either warpped up or we got into introductions. Though, Sven's introduction had already gotten started and he was in no mood for Troike's typical shit. The fucking cunt doesn't even have the gall to look me in he eyes. "Oi, Troike", Sven spat out, the words rolling off his tongue as his accent turned Troike to Troy-keh, "Perhaps you're confused again. I'm here for Orion. Not you, you fjolla." He knew Troike didn't speak his birth language, not many did after Terran Common replaced all native languages in the largest cultural and linguistic genocide seen to the known galaxy circa 3300's.
Sven was now halfway across the room, his bright blue eyes almost glowing, "Orion. I'll be in the bay getting prepped. Send..." He paused as his eyes scanned the room, "Ralen and, I guess, one of the greenhorns to give me a briefer brief on whatever it is we're doing." Sven spun on his heels and made his way to the door, fully aware of how he now appeared to the fresh meat. Not that it particularly mattered. They'd probably lose on of them this mission. Razlo piped up now, calling out to Ralen about beauty sleep or something equally stupid. "Find another room to stroke yourself off," Sven shot over his shoulder, looking toward Ralen then. "Get your gear before you come to the bay. I put together a new way for you to get deeper into the battlefield undetected. We're testing it today since there shouldn't be risk." The door slid open no more than half way before Sven was through. By the time it had slid closed he had already rounded the corner on due course for his room.
His room was a testament to his spartan lifestyle, a metal box of a room with a bed, a cabinet for clothes and amenities, and a deck of playing cards. All the booze, smokes, and other gear was holed away in his workshop, sharing a drawer with the tools that rarely needed to be used. He stripped, grabbed a handful of clothes and crossed out into the hallway, completely in the buff, and slipped into the communal shower giving himself a two minute scrub down and wash before throwing on his clothes without bothering to dry off with anymore than a few jumps and a shake of the head. Typically he'd dry off in Mjolnir. It tended to get in the low 110's in there and operated more like an oven than a sauna.
Sven now in the mechanics bay wasted to time getting everything up and ready for whatever shit was on the menu today. He grabbed onto the crane operator and put the Ichaival into position, dead center of the bay, three meters off the ground, and moved a dolly with nine large cylindrical canisters underneath Ichaival. Eight of the canisters contained enough explosives to turn the entire ship into a blazing inferno. The ninth canister was rigged with advanced suspension, heat dispersion, and force distribution technologies, as well as a seat, a harness, and a communications system. The ninth canister was how Sven wanted to get their teams not-so-friendly little ghost Ralen deep into enemy territory. Hope she's good at dealing with vertigo.
Sven checked the clock, guesstimating that he probably had another ten or so minutes before the meeting wrapped up and his debriefers were sent over. That would give him enough time to do some last minute changes to the Ichaival. Another recent innovation he had made; he was to swap out part of Ichaival's cockpit with Gungnir so that he wouldn't have to fly back to the cruiser to get into one of his mechs. If the option we available Sven would've rigged Mjolnir into the Ichaival, but there was no way to do that without making Ichaival so front heavy that she could only fly downward.
A bit of work and a few burns later, Gungnir was hooked up to Ichaival and the canisters were already for loading. His current get up, baggy gray fatigues, boots, and a gray t-shirt with a small hole in its side from a recent torch-related incident wasn't the most 'hardened mercenary' look, but it'd have to do since he didn't have the time nor care to change one more.
Marx
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Will I ever come back? Maybe! Probably not! Who knows!
Most Recent Posts
Yeah, I got started with RPing in the Warcraft 3 custom game scene in '04 and moved to forum rping in like '08 where I was actually required to write more than a line of dialogue. I do a lot of other writing as well cause it's my hobby and I'm going to school for it too.
Yeah, Rev. I'd be interested in taking a look. Can't promise anything about helping to start a community though. Gotta lot on my plate as is. You might wanna PM a link to your site though. It might be kind of rude to the GM to be posting links to other sites in the OOC.
Yeah, Rev. I'd be interested in taking a look. Can't promise anything about helping to start a community though. Gotta lot on my plate as is. You might wanna PM a link to your site though. It might be kind of rude to the GM to be posting links to other sites in the OOC.
Oh, five is the most I've ever been in. I sort of stumbled into all of them, this one included and now I'm just doing my best to not confuse things. I spend a lot of time researching and editing posts to make sure I get all of my information correct! Plus, two of my RPs are 1x1s, so they aren't nearly as intensive.
Much obliged, dear. I've been RPing for a half a year shy of a decade now, so it's always nice to hear that my writing is up to snuff!
Much obliged, dear. I've been RPing for a half a year shy of a decade now, so it's always nice to hear that my writing is up to snuff!
I read through everyone's characters and my own before every post and usually write down points of what I need to remember. So I get where you're coming from. I'm also in five rps right now and it's hard not to get names and traits jumbled.
What's the interior of the Izanagi like?
i.e. UNSC Infinity, Ender's Game Battle School, Nostromo, etc
Are pilots still going to be isolated and if so, how long will that play out in the IC?
what will the pilot rooms be like? Training facilities? Communal or individual bathrooms? Mess hall?
When pilots enter their framework, do you plan to have some players have poor synchronization with their frameworks or is that more left to our discretion?
When is the posting rule going to change or do you plan to continue it indefinitely?
Is it safe to assume the Izanagi has artificial gravity?
i.e. UNSC Infinity, Ender's Game Battle School, Nostromo, etc
Are pilots still going to be isolated and if so, how long will that play out in the IC?
what will the pilot rooms be like? Training facilities? Communal or individual bathrooms? Mess hall?
When pilots enter their framework, do you plan to have some players have poor synchronization with their frameworks or is that more left to our discretion?
When is the posting rule going to change or do you plan to continue it indefinitely?
Is it safe to assume the Izanagi has artificial gravity?
"Well, first of all, I'm not 'girlie'. I have a name. I consider it a bit rude that you automatically gave me a nickname without even getting to know my actual name first. Secondly, I won't be surprised at all if I do get heavily punished for what I've done. But, I'm willing to take responsibility for my actions and will own up to it when the time comes." she practically snarled at him. Wonderful start to a new friendship, though given the circumstances, he'd take it. "Sorry, got a chronic case of foot in mouth syndrome. Didn't mean it like that." He managed out as he kept behind her, catching a good look at her face when she glanced back, eyes going a bit wide before she snapped her gaze away from him. "I-I'm Esther. What's your name? I didn't quite catch it back there." She said to him, the bite in her tone gone.
"L-" Leonce began to say before the sound of slamming boots was practically at his heels, his body being launched from his feet before a boot met him square in the stomach, the blurry object sailing next to him Esther, he assumed as he slammed first into the floor, then the wall, before being crashed into by the girl. He gagged in both fright and pain, the pain very reminiscent to what it felt like when he had been stabbed in the chest no more than a few weeks prior. Air rushed sharply into his lungs, his chest feeling like it had burst into flame, his heart pounding against his ribs like a jackhammer. Chaos erupted before the two pilots as a Cruxi burst forth from dust and took hold of the spartan that launched them back. "Christ" He whispered, biting his lip as he muttered out the name of one of Humanities oldest religions, something that was more of a taboo now than ever. His secret catholic upraising by his birth parents and his own research on the topic had made him a faint believer of the antiquated beliefs and now as a whirling dervish of horror did its best to slaughter the spartan that saved their lives, he realised that if there were no hell it made no difference. They were already living in one.
The emergence from the chaos by the spartan nearly brought Leonce's breakfast up from the pits of his stomach, the gaping wound that was sputtering out blood reminding him of the man that Leonce had killed back on Earth after he had been attacked. He gagged again as another wave of pain spread through his body from his stomach, his mouth tasting life bile as he did his best to swallow back down the mess. He then looked toward the girl that he was only a moment ago running with and frowned, regretting his decision to run with her. Perhaps he should have stopped her. His eyes noticed the blood splotch on the floor by them; he definitely should have stopped her. "Leonce," he forced out and did his best to stand, offering her a hand, "Sorry, hope you're okay." He turned once Esther was on her feet to face the rest of them, the military girl's disapproving gaze on him. He'd have to get used to that. It probably wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
The sound of another cruxi making an appearance was heard from the room he and Esther had just abandoned and in moments the crowd of pilots, soldiers, and the caricature for a mad scientist poured out into the hall. The soldier who was soon to bleed out volunteered to stay behind and slow down the soon to arrive cruxi, Leonce's stomach sinking low at the sound of that. "In another life, let us switch places." He said softly, turning away from the scene to follow along with the other pilots near the back. He hung back this time, not bothering to make eye contact with the others while doing his best to stay in the back away from the others. By the time they were gathered at the ramp to their escape ship, the military girl had clearly decided that she was the leader, or at least wanted to act like it. And her statement was clearly directed at himself and Esther.
Leonce hung back and let the others enter before him, taking as long as he could to look over his surroundings and let the enormity of what was to come sink in.
"L-" Leonce began to say before the sound of slamming boots was practically at his heels, his body being launched from his feet before a boot met him square in the stomach, the blurry object sailing next to him Esther, he assumed as he slammed first into the floor, then the wall, before being crashed into by the girl. He gagged in both fright and pain, the pain very reminiscent to what it felt like when he had been stabbed in the chest no more than a few weeks prior. Air rushed sharply into his lungs, his chest feeling like it had burst into flame, his heart pounding against his ribs like a jackhammer. Chaos erupted before the two pilots as a Cruxi burst forth from dust and took hold of the spartan that launched them back. "Christ" He whispered, biting his lip as he muttered out the name of one of Humanities oldest religions, something that was more of a taboo now than ever. His secret catholic upraising by his birth parents and his own research on the topic had made him a faint believer of the antiquated beliefs and now as a whirling dervish of horror did its best to slaughter the spartan that saved their lives, he realised that if there were no hell it made no difference. They were already living in one.
The emergence from the chaos by the spartan nearly brought Leonce's breakfast up from the pits of his stomach, the gaping wound that was sputtering out blood reminding him of the man that Leonce had killed back on Earth after he had been attacked. He gagged again as another wave of pain spread through his body from his stomach, his mouth tasting life bile as he did his best to swallow back down the mess. He then looked toward the girl that he was only a moment ago running with and frowned, regretting his decision to run with her. Perhaps he should have stopped her. His eyes noticed the blood splotch on the floor by them; he definitely should have stopped her. "Leonce," he forced out and did his best to stand, offering her a hand, "Sorry, hope you're okay." He turned once Esther was on her feet to face the rest of them, the military girl's disapproving gaze on him. He'd have to get used to that. It probably wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
The sound of another cruxi making an appearance was heard from the room he and Esther had just abandoned and in moments the crowd of pilots, soldiers, and the caricature for a mad scientist poured out into the hall. The soldier who was soon to bleed out volunteered to stay behind and slow down the soon to arrive cruxi, Leonce's stomach sinking low at the sound of that. "In another life, let us switch places." He said softly, turning away from the scene to follow along with the other pilots near the back. He hung back this time, not bothering to make eye contact with the others while doing his best to stay in the back away from the others. By the time they were gathered at the ramp to their escape ship, the military girl had clearly decided that she was the leader, or at least wanted to act like it. And her statement was clearly directed at himself and Esther.
Leonce hung back and let the others enter before him, taking as long as he could to look over his surroundings and let the enormity of what was to come sink in.
TheObsidianWolf said
Maybe that'll play out for some interaction for later then..Also, that was a really crappy post but it's nearly 1 am here and I'm not sure if I don't post now I'd be able to catch up.
Definite possibility. He'd definitely be a bit amused by the fact that he wasn't the last one to show up to a meeting for once.
Don't worry about it. Your character's in the scene now and the post was by no means bad.
If it's any consolation, Ralen will be as late to the meeting as Sven was.
Well.. this is something. Where exactly am I? It's dark. Let's see... can I- ah, damnit. Okay. I'm inside of something. What is that something. Surrounded by metal... feels like I'm sitting on... leather. Oh. I see.
Mjolnir hummed to life at the flick of a button on the overhead switchboard, the exo letting out a strained groan as its joints pressurized and depressurized, steam hissing out from release valves. Sven blinked quickly as the warm red light flooded the cockpit, the command console and switchboard's white LED glow searing his retinas. The light only hurt his eyes though, the only pain in his head from where he smacked it earlier trying to stand. So no hangover. Today would've started well if it weren't for the warmth on The warm sensation on his forehead meant he was bleeding. He wiped to confirm. Red. Confirmed.
A swipe of the hand across Mjolnir's console brought it down to its knees as the back plating hissed and opened wide allowing its pilot to climb out and land on the garage bay floor with shaky legs. Sven surveyed the room, everything in place, bar Mjolnir who was now abandoned in the center of the room. There was a drained bottle of scotch by his workstations and if memory served him right, he had been working on Mjolnir last night. The pile of cigarettes at the base of his workstool testified to that. Cool. Now I know what I did, then. And no hangover. Better than most days. Sven wasn't wearing a shirt and the burn that covered most of the left side of his chest, from the pecs to the shoulder, where plasma had melted armour to his skin was painfully visible. One of these days he'd make an effort to get a skin graft. Make himself at least a touch more presentable. At least, that was a lie he often told himself. Across from the burn was a tattoo of a black serial number printed above his right pectoral which read "0000832"; it being his assigned number during the prenatal period of his life where he was chemically altered in an artificial womb. Sven rarely went into explaining the serial, still bitter over his origins.
"Good morning, evening or whatever time of the day it is all. I want the team ready to go and in the control room in 10 minutes. Orion out." Sven groaned and scanned the bay for a shirt, only finding a white wife beater mostly burned to a cinder. Right. Accidentally set myself on fire last night. Well, looks like he was on the Skins team today. He glanced through the bay, double checking that there was no disaster waiting to happen the moment he stepped out. Satisfied with his survey, he took his leave and broke into a slow jog toward the control room. "Any one who doesn't show up for the briefing doesn't get paid, that's the rule people." spilled out from the speakers scattered through the ship, drawing a grimace from the Nordic Martian. It wasn't the pay he really cared about. He had enough to get by for a decent amount of time. Before he joined he lived on a diet of meat, carbs, liquor, supplements, and scrap metal. Now the only new addition to his near spartan lifestyle was cigarettes, which he could certainly afford. The thing that got to him was the threat to dock what was rightfully his after a hard days work. Completely unacceptable.
He reached the door, which slid open with a muted hiss, and slid inside, sealing the door behind him. Of course, most of the crew was already in their gear. Sven made eye contact with the boss man and made a brief two fingered salute, which was probably more insulting than it was polite given his current dress, or lack thereof. The dried blood caked to his forehead probably didn't do much to impress the boss either, now that Sven thought about it. Oh well, at least he was getting paid now.
Always look for them silver linings.
Mjolnir hummed to life at the flick of a button on the overhead switchboard, the exo letting out a strained groan as its joints pressurized and depressurized, steam hissing out from release valves. Sven blinked quickly as the warm red light flooded the cockpit, the command console and switchboard's white LED glow searing his retinas. The light only hurt his eyes though, the only pain in his head from where he smacked it earlier trying to stand. So no hangover. Today would've started well if it weren't for the warmth on The warm sensation on his forehead meant he was bleeding. He wiped to confirm. Red. Confirmed.
A swipe of the hand across Mjolnir's console brought it down to its knees as the back plating hissed and opened wide allowing its pilot to climb out and land on the garage bay floor with shaky legs. Sven surveyed the room, everything in place, bar Mjolnir who was now abandoned in the center of the room. There was a drained bottle of scotch by his workstations and if memory served him right, he had been working on Mjolnir last night. The pile of cigarettes at the base of his workstool testified to that. Cool. Now I know what I did, then. And no hangover. Better than most days. Sven wasn't wearing a shirt and the burn that covered most of the left side of his chest, from the pecs to the shoulder, where plasma had melted armour to his skin was painfully visible. One of these days he'd make an effort to get a skin graft. Make himself at least a touch more presentable. At least, that was a lie he often told himself. Across from the burn was a tattoo of a black serial number printed above his right pectoral which read "0000832"; it being his assigned number during the prenatal period of his life where he was chemically altered in an artificial womb. Sven rarely went into explaining the serial, still bitter over his origins.
"Good morning, evening or whatever time of the day it is all. I want the team ready to go and in the control room in 10 minutes. Orion out." Sven groaned and scanned the bay for a shirt, only finding a white wife beater mostly burned to a cinder. Right. Accidentally set myself on fire last night. Well, looks like he was on the Skins team today. He glanced through the bay, double checking that there was no disaster waiting to happen the moment he stepped out. Satisfied with his survey, he took his leave and broke into a slow jog toward the control room. "Any one who doesn't show up for the briefing doesn't get paid, that's the rule people." spilled out from the speakers scattered through the ship, drawing a grimace from the Nordic Martian. It wasn't the pay he really cared about. He had enough to get by for a decent amount of time. Before he joined he lived on a diet of meat, carbs, liquor, supplements, and scrap metal. Now the only new addition to his near spartan lifestyle was cigarettes, which he could certainly afford. The thing that got to him was the threat to dock what was rightfully his after a hard days work. Completely unacceptable.
He reached the door, which slid open with a muted hiss, and slid inside, sealing the door behind him. Of course, most of the crew was already in their gear. Sven made eye contact with the boss man and made a brief two fingered salute, which was probably more insulting than it was polite given his current dress, or lack thereof. The dried blood caked to his forehead probably didn't do much to impress the boss either, now that Sven thought about it. Oh well, at least he was getting paid now.
Always look for them silver linings.
Sorry it's taking me so long to post. Found a huge pocket of adware/malware on my comp that I've been working on clearing out and I can't really do anything till I'm done.
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