"Pilot error's a helluva thing, ain't it?" The suit asked, laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh, but it wasn't bitter either-- it was the kind of laugh a person who enjoyed a challenge might have. She turned to the man, towering over him in the massive powered armor. The orange ocular bulbs locked onto him. "So, who're you?" The suit didn't seem angry or suspicious, just flatly curious. In fact, she didn't care who he was; she just wanted to know what to call him if she had to. If she could have avoided the conversation she probably would have, but the planet was unmapped and possibly hostile.
Inside the machine, Nyula Reeve peered hard at the image offered by her enhanced optics. A battle-hardened woman even before her arrest, Nyula hadn't been surprised when she had been asked to join the Marines. The decision hadn't been hard either-- join up or rot in a cryo-cell for the rest of her natural life (which would have been about a month, since she was scheduled for execution). With shocking white hair and canny orange eyes, Nyula didn't pass for a harmless female. The board that had reviewed her had been lucky on that account. If they hadn't secured her well enough, she would have escaped, and quite possibly torched the whole facility as a good-bye present. Even so she had enjoyed the vaguely uncomfortable looks the reviewers had given her as they read her files and questioned her about her skill set. One of the men had even motioned a guard to stand nearer to him, in case Nyula got frisky.
She agreed to their terms and was fitted with a suit the next morning. It monitored her pulse, brainwaves, blood pressure, oxygenation; it took a whole panel of physical readings every five minutes, some more often. Her communications network was linked directly to the prison system's dispatchers so she could be directed as they saw fit. Basically, they said shoot, Nyula shot.
That had been four years ago, and Nyula had been on her way to her second term as a Marine. If she completed three, her sentence was reduced to time served-- another stipulation of the deal. She knew most Marines didn't survive their first term, but she figured she'd cut her loses and give it a shot. Anything was better than hanging around waiting for the bureaucrats to put a needle in her arm. At the thought, Nyula's pulse fluctuated and she flinched. She didn't take kindly to death. No matter what happened, Nyula Reeve would survive. She would live.
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- Old Guild Username: Alvynear
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Most Recent Posts
Name: Soga Taiichiro
Gender: Female
Age: 12
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: A taciturn, angry young prodigy, Soga is haughty and difficult to speak to. She is often sarcastic to the point of being caustic and is well aware she is much smarter than other children her age and most adults. Rarely speaking directly to anyone, Soga prefers to write her demands down so she isn’t forced to engage in conversation. Even her nurse tends to steer clear of her. She tends to lash out at anyone who gets close, insulting and belittling them. Underneath all of this, Soga is a brilliant girl who wishes she could be normal. More than anything, she wishes she could be average. She is very lonely.
Likes: Cats, furry things, strawberry-flavored candy, mathematics, music
Dislikes: Pity, stupid people, being treated like a child, being looked down upon
Appearance:
Demeanor: Soga always greets people while sitting up. Even in her wheelchair she is a commanding presence and her posture is always straight and tall (or as tall as a four-foot-three child can reasonably be). She is fierce and authoritative, like a miniature princess, but she would disdain the moniker. She does her best to appear calm and in control at all times.
Fashion Style: She is fond of traditional Japanese garments and usually wears child-sized kimonos. Nearly all of them are pink. She has a few special-occasion yukata and kimonos, but she never wears them, as she never goes out.
Prior History: The child of geniuses, Soga was born with a rare genetic defect that permanently crippled her. She has a malformed heart that requires her to remain sequestered in her bedroom at the expensive research hospital where her parents work. In her isolated little bower on the top floor, Soga perches in a bed by the window, lording over her domain while the occasional nurse skulks in or out with food and medicine. When she feels up to it, she occasionally takes her wheelchair for a short jaunt down the hallway, but this tends to tire her out, so she rarely leaves her room. Her copious spare time is spent mastering various subjects; Soga has always taken solace in learning and she is already a doctoral candidate in mathematics. Her parents originally tried to take an interest in their child, but Soga gradually chased them away. By now, their relationship is strictly professional—Soga’s mother is her cardiologist and her father is her pediatrician. She technically has other doctors, to avoid conflict of interest, but her parents are actively involved in the administration of her treatments.
It was into this sad, lonely life that Hikikomori Virtual Academy initially came. Visited by a representative of the school, Soga agreed to attend after hearing about the Persona program and the anonymity promised. She now spends half of her time in the simulation. The other half is devoted to her thesis.
Greatest Dream: To be a pop singer.
Greatest Fear: That she will die alone, in the hospital.
What do they want to do and learn in the Academy?: Soga wants to know what it feels like to be normal. She has never really interacted with anyone her age and the only other people she speaks to are related to her care. She has never had a friend.
Gender: Female
Age: 12
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: A taciturn, angry young prodigy, Soga is haughty and difficult to speak to. She is often sarcastic to the point of being caustic and is well aware she is much smarter than other children her age and most adults. Rarely speaking directly to anyone, Soga prefers to write her demands down so she isn’t forced to engage in conversation. Even her nurse tends to steer clear of her. She tends to lash out at anyone who gets close, insulting and belittling them. Underneath all of this, Soga is a brilliant girl who wishes she could be normal. More than anything, she wishes she could be average. She is very lonely.
Likes: Cats, furry things, strawberry-flavored candy, mathematics, music
Dislikes: Pity, stupid people, being treated like a child, being looked down upon
Appearance:
Demeanor: Soga always greets people while sitting up. Even in her wheelchair she is a commanding presence and her posture is always straight and tall (or as tall as a four-foot-three child can reasonably be). She is fierce and authoritative, like a miniature princess, but she would disdain the moniker. She does her best to appear calm and in control at all times.
Fashion Style: She is fond of traditional Japanese garments and usually wears child-sized kimonos. Nearly all of them are pink. She has a few special-occasion yukata and kimonos, but she never wears them, as she never goes out.
Prior History: The child of geniuses, Soga was born with a rare genetic defect that permanently crippled her. She has a malformed heart that requires her to remain sequestered in her bedroom at the expensive research hospital where her parents work. In her isolated little bower on the top floor, Soga perches in a bed by the window, lording over her domain while the occasional nurse skulks in or out with food and medicine. When she feels up to it, she occasionally takes her wheelchair for a short jaunt down the hallway, but this tends to tire her out, so she rarely leaves her room. Her copious spare time is spent mastering various subjects; Soga has always taken solace in learning and she is already a doctoral candidate in mathematics. Her parents originally tried to take an interest in their child, but Soga gradually chased them away. By now, their relationship is strictly professional—Soga’s mother is her cardiologist and her father is her pediatrician. She technically has other doctors, to avoid conflict of interest, but her parents are actively involved in the administration of her treatments.
It was into this sad, lonely life that Hikikomori Virtual Academy initially came. Visited by a representative of the school, Soga agreed to attend after hearing about the Persona program and the anonymity promised. She now spends half of her time in the simulation. The other half is devoted to her thesis.
Greatest Dream: To be a pop singer.
Greatest Fear: That she will die alone, in the hospital.
What do they want to do and learn in the Academy?: Soga wants to know what it feels like to be normal. She has never really interacted with anyone her age and the only other people she speaks to are related to her care. She has never had a friend.
Marrow said
id like to start the collab of our squad by meeting kirin in mid air with a palm in his chest :p
Kirin's female, dude.
Prince said
Alright, well, some of my family members just got shot. One's dead, two are in the hospital, they're still on the chase for the guy, and he's actually one of my (former) managers at where I work. I'm getting called in for questioning, mostly just to see if I can provide anything helpful.I have no clue how long I'll be gone, might just be a few hours, might not be too active for a few days. I shall leave the RP, whether he likes it a whole lot or not, in the hands of Durnehviir, because he seems the most competent and least biased.To anyone who needs any proof of this, simply search kfvs12.com for Piedmont Missouri and shootings; it's where I live.
Jeez! Good luck, Prince... Not really anything I can say to make it better, but... Jeez.
How long of a sample would you like?
Alrighty!
Should I send you an application?
Indeed. Shoot me a PM, or we can brainstorm here. Got any itches?
I'd like to join, and I've changed my CS. Should I post it here to be reviewed, or are you full?
The suit blinked at the man as he stepped out into the strangely-colored light. With a shrug of her massive shoulders, the suit followed him, careful to scan the rim of the crash site for anything unfriendly. As much as she would laugh when the guy got mauled five minutes after surviving a shuttle crash, she could always use someone to watch her back. From the look of him, he was a stealthy type. Most of the time she didn't get along with stealthy types (although truthfully she didn't get along with non-stealthy types either).
Outside the light faded to nearly white; either that, or her eyes were adapting. She shifted her grip on her rifle thoughtfully and spared the other survivor a glance; much like her, he was helmeted and armored. Probably a good thing, considering the nature of the planet. For all they knew, the atmosphere could be poisonous to human life. One way to find out. Reaching around the back of her helmet, she opened the air valve and took a tentative breath. While the air was thick with churned-up dust and particulate matter, with a faint metallic taste, her lungs didn't reject it out of hand. With this in mind, she left the valve open for a moment more, then shut it. "Doesn't seem instantly lethal. Hey, you. Got some scanners you can run? Check out the air quality."
The man was surveying the area a couple of steps away from the ship wreckage. He asked about the crash itself.
She shrugged. "There was a buoy-- you know, one of those little satellite things. Old. Looks like it floated out here when the batteries died, and we ran into it. Don't know how, but we got the worst of it, and here we are." She turned to watch the air inside the ship mingling with the air outside. It looked a little odd, like the outside was sucking the inside air out, but she figured that was just the ship's artificial atmosphere in its death throes.
Outside the light faded to nearly white; either that, or her eyes were adapting. She shifted her grip on her rifle thoughtfully and spared the other survivor a glance; much like her, he was helmeted and armored. Probably a good thing, considering the nature of the planet. For all they knew, the atmosphere could be poisonous to human life. One way to find out. Reaching around the back of her helmet, she opened the air valve and took a tentative breath. While the air was thick with churned-up dust and particulate matter, with a faint metallic taste, her lungs didn't reject it out of hand. With this in mind, she left the valve open for a moment more, then shut it. "Doesn't seem instantly lethal. Hey, you. Got some scanners you can run? Check out the air quality."
The man was surveying the area a couple of steps away from the ship wreckage. He asked about the crash itself.
She shrugged. "There was a buoy-- you know, one of those little satellite things. Old. Looks like it floated out here when the batteries died, and we ran into it. Don't know how, but we got the worst of it, and here we are." She turned to watch the air inside the ship mingling with the air outside. It looked a little odd, like the outside was sucking the inside air out, but she figured that was just the ship's artificial atmosphere in its death throes.
“You are going to be late.”
Kirin Haranai flew out the front door of the book shop and banged into the grocer’s stall across the street. After a moment, she popped back up and started slapping dust out of her shirt. "Love you too, Grandma," Kirin called, briefly considering flipping the bird but deciding life was more important. She rolled her shoulders and shook back her choppy red hair, casting one last quick look at the shop before she started walking. It was already almost noon, and according to the message with the gold seal the group assignments would be getting underway. More than likely she would see her grandmother at the training grounds anyway, since Akane's idea of fun was trying to murder her to test her strength.
So that wasn't strictly true-- Akane Haranai had for many years been one of the most feared and respected shinobi in the Land of Fire, possibly in the whole world. And she'd done it deaf.
Kirin had been raised on stories about Akane's missions, although Akane had been careful to leave out all mention of 'shinobi', 'ninja', or anything of that nature. Sai's minions had been thorough in their eradication, but they had missed Akane-- mainly because she had retired two years prior to Sai's coup. Even so, Kirin had to have been braindead not to have noticed her grandmother's prowess.
Even at a sturdy fifty-seven, Akane Haranai was a sturdy, fierce woman with streaming red hair streaked with white and orange eyes that seemed to glow. She could also pick up and throw people three times her size. Kirin liked to think she took after her.
With a brief peek over her shoulder, Kirin finally released the breath she was holding. She had been worried Akane would walk her to the training grounds, and, while she looked up to her, wanted to make an impression on her own merits. Two women with flaming red hair, one a lauded war hero, would probably cause a scene.
The only scene Kirin wanted to make was her own. A good entrance could set up her relationship with her team for the rest of her life. And, from what she knew about her classmates, would be the only interesting thing happening at ground twenty-two.
Everyone she could think of as possibly attending was either a top student or an older shinobi, neither of which would be entertaining. Kirin tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. She knew at least two Chunin would be there-- a quiet one in full armor who would obviously not make a big entrance, and a really spacey kid with white hair that was easily transfixed by liquid.
The genin were a little harder to place. There were the obvious ones, the high-achievers that would get into the best squads. They were the gifted ones, the prodigies who were shinobi practically out of the cradle. Then there were the eager kids, the ones who worked so hard they had to get into good squads.
Then there were the rejects, weirdos, sociopaths, and just downright losers. It was just like normal school, except with bladed weapons. Kirin belonged to this final group.
In spite of being gifted in taijutsu, she had nearly failed the academy exam. Her Transformation had gone badly-- she had barely been able to hold it the required ten seconds, and it had looked more like an amorphous blob than their teacher. It had been embarrassing, but at the last second Kirin had exerted all of her chakra to fix the illusion. Granted she had puked in the bathroom afterwards, but she had passed.
Stepping off the main road, Kirin read the signs directing her to the training area. The letter had mentioned number 22, one she was very familiar with, considering her specialty. The space chosen had a number of battle-scarred training dummies arrayed in formation, most of whom she had used at one time or another. While her grades weren't stellar, she worked hard on her own and was dilligent in her study of hand-to-hand combat. One day she was going to be the most powerful warrior to ever live. Until then, she just had to tough it out.
In the distance she could make out the edge of the clearing. Kirin cracked her knuckles and shook out her fingers. Showtime.
Bounding up the trunk of a nearby tree, Kirin swung into the canopy and leapt through the branches, her hair flying. Time to make an impression, time to be the star, she thought, and she burst out of the trees with as much height as she could muster. "SURPRISE, MUTHAFUCKAS!"
Kirin Haranai flew out the front door of the book shop and banged into the grocer’s stall across the street. After a moment, she popped back up and started slapping dust out of her shirt. "Love you too, Grandma," Kirin called, briefly considering flipping the bird but deciding life was more important. She rolled her shoulders and shook back her choppy red hair, casting one last quick look at the shop before she started walking. It was already almost noon, and according to the message with the gold seal the group assignments would be getting underway. More than likely she would see her grandmother at the training grounds anyway, since Akane's idea of fun was trying to murder her to test her strength.
So that wasn't strictly true-- Akane Haranai had for many years been one of the most feared and respected shinobi in the Land of Fire, possibly in the whole world. And she'd done it deaf.
Kirin had been raised on stories about Akane's missions, although Akane had been careful to leave out all mention of 'shinobi', 'ninja', or anything of that nature. Sai's minions had been thorough in their eradication, but they had missed Akane-- mainly because she had retired two years prior to Sai's coup. Even so, Kirin had to have been braindead not to have noticed her grandmother's prowess.
Even at a sturdy fifty-seven, Akane Haranai was a sturdy, fierce woman with streaming red hair streaked with white and orange eyes that seemed to glow. She could also pick up and throw people three times her size. Kirin liked to think she took after her.
With a brief peek over her shoulder, Kirin finally released the breath she was holding. She had been worried Akane would walk her to the training grounds, and, while she looked up to her, wanted to make an impression on her own merits. Two women with flaming red hair, one a lauded war hero, would probably cause a scene.
The only scene Kirin wanted to make was her own. A good entrance could set up her relationship with her team for the rest of her life. And, from what she knew about her classmates, would be the only interesting thing happening at ground twenty-two.
Everyone she could think of as possibly attending was either a top student or an older shinobi, neither of which would be entertaining. Kirin tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. She knew at least two Chunin would be there-- a quiet one in full armor who would obviously not make a big entrance, and a really spacey kid with white hair that was easily transfixed by liquid.
The genin were a little harder to place. There were the obvious ones, the high-achievers that would get into the best squads. They were the gifted ones, the prodigies who were shinobi practically out of the cradle. Then there were the eager kids, the ones who worked so hard they had to get into good squads.
Then there were the rejects, weirdos, sociopaths, and just downright losers. It was just like normal school, except with bladed weapons. Kirin belonged to this final group.
In spite of being gifted in taijutsu, she had nearly failed the academy exam. Her Transformation had gone badly-- she had barely been able to hold it the required ten seconds, and it had looked more like an amorphous blob than their teacher. It had been embarrassing, but at the last second Kirin had exerted all of her chakra to fix the illusion. Granted she had puked in the bathroom afterwards, but she had passed.
Stepping off the main road, Kirin read the signs directing her to the training area. The letter had mentioned number 22, one she was very familiar with, considering her specialty. The space chosen had a number of battle-scarred training dummies arrayed in formation, most of whom she had used at one time or another. While her grades weren't stellar, she worked hard on her own and was dilligent in her study of hand-to-hand combat. One day she was going to be the most powerful warrior to ever live. Until then, she just had to tough it out.
In the distance she could make out the edge of the clearing. Kirin cracked her knuckles and shook out her fingers. Showtime.
Bounding up the trunk of a nearby tree, Kirin swung into the canopy and leapt through the branches, her hair flying. Time to make an impression, time to be the star, she thought, and she burst out of the trees with as much height as she could muster. "SURPRISE, MUTHAFUCKAS!"
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