Noxious

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

They had been here over a week and she was still pissed about being drugged. Shipped off to another planet, no qualms, trudging around the hot as hell jungle in douchebag approved pink camo, totally fine, but for some reason she was having difficulty letting the drug thing go. She didn’t wear this mellowing displeasure on her features; she was born with a face that lacked overt expressions. [Unless liquor became involved.] And she wasn’t about to start whining to a bunch of people who seemed to have accepted it as either completely fine or a minor inconvenience. She wasn’t much for complaining anyways.

Either way, the whole alien roofie cocktail hadn’t pissed her off enough for her to leave, obviously. Here she was in what she assumed Alien would look like if Mattel bought the rights and started with the prequels or remakes directed by Walt Disney. But of course she stayed, like some of the others she’d signed on because what the hell did she have to go home to? And unlike those with families of their own she was pretty sure hers would get along alright. They had each other.

She’d always found a comfort in replicating the family bond among her platoon, and generally she liked the men and women that she’d be spending her unapproved acid trip with. A lot of them reminded her of people from home. Serious when it mattered, but not so much that their muscles bruised from the ass clenching required 24 hours a day. She detested people that had no off switch for the anxiety inducing control and focus during missions. It was likely this reasoning that had endeared her to the man she followed now. Danny was easy to respect, capable, yet without the machismo she had initially expected. One day they would have share a beer in a bar that wasn’t fuchsia infused and talk about the god awful heat.

Someone had once told her that plans for the future were a jinx to the squad, but she disagreed. The worst way to go into a firefight was with nothing to lose.

Danny held up the signal for everyone to freeze and she did, mimicking the signal as her stance settled into a crouch amongst the foliage. One of the truly bothersome things that had nagged at her since leaving Rio was the lack of noise. It had started with the stealth training missions, and then the ships were quiet, even the fucking Pilavians spoke quietly, as they trudged through the ‘rose colored glasses’ inspired landscape their steps were quiet, and now, now she was even paranoid to take a breath. Sao Paulo had been bustling, and even it had seemed quiet compared to the Rio she’d grown accustomed too. Rio was anything but quiet. It was disconcerting for someone who associated that chilly lack of ghetto ambiance to something akin to the grave.

She was thankful now to Danny’s added training in Guyana. She had no lack of confidence in her skills, to be sure, but there were many things about this terrain that had only been briefly covered in prior training. The few times she'd been on missions involving drug lords in the jungle had always been the worst. The last time she hadn't shit right for weeks. The jungles she was accustomed too were spray painted concrete and reclaimed tin. But the enemies, the enemies in her jungle looked like her father, her mother, like her sisters, and that could make all the difference.

Confirmation of the monster bastards came from Danny and was passed down the line. Her crouch settled into a kneel as she eased the SCAR MK 20 onto an overgrown toadstool of some misbegotten genus. [She’d sat on one earlier and convinced herself of their surprising stability.] The rifle was a cream color that neither blazed apparent in the surrounding terrain or became completely muted. She’d contemplated painting it with some nail polish, but, randomly that accessory had not found itself into her possession and she couldn’t rightly slip into the drug store and grab some. Worries for a later date. She forced a breath, and then let them come easily, naturally, finding comfort as she drifted towards the scope and began to release a prayer that even the bulking metal would fail to hear.

_{Ajoelhou, tem que rezar.
[the one who kneeled, must pray]}

As she stared at them through the scope her previous assessment rang true. They were God awful, and she had seen some of Earth’s true monsters. But these fuckers took the cake. There would be little guilt in slaughtering these beasts. Humanity been trained from birth to associate the monsters with something evil, something to be put down, and that is what they would do. The Grathik should have touted this as one of her species great accomplishments, for discrimination was always valuable in war and it truly was a speciality of their home world.

"Butch, Hammer shots on these fuckers." She had made the same observation as Koh, third from the head of the column, enemy leader. Not only did the other beasts seem to keep with her movements, as Butch had been watching her through the scope she’d noticed her claws curling and gesturing to those around her. She quickly released the safety and began firing at her mass.

Soon the others joined her and shots began to ring out from around her. A smile crept upon her usually stoic features. Finally. God she hated the quiet.

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

I can wait. I just thought you were posting today.

@Gunther

working on it, working on it. ;)

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

Gah, so, seriously I thought I'd be a desk jockey today but it turns out I was working on setting up all the computers in the shop and dealing with the BS that is cable management for a group of assholes who don't throw anything away. I literally found a cable from a phone system we were using over 5 years ago. Gunther, if you want to post I can catch up from there. I really don't want to hold y'all up but I am definitely still in. Just busy. :(

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

I will post today. Sorry I got wrapped up in projects, but it is raining today so no point in painting and I need a break from sanding anyways. So sorry about the delay. Now I just need to catch up on what looks to be some awesome posts from y'all!

And Happy Valentine's Day!

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

Barefeet through snow recalled something of a ballerina’s attempt at allégro, a skipping light frolic that had the demented pixie placing her footfalls in the trace of stiletto as they moved towards the tent. She had become aware that the woman she followed carried a certain “ferocity” in display, but this was not a judgment from Amentia or one crawling through her reality from Xcavairn. Not at all, and she now found herself puzzled as to why the other’s thoughts bled a deep crimson towards the woman, a tone of warning, a shade of blood freshly spilled-- something sinister. Were they not all a little sinister? Avatars of corrupted divinity walking among men, yet trapped in fleshy shells that barely hid the multitudes of their deceptions. It was likely that her peers subconsciously buried themselves in their own architecturally nuanced pyramids of deceit so that they were blinded to their truth. Shame really.

When it came to the one she followed she was transfixed by a tone other than red, one that did little to persuade her path to one of caution, but rather ached for her to draw closer. A mental flick from within came in time to dissuade her from reaching those phantasm like digits out to touch the tempting fragility of hues that assuredly had spawned in a fairy-tale with the purity of untouched snow. She mused to herself instead on whether the huntress would be warm or chill and if the sensation would be compelling enough for her to feel or perhaps like a wraith; her touch would pass through and leave an ache resting there instead. As they entered the tent she was sure to pause and let the distance yawn between them, ever worried about impressions and social niceties. There would be time to tempt fate and pet the arctic hued lioness, but the conspicuous notion of hunger involved assured her the present was not it.

And it was with that thought that she slipped ever so awkwardly into the chair on the other side of the well groomed commander from Sammael. One foot slid beneath her and the other dangled idly, tickling across the floor as it ticked back and forth with the beat of a pendulum. Her back arched and both elbows rested themselves on the table so that she cradled her cheeks in her palms as she glanced about at the occupants. The pleasure that curled on those soft petal lips was genuine.

What fun this was going to be.

The Commander beside her began introductions and she tilted her head to take in the well maintained and polished man. Even his facial hair seemed expertly trimmed. Corbyn. They would be friends she decided, maybe then he would tell her why his mind lingered somewhere else. And then it was the puker's turn. Pale eyes drifted towards him and her head pivoted in kind as he made his introduction. Nervous little thing, wasn’t he? His pyramid would definitely come crashing down. She hadn’t finished the thought when a piece of it fractured-- right there at dinner!-- and his powers expelled themselves into the table causing it to bloom about her resting elbows. And he hadn't even done it on purpose. Her reaction was immediate as a childlike giggle slipped melodiously from her beaming lips and her petite hands gave a short round of clapping displaying fully her pleasure over the brief purge of his welling gifts. She was quick to reign in this little outburst before the frosty predator began to speak. Carmen. She’d been hoping on something more exotic, but she supposed Carmen would do. In another life she could be a politician, but this life seemed to favor her.

She barely listened to the rest of what Carmen said, more enthralled with the giving of names, so when London spoke she offered the girl a nod, already acquainted, though briefly, and then raised a brow in anticipation for the next. Maybe someone’s power would be to put a plate of food in front of them. Wouldn’t that be convenient? No such luck though, food remained illusory and the next to speak was another of the Commanders. Eldric, no, he said he preferred Nic. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at this one though her facial expression didn’t betray any lack of the previous joy. Some were just harder to place than others. There was something that pecked at her consciousness, something she should know. When he stood her reverie snapped and she looked at Samm who was introducing himself to Corbyn. The coffee had done him wonders in swaying favor his direction, and if he kept it up he’d likely be the most popular SOLDIER in camp.

Well, would have been the most popular if Corr had not stepped in with food. I guess someone's ability was to bring food. The feeling in the room had recently swayed towards an agitated apprehension for reasons Amentia had yet to pinpoint, or simply ignored, and then he was placing the food down and the mood seemed a little less stressed. His introduction was simple, blunt. Oh, but it was the most complicated who usually spoke the most plainly. Amentia’s already crooked grin beamed towards the giant and offered a subtle nod of thanks towards the food, one of which he likely missed as his eyes closed.

When there seemed to be a lull due to the arrival of food the little perched fairy of old, demented and coy, deigned it appropriate to fill the void. Her palms dropped to lay flat upon the table, which seemed to effect some stabilization upon her fluttering edges as the shadows muted and coalesced, wisps pooling about between her separated fingers. When she spoke there was a sincerity present that she was starting find would be a rarity amongst this group. “It’s a pleasure to be around such interesting individuals.” The curling shadows toyed about her fingertips in minute flickering spasms, as she turned to look towards Corbyn and down that side of the table, “I’m pleased we’re all on the same team.” Specter glances now caressed across the others, focusing and not focusing, a juxtaposition of observance and contemplation. Still the pools between her fingers danced, tiny little amusements of void and decay caressing across the newly birthed sections of table and gnawing at them in such minor atrophy that it was doubtful noticed.

“My name is Amentia, and as skillsets go, I’m good with people.” She seemed complete in her introduction and her foggy gaze fell to her fingertips. Her head canted to the side and that seemingly perpetual simper was replaced by something more Machiavellian-- something sardonic flickering there as the collection of swarmed light manipulations fractured noiselessly and capered outward in the form of negligible little spiders. Funny how the creeping arachnids portrayed such a common fear. So small, so insignificant, but there was something about the way they could inch themselves into orifices that made people feel unprotected like little else could. She liked arachnids. In a wink’s time the meager shared hallucination had dissipated and her pleased smirk had returned as if nothing had come to pass. She pulled two of the bo-shuriken from their cradle around her thigh and stabbed a piece of venison. She dangled the piece from the deadly chopstick, taking a bite and chewing at it as her elbows came to rest once again on the table. The brief exorcism of the illumination devouring halo began to fade as the twitching nuance returned while she awaited the next introduction.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

I know you all are super sad, but you'll have to wait on a flashback from me. [You're actually welcome because gawd damn that would make my post a TL;DR.]

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

Centurion PMC spreadsheet for organizational purposes

@vietmyke

Still waiting on:
@Cara, @CaptainBritton, @QueenoftheBee and @Trivval

I'll be posting tomorrow. :)

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

I feel bad that I didn't move the story along but I more wanted to introduce the character. I promise I'll put more movement into my next post.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

B ᴜ ᴏ ʀ ' K ᴜ ᴛ "ᘜᖇᗴᗴȠᔕ" O ' D ᴏ ɴ ɴ ᴇ ʟ ʟ

Sleep seemed a burden in this town. Something that drifted on the winds of the plains; an allusory bedfellow of which they all chased. There were times when Buor’Kut believed the only ones in this place who slept properly were the ignorant, those who knew not the damnation that nipped at their heels, and the wicked, those who had already allowed the serpent of corruption to warm itself upon their hearts. That left the rest of them, the slightly less wicked and slightly less ignorant, grasping for the sandman while their sheets became twisted coils coated in sweat. It would be hard to know where he sat on the spectrum and the weighing of such things was not the monotonous wail that kept him from sleep. He had no internal monologue that begrudge people their pasts, but yet, after all these years, he was still unable to shake his own.

When he had finally drifted off to sleep it had been with the help of some tea Jacelyn kept in stock. The concoction would have likely found itself in a legal debate at to usage had the States caught up to her homeopathic endeavors, but surely no one in Job would question something as fickle as tea when they were so busy covering up their own scandals. It was one of the reasons he liked this place. It was one of the reasons he had actually let himself sleep in so that when he finally cracked open those maple tinted eyes to the already blazing sun he didn’t allow himself to become concerned with his lack of guardianship. He rolled onto his back and felt the sturdy wood of the bed creak beneath his 7 foot form, eyes raising to the ceiling with his movement. They lingered there as he contemplated his purpose for the day. The Mint, as always, was getting out of hand and creeping into the Lavender, so that needed to be handled. He should probably make a bundle of Linden to take over to the Garcia ranch and see if they’d be willing to spare some fresh milk in trade.

The large man sighed and it rustled across the room as he drove himself to his feet. His rough skin cracked into a smile as he noticed the fresh pitcher of water placed near the basin in his room. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he took care of Jacelyn, or she took care of him. At least it meant she was awake, though mayhaps she hadn’t slept yet. The girl kept hours that made even his head spin. He rinsed himself, noting the gentle hints of cedar wood oil in the water as he scrubbed it across the prickling facial hair and down his neck. He started to dress, still pulling a button up shirt across his hulking mass as he entered the hallway. “Jacelyn?” His voice boomed through the house with little effort on his part, and then he strained to hear the gentle murmur of response. He received nothing and while his face fell into a slight pout it was probably for the best. She could be chattery when he first awoke and it was better he start to tend to his duties before getting wrapped up in stories. He would have no such luck.

Barefoot, he crossed the garden path from home to teahouse, weaving between a myriad of herbs, plants and trees, some common and others appearing almost alien in the Nevada landscape. Midway across the yard Frances slung himself from a tree and onto Buor’Kut’s shoulder. The monkey chattered away as they entered the back of the teahouse and headed towards the shop’s entrance, crossing through a room decorated with “perches” of all variety, mainly padded chairs and small tables. The side of the room was lined with shelves, some holding a variety of books while jar upon jar of tea and herbs littered the others. He squinted through the curtains at a form on the porch, at first thinking it may be Jacelyn but then the movements seemed to expectant for his graceful cohort. He swung the door open with a smile as the woman’s eyes fell to his chest and then quickly darted upward, to the monkey who had grown silent and then back to his grin. “Greens, oh goodness, I thought you must be out. I was thinking of checking the garden.”

“I apologize Mrs. Parker. Is there something I can help you with?” His accent was slight, but still remained coating his words in a foreign tinge that would likely never be lost. A large palm held the door open a little wider so that the woman could step in and then busied himself with opening some of the curtains to illuminate the room.

“Please, call me Caroline, always so formal with you. You aren’t exactly newcomers anymore” She grabbed at a stray hair and tucked it back in place, now that he actually looked at the woman she seemed a bit, frazzled. She was usually the picture of perfection when she came into town. He said nothing and hoped she would continue. “It’s all this trouble with the cow. It’s making me absolutely sick. Sick I tell you. I was wondering if you had anything that could help with my stomach?”

At this Buor’Kut frowned ever so slightly. “Jacelyn seems to be out and it is her expertise that keep us in business you know. I tend the garden.” He thought for a moment and pulled a chair out for the woman. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see what she has already made. I’m sure she will be returning shortly and then she can wrap you up something more for home.” He crossed to the bar area where a few jars sat with premade mixes for the more commonly requested. He put the water on and decided on chamomile, something simple, but good for nerves. As soon as it was done he handed the woman the cup and took a seat across from her. “Now, what is all this about trouble with a cow?” If he knew anything, it was that sometimes when people came for tea, what they really wanted was someone to talk to, and so it seemed as Caroline Parker launched into her story about all the dreadful events of the evening. As the details were revealed a pout settled itself on his features.

This didn’t sound like their trouble, but trouble was trouble.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

I'll be posting today, so, not lost. :)