Getting right to the point here...I need a partner who can help me create a world, characters within it, and an engaging story. I will create NPCs, and I expect my partner to as well. If I wanted to drag someone through a game, I would play both characters. Please be willing to talk OOC about the plot, and contribute ideas as well.
You must have decent grammar. I don’t mind if prepositions are used to end sentences, but if I see a post more than three lines long with no commas, semi-colons, or other forms of (appropriate) punctuation, I am done. In terms of length, I tend to write between three and eight well-developed paragraphs, depending on the flow of the game. (This is 600-1600 words per post.) I try to be flexible, but tend to match what my partner writes in terms of detail and plot progression.
General settings: I will play in worlds with common or rare magic, or worlds without. I enjoy science fiction settings, and a variety of fantasy settings. I have a lot of ideas, but for the sake of brevity, I would prefer to discuss specific ideas over PM. I do prefer to have some mature themes, gore, violence, romance, in my games, so I request that you only respond if you are >18, and have ideas of your own to suggest as well.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Pascal Member
- Last Seen: 21 days ago
- Old Guild Username: Pascal
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 366 (0.09 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Pascal 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
NFj,
LadyAnnaLee,
Bugman,
pugbutter,
Drache,
DELETUSER7284,
Noctis,
Blaze Gamma
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio.
Most Recent Posts
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
The engineer was still hobbling a bit, and Dave couldn’t help but wonder if he had patched up the wound well enough. He knew the supplies that he had made the cut with were clean, but there was still the potential that he hadn’t cleaned it out well enough. Bransen had even climbed out of the trunk and stepped on the dirty ground. If Bransen’s wound got infected, they would be fucked. Hospitals were…complicated, with insurance, proof of identity, questions being asked…they were problems that Dave didn’t want to deal with. He might be able to argue that Bransen stepped on a blade, but Dave was not interested in someone asking that many questions. The fewer the questions, the better, and the best way to avoid questions was to avoid going to the hospital, and so Bransen couldn’t let that wound become infected.
Maybe Bransen just had a low pain threshold, or wanted Dave to feel guilt over what he had done. Strangely enough, though, Dave didn’t really feel guilt about any of it. He had been doing his job, and he had prevented Kit from going completely bat shit on the captive. Hell, he was practically a hero, compared to Kit Marshall.
After watching Bransen for a few moments, Dave got into the passenger’s side, doing absolutely nothing to adjust the seat. He was courteous enough to put on his seatbelt, but he was more one to shift in the seat, rather than adjust the seat itself to find a comfortable place. In a strange way, their car habits in that moment told a lot about their personalities. Dave was one to deal with the cards he was given. He didn’t think about how to change the circumstances of the situation, but he adapted and he dealt. Bransen liked to have things a certain way. He was more demanding, and he felt like he needed to manipulate the world around him to suit his tastes. He disapproved of what Hawtholders did, and so he had taken their data and ran away with it. He influenced things, rather than letting them influence what he did. Did that make Bransen more proactive? And Dave reactive? That might have been a bit of a stretch of the metaphor. Perhaps Bransen simply adjusted the seat because he was shorter, more neurotic, or an insecure driver.
Dismissing his other thoughts, Dave paid attention enough to get Bransen on the main road before he promptly passed out in the passenger’s seat. Unlike the night before, he didn’t have many dreams. He slept soundly, and heavily; he didn’t even attack Bransen. It seemed like only a few moments before Bransen nudged him, needing something. Dave ignored the first nudge on his thigh, shifting a bit to continue sleeping. When the pestering didn’t cease, and was followed by words, Dave reluctantly opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Is the car on fire? Are there cops?” He asked, his lips working a bit slower than he had wanted, making his words come out a bit sore. His head and neck were damn sore from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. How had that seemed comfortable when he went to sleep in the first place? He let out a groan, though Bransen might not be able to understand what he was trying to convey from it, or from his previous words. The sun was still out, though it was beginning to set. Dave shifted a bit and turned to the man, the grumpy expression on his face the result of having just woken. “Yea” He said, finally processing the words that had accompanied Bransen nudging him awake.
Dave removed his arms from the crossed position they had held, and he turned to face Bransen. “We want to keep on the I-80—“ He paused to yawn and then continued, “Basically till we get to the New Jersy Turnpike….That’s another…. 90 miles away…ish, I think…. If we do that, we will be stuck in the city after dark… Even I am not in the mood to do that. And I have no desire to deal with the turnpike after dark. So let’s find a place to crash for the night. In about… an hour, hour and a half. If we start seeing signs for the turnpike, then we definitely get off quickly. I know it’s early, but we both need the sleep. Then tomorrow, first thing we can track down the right people and hopefully be out of the city again by nightfall.” It was an ambitious hope, and relied heavily upon Dave’s former associates not all being in jail, but it was the only chance they had. “Does that work for you?” Dave asked, though he couldn’t imagine Bransen disagreeing—and having any other suggestions worth considering.
--
Kit Marshall was given a few hours to rest and get ready for the meeting. In the meantime, Melissa Thompson had cameras on him. She slept a little, but made sure that she looked impeccable before a single soul saw her. At 7:30 am, she ran on the treadmill in her office, watching three different screens with information about what Marshall had been doing. Kit had gone to the medical wing, and Melissa read the report from the doctor. They gave him acetaminophen, and the report explained that he didn’t really have any lasting concerns. He was not diagnosed with any broken bones, or even a concussion. It was likely that the attitude he took with her was, in fact, he actual attitude. He had been a great disappointment, and the feelings he expressed about Berkman and Tucker the night before made him a wildcard.
Hilda reported that Kit clearly took things very personally, and he likely had gone on a power-trip with this new task. There was a high probability that he would go about the retrieval with a brutal nature, and the chances of retrieving Mr. Berkman and Mr .Tucker alive (and for a proper interrogation) was slim. Also playing against Kit Marshall was the concern Melissa Thompson had that Kit couldn’t conduct an interrogation. He would likely end up killing the pair before they got any information. While Melissa Thompson didn’t know if the pair would even have much information for the pair, she would certainly need to know if any information had been given to others, or copied.
The chances of Hawtholders continuing to employ Kit Marshall were slim. He was a risk, with his erratic behavior, and his inability to work with others. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to pair him up with anyone else, especially not a stranger who would struggle to control him. The problem with putting a more brutal person alongside him was that Kit might just grow worse, and one person sent to bring in Mr. Berkman and Mr. Tucker needed to maintain their composure and wits.
On another screen, Hilda was continuing to give Melissa Thompson updates about where Berkman might have gone. Based on what was missing at the storage unit, and the video footage there, she had figured out what Mr. Tucker had taken with him. He had weapons that he could sell off, and he had gotten a fistful of cash. His card had been abandoned, and she could tell that he had committed fully to whatever Berkman’s plan was. After all, he had given away his credit card. While many who ran from the police kept their personal cards and things because they hoped to get back to their lives eventually, Mr. Tucker had literally given away his entire savings. He could have simply thrown the card in the trash, shredded it, or kept it on his person if he planned to return to his life. Perhaps he was worried that he would make the same mistake as Berkman, and use his card somewhere, leading them right to him. Still, that didn’t mean he had to let people use it until it declined at a gas station.
No, giving away his card was giving away his lease on life. He knew that what he was doing was a death sentence. There was no returning to his life when he had no money, which perhaps made him a bit wiser than Melissa had realized before. There were two distinct possibilities that occurred to her as her treadmill regime ended and she slowed the pace to a walk. One, Tucker had a reason to believe that death was the only conclusion, perhaps because he knew that running wasn’t going to last long. This possibility led to the ending that he was on a suicide run, and somehow felt compelled to sell out Hawtholders before he died. The second possibility that was under serious consideration was that Tucker was running from his identity. He was abandoning the card because he was going to run from ‘Dave Tucker’, and was planning on becoming someone else.
Going to her pull up bar in the hallway, Melissa Thompson jumped up and began to do pull-ups. “Hilda.” She brought up the AI on one of the screens, glancing over at it in between pull-ups. “Do a search on any reports with Hawtholders on police reports.” She requested. If Tucker and Bransen were trying to take down Hawtholders, then they would have to go to the police. That was their only option, and they had many contacts with the police. Hawtholders had contracts with the police departments of the largest cities in the United States. They supplied nonlethal riot control supplies for different situations, along with more lethal options. They were even working on prototypes of hanguns that could carry multiple types of ammunition at the same time. There would be two or three cartridges in the gun, and options, like the safety, to switch between the different cartridges. It was going very well, an and the trials thus far were showing that the most difficult aspect to execute tended to be user safety—making sure that it was easy for the officer to tell which option the gun was set to. They had also developed an automatic safety option, which put the weapon back to Safe mode when it was holstered again. With all of the work that Hawtholders was doing with police departments, they had people everywhere.
Tucker and Berkman’s faces were already all over the television, but Tucker had learned from Berkman’s mistakes, and they hadn’t gotten any leads in the time that the two men had been missing. She knew she was missing something, she just wondered if Kit Marshall could possibly be the man to figure out just what it was. Melissa switched from pull-ups with her arms to hooking her legs over the bar and working her abs as she pulled her body up. She listened to the reports, or lack thereof, as she continued the repetitions. At 9:30 am, she took a shower, and then downed a protein shake before re-composing herself. By 10:30, she was back in the office in a meeting, and at 11:45, she was back in the room where Kit would be returning.
At noon, the door opened and Melissa Thompson watched as Kit walked in once more. He looked much more composed, which was good, because he had drugs and time on his side. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall. I hope that you have rested well, and had time to see a doctor as well.” She said, not bothering to say that she was sure he had done such, since she had already read up on his meeting with the doctor. As it was, she had no reason to continue to invest in Mr. Marshall. He was a sore loser, had a bad attitude, and was cocky. None of these qualities were valued by Ms. Thompson, and she didn’t see how he would be of use as they continued to search for the now two traitors. “Do you have any new information that we need to take under consideration moving forward?” She asked, keeping her tone neutral, and the focus on Kit. It was his responsibility to prove his value, not her responsibility to find a use for him.
Maybe Bransen just had a low pain threshold, or wanted Dave to feel guilt over what he had done. Strangely enough, though, Dave didn’t really feel guilt about any of it. He had been doing his job, and he had prevented Kit from going completely bat shit on the captive. Hell, he was practically a hero, compared to Kit Marshall.
After watching Bransen for a few moments, Dave got into the passenger’s side, doing absolutely nothing to adjust the seat. He was courteous enough to put on his seatbelt, but he was more one to shift in the seat, rather than adjust the seat itself to find a comfortable place. In a strange way, their car habits in that moment told a lot about their personalities. Dave was one to deal with the cards he was given. He didn’t think about how to change the circumstances of the situation, but he adapted and he dealt. Bransen liked to have things a certain way. He was more demanding, and he felt like he needed to manipulate the world around him to suit his tastes. He disapproved of what Hawtholders did, and so he had taken their data and ran away with it. He influenced things, rather than letting them influence what he did. Did that make Bransen more proactive? And Dave reactive? That might have been a bit of a stretch of the metaphor. Perhaps Bransen simply adjusted the seat because he was shorter, more neurotic, or an insecure driver.
Dismissing his other thoughts, Dave paid attention enough to get Bransen on the main road before he promptly passed out in the passenger’s seat. Unlike the night before, he didn’t have many dreams. He slept soundly, and heavily; he didn’t even attack Bransen. It seemed like only a few moments before Bransen nudged him, needing something. Dave ignored the first nudge on his thigh, shifting a bit to continue sleeping. When the pestering didn’t cease, and was followed by words, Dave reluctantly opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Is the car on fire? Are there cops?” He asked, his lips working a bit slower than he had wanted, making his words come out a bit sore. His head and neck were damn sore from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. How had that seemed comfortable when he went to sleep in the first place? He let out a groan, though Bransen might not be able to understand what he was trying to convey from it, or from his previous words. The sun was still out, though it was beginning to set. Dave shifted a bit and turned to the man, the grumpy expression on his face the result of having just woken. “Yea” He said, finally processing the words that had accompanied Bransen nudging him awake.
Dave removed his arms from the crossed position they had held, and he turned to face Bransen. “We want to keep on the I-80—“ He paused to yawn and then continued, “Basically till we get to the New Jersy Turnpike….That’s another…. 90 miles away…ish, I think…. If we do that, we will be stuck in the city after dark… Even I am not in the mood to do that. And I have no desire to deal with the turnpike after dark. So let’s find a place to crash for the night. In about… an hour, hour and a half. If we start seeing signs for the turnpike, then we definitely get off quickly. I know it’s early, but we both need the sleep. Then tomorrow, first thing we can track down the right people and hopefully be out of the city again by nightfall.” It was an ambitious hope, and relied heavily upon Dave’s former associates not all being in jail, but it was the only chance they had. “Does that work for you?” Dave asked, though he couldn’t imagine Bransen disagreeing—and having any other suggestions worth considering.
--
Kit Marshall was given a few hours to rest and get ready for the meeting. In the meantime, Melissa Thompson had cameras on him. She slept a little, but made sure that she looked impeccable before a single soul saw her. At 7:30 am, she ran on the treadmill in her office, watching three different screens with information about what Marshall had been doing. Kit had gone to the medical wing, and Melissa read the report from the doctor. They gave him acetaminophen, and the report explained that he didn’t really have any lasting concerns. He was not diagnosed with any broken bones, or even a concussion. It was likely that the attitude he took with her was, in fact, he actual attitude. He had been a great disappointment, and the feelings he expressed about Berkman and Tucker the night before made him a wildcard.
Hilda reported that Kit clearly took things very personally, and he likely had gone on a power-trip with this new task. There was a high probability that he would go about the retrieval with a brutal nature, and the chances of retrieving Mr. Berkman and Mr .Tucker alive (and for a proper interrogation) was slim. Also playing against Kit Marshall was the concern Melissa Thompson had that Kit couldn’t conduct an interrogation. He would likely end up killing the pair before they got any information. While Melissa Thompson didn’t know if the pair would even have much information for the pair, she would certainly need to know if any information had been given to others, or copied.
The chances of Hawtholders continuing to employ Kit Marshall were slim. He was a risk, with his erratic behavior, and his inability to work with others. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to pair him up with anyone else, especially not a stranger who would struggle to control him. The problem with putting a more brutal person alongside him was that Kit might just grow worse, and one person sent to bring in Mr. Berkman and Mr. Tucker needed to maintain their composure and wits.
On another screen, Hilda was continuing to give Melissa Thompson updates about where Berkman might have gone. Based on what was missing at the storage unit, and the video footage there, she had figured out what Mr. Tucker had taken with him. He had weapons that he could sell off, and he had gotten a fistful of cash. His card had been abandoned, and she could tell that he had committed fully to whatever Berkman’s plan was. After all, he had given away his credit card. While many who ran from the police kept their personal cards and things because they hoped to get back to their lives eventually, Mr. Tucker had literally given away his entire savings. He could have simply thrown the card in the trash, shredded it, or kept it on his person if he planned to return to his life. Perhaps he was worried that he would make the same mistake as Berkman, and use his card somewhere, leading them right to him. Still, that didn’t mean he had to let people use it until it declined at a gas station.
No, giving away his card was giving away his lease on life. He knew that what he was doing was a death sentence. There was no returning to his life when he had no money, which perhaps made him a bit wiser than Melissa had realized before. There were two distinct possibilities that occurred to her as her treadmill regime ended and she slowed the pace to a walk. One, Tucker had a reason to believe that death was the only conclusion, perhaps because he knew that running wasn’t going to last long. This possibility led to the ending that he was on a suicide run, and somehow felt compelled to sell out Hawtholders before he died. The second possibility that was under serious consideration was that Tucker was running from his identity. He was abandoning the card because he was going to run from ‘Dave Tucker’, and was planning on becoming someone else.
Going to her pull up bar in the hallway, Melissa Thompson jumped up and began to do pull-ups. “Hilda.” She brought up the AI on one of the screens, glancing over at it in between pull-ups. “Do a search on any reports with Hawtholders on police reports.” She requested. If Tucker and Bransen were trying to take down Hawtholders, then they would have to go to the police. That was their only option, and they had many contacts with the police. Hawtholders had contracts with the police departments of the largest cities in the United States. They supplied nonlethal riot control supplies for different situations, along with more lethal options. They were even working on prototypes of hanguns that could carry multiple types of ammunition at the same time. There would be two or three cartridges in the gun, and options, like the safety, to switch between the different cartridges. It was going very well, an and the trials thus far were showing that the most difficult aspect to execute tended to be user safety—making sure that it was easy for the officer to tell which option the gun was set to. They had also developed an automatic safety option, which put the weapon back to Safe mode when it was holstered again. With all of the work that Hawtholders was doing with police departments, they had people everywhere.
Tucker and Berkman’s faces were already all over the television, but Tucker had learned from Berkman’s mistakes, and they hadn’t gotten any leads in the time that the two men had been missing. She knew she was missing something, she just wondered if Kit Marshall could possibly be the man to figure out just what it was. Melissa switched from pull-ups with her arms to hooking her legs over the bar and working her abs as she pulled her body up. She listened to the reports, or lack thereof, as she continued the repetitions. At 9:30 am, she took a shower, and then downed a protein shake before re-composing herself. By 10:30, she was back in the office in a meeting, and at 11:45, she was back in the room where Kit would be returning.
At noon, the door opened and Melissa Thompson watched as Kit walked in once more. He looked much more composed, which was good, because he had drugs and time on his side. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall. I hope that you have rested well, and had time to see a doctor as well.” She said, not bothering to say that she was sure he had done such, since she had already read up on his meeting with the doctor. As it was, she had no reason to continue to invest in Mr. Marshall. He was a sore loser, had a bad attitude, and was cocky. None of these qualities were valued by Ms. Thompson, and she didn’t see how he would be of use as they continued to search for the now two traitors. “Do you have any new information that we need to take under consideration moving forward?” She asked, keeping her tone neutral, and the focus on Kit. It was his responsibility to prove his value, not her responsibility to find a use for him.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Dave chose McDonalds, purely because he saw it first. He pulled into the parking lot, and for once was surprised that Bransen actually had a good opinion. He said it would be best it stay away from security cameras, and Dave nodded in agreement. “You have a good point.” He said. He hoped that they wouldn’t trace the pair to McDonalds, but if they had the software for the facial recognition set up with a wide enough area, it was possible that they would appear. When the engineer said that they should go separately, Dave agreed as well. Perhaps Bransen had just needed proper sleep, because he was actually seeming somewhat competent now, for the first time that the suit could recall since they had met. “What do you want?” Dave asked. “I will go through the drive through while you go to the bathroom, and then I will go a few minutes later, when we finish eating.” He explained. That would probably be the best way to avoid them getting noticed.
Fortunately, by the time Bransen emerged, Dave had gotten the food and parked the new vehicle. He might have ordered a bit much, getting a very large fries and drink to go with his meal. The McFlurry was in addition, and he was sorely disappointed about the size. They were seriously getting smaller. The suit probably should have been more worried about money, but he knew that they would unload the car in NYC, and hopefully make some cash from unloading some of the other things that Dave still had from Hawtholders. Of course, he needed to talk with Bransen about what they would sell. The gun might come in handy, but they didn’t have a permit, and if their car was searched on the way to Canada, they would be fucked. It would be safer in lots of ways to get rid of all of it, and they would have enough cash to make it to Canada and go their separate ways, should they both actually make it that far.
Dave was enjoying the silence, though that was entirely because he was preoccupied with the food in front of him. He didn’t notice the way Bransen ate, though if Bransen had woken at a few inopportune moments of the drive thus far, he might have found Dave’s lingering upon his face for a few moments longer than necessary to simply affirm that the other man was still sleeping. Bransen wasn’t an unattractive man. The problem was simply with his personality. The engineer acted as if he was better than Dave, just because he had more book smarts. Dave didn’t like that quality at all. It was the same quality that Kit Marshall had; the man had always acted like Dave was some sort of lesser being, a stupid suit, and even though Dave had only known both of these men for a short while, he found that quality incredibly annoying.
When Bransen said that it sounded terrible to dip French fries in ice cream, Dave shrugged. “Not everyone can handle the awesome that is French fried McFlurry” He said simply. When Bransen asked if he could try, Dave nodded and held out the cup. “You guess?” He asked, shaking his head with Bransen’s assessment. Bransen continued, saying that he couldn’t mix business with pleasure. It was a strange way to phrase the idea of dipping fries in ice cream, and yet again Dave felt like Bransen’s snobbishness was trying to come out. Why did the man have to overcomplicate things so much? He tilted his head a bit as Bransen looked towards the window and mumbled something about other people being able to do it….whatever it was. Dave was sure that Bransen was talking about something else entirely, but he had no idea what it was.
“You’ve got issues, Berkman.” Dave said, shaking his head. He ate another fry before he continued. “I mean, who considers any part of a McDonald’s meal to be ‘business’?” He asked, laughing a little. He wasn’t going to seriously question Bransen’s way of life, but the man had to have some serious priority issues if he considered either fries or McFlurries to be anything short of unhealthy deliciousness. The meal lapsed back into quiet, and Dave ate just about everything that he had ordered. When he was finished with his meal, he put everything back in the bag, and then stepped out of the car briefly to drop it in the trash. He still had a bit of soda left, but he planned to drink that over the next few hours. Dave went into the McDonald’s to pee as well. Though he wasn’t as bathroom shy as the other man, he hoped that the large gap between when they were seen would help prevent them from getting noticed. Returning to the car once he had relived himself, Dave waited until Bransen was done and ready to dump the trash before he spoke again. “Hey, do you want to switch spots and drive for a bit?” He asked, totally ready to take a bit of a nap. Though Bransen hadn’t answered him before, he assumed that the offer was still on the table, and his tone was rather pleased at the idea of getting a break with the driving.
Bransen agreed, and Dave moved into the passenger seat when the engineer got out to dump the food. He moved the seat back a little so his legs had a bit more room, and switched the soda to his side as well, getting a bit more comfortable in the seat. If Bransen asked, Dave would tell him which direction he needed to go to get back on the highway. After that, it wouldn’t exactly be a difficult drive, and so Dave relaxed. He would fall asleep after about an hour if Bransen stayed quiet, but the man could easily stay up as well, and would certainly do so if Bransen looked tired at the wheel.
Fortunately, by the time Bransen emerged, Dave had gotten the food and parked the new vehicle. He might have ordered a bit much, getting a very large fries and drink to go with his meal. The McFlurry was in addition, and he was sorely disappointed about the size. They were seriously getting smaller. The suit probably should have been more worried about money, but he knew that they would unload the car in NYC, and hopefully make some cash from unloading some of the other things that Dave still had from Hawtholders. Of course, he needed to talk with Bransen about what they would sell. The gun might come in handy, but they didn’t have a permit, and if their car was searched on the way to Canada, they would be fucked. It would be safer in lots of ways to get rid of all of it, and they would have enough cash to make it to Canada and go their separate ways, should they both actually make it that far.
Dave was enjoying the silence, though that was entirely because he was preoccupied with the food in front of him. He didn’t notice the way Bransen ate, though if Bransen had woken at a few inopportune moments of the drive thus far, he might have found Dave’s lingering upon his face for a few moments longer than necessary to simply affirm that the other man was still sleeping. Bransen wasn’t an unattractive man. The problem was simply with his personality. The engineer acted as if he was better than Dave, just because he had more book smarts. Dave didn’t like that quality at all. It was the same quality that Kit Marshall had; the man had always acted like Dave was some sort of lesser being, a stupid suit, and even though Dave had only known both of these men for a short while, he found that quality incredibly annoying.
When Bransen said that it sounded terrible to dip French fries in ice cream, Dave shrugged. “Not everyone can handle the awesome that is French fried McFlurry” He said simply. When Bransen asked if he could try, Dave nodded and held out the cup. “You guess?” He asked, shaking his head with Bransen’s assessment. Bransen continued, saying that he couldn’t mix business with pleasure. It was a strange way to phrase the idea of dipping fries in ice cream, and yet again Dave felt like Bransen’s snobbishness was trying to come out. Why did the man have to overcomplicate things so much? He tilted his head a bit as Bransen looked towards the window and mumbled something about other people being able to do it….whatever it was. Dave was sure that Bransen was talking about something else entirely, but he had no idea what it was.
“You’ve got issues, Berkman.” Dave said, shaking his head. He ate another fry before he continued. “I mean, who considers any part of a McDonald’s meal to be ‘business’?” He asked, laughing a little. He wasn’t going to seriously question Bransen’s way of life, but the man had to have some serious priority issues if he considered either fries or McFlurries to be anything short of unhealthy deliciousness. The meal lapsed back into quiet, and Dave ate just about everything that he had ordered. When he was finished with his meal, he put everything back in the bag, and then stepped out of the car briefly to drop it in the trash. He still had a bit of soda left, but he planned to drink that over the next few hours. Dave went into the McDonald’s to pee as well. Though he wasn’t as bathroom shy as the other man, he hoped that the large gap between when they were seen would help prevent them from getting noticed. Returning to the car once he had relived himself, Dave waited until Bransen was done and ready to dump the trash before he spoke again. “Hey, do you want to switch spots and drive for a bit?” He asked, totally ready to take a bit of a nap. Though Bransen hadn’t answered him before, he assumed that the offer was still on the table, and his tone was rather pleased at the idea of getting a break with the driving.
Bransen agreed, and Dave moved into the passenger seat when the engineer got out to dump the food. He moved the seat back a little so his legs had a bit more room, and switched the soda to his side as well, getting a bit more comfortable in the seat. If Bransen asked, Dave would tell him which direction he needed to go to get back on the highway. After that, it wouldn’t exactly be a difficult drive, and so Dave relaxed. He would fall asleep after about an hour if Bransen stayed quiet, but the man could easily stay up as well, and would certainly do so if Bransen looked tired at the wheel.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Of course Dave had noticed the other man fall asleep. He had wanted to strike up a conversation many times, though he had always fallen short of forming coherent thoughts. Whenever he seemed to have something he thought was worth mentioning, he looked over and noticed the man was, indeed, still unconscious. He would have felt stupid, waking Bransen if he wasn’t going to say anything important, and he usually decided that his random commentary was lacking in the intellectual quality that was no doubt necessary to hold Bransen’s interest. Thus, Dave kept his comments to himself, even though he clearly saw this woman picking her nose in one of the cars that traveled along-side him for a little while. He noticed a humorous license plate, FRM MYX, though the car took an exit after only being in his vision for about a mile. Dave briefly began to track the models of the cars as well, though he soon lost track of whether he was seeing the same vehicles again, or different ones, and so gave up.
Over an hour passed, the station he had picked was fortunately still working alright, the time during which they were under bridges aside. He had seen a few signs for attractions that could have been worth a visit, if the pair weren’t running for their lives, of course. No, had Dave been traveling of his own accord, or with some of hide friends, he might have suggested stopping off. He could almost imagine the look of anger that would have surfaced on Bransen’s face if he had woken up outside of some ‘world renowned brewery’…especially if Dave had abandoned him and gone inside. Dave laughed to himself at the thought, though he continued driving.
In all honesty, Dave wasn’t used to the kind of quiet that Bransen perpetuated. He was used to small talk, and random talking about trivial things. Even though he had nothing to say, he still had trouble with the silence. Eventually, it was Bransen who broke it, and Dave almost called out in victory for having held out longer than the other man. It should have been an extra victory because Dave actually had to be awake the entire time he was driving, while Bransen got to sleep for almost the entire drive. Dave glanced sideways as the other man was rubbing his eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice if they wanted to switch. “You sure you can stay awake?” He asked in response, not even giving the thought enough time to process. It was meant to be a friendly jab, but Dave was doing a horrible job of remembering that Bransen wasn’t a friendly person. Had he waited a little longer, he might have realized that the offer on Bransen’s part to actually do something to help their situation was so rare that it needed to be cherished, rather than poked with a stick. Indeed, in Dave’s mind, Bransen had done almost nothing since they had paired up. It was a miracle that the engineer had survived as long as he had, really, with how uninvolved he was in his own life.
“Sorry, uh. Let’s stop somewhere and get a quick bite. Then you can drive if your foot isn’t too fucked up.” Dave added after a few moments, knowing he shouldn’t have poked fun at his driving companion. Dave figured if the man tried putting pressure on it and couldn’t walk, then driving would be out of the question, at least for a while longer. A few moments passed, during which Dave saw an exit sign that had denoted a few food places that would be coming up on an exit about a mile or so ahead of them. “There are quite a few places coming up… Which do you prefer, McDonald’s or Wendy’s?” Dave inquired. Most people asked McDonald’s or Burger King, however Dave already had an item in mind that he couldn’t get at the King. If Bransen chose Wendy’s, Dave would spoil himself with a frosty. If they chose McDonald’s, then he would get a McFlurry. Either way, Dave would be content for a while longer, and wouldn’t have to resort to drinking just to finish the trip. He planned to get food as well, but it was the desserts that determined where Dave wanted to go for food.
He glanced once more at Bransen as he pulled into the parking lot. “Do you want to go in?” Bransen didn’t look…that bad, and Dave figured that the other man would have to pee at least. He certainly did. Dave would have gone through the drive-thru to get the food if Bransen was uncomfortable, but either way he would end up parking for a bit, so that they could eat and he could use the bathroom. Dave would get some real food as well, if a burger and fries could really count as real food, of course. The fries would be dipped in whatever frozen drink he acquired, using that as his condiment of choice. “You ever have fries dipped in ice cream?” He asked Bransen before putting another one in his mouth. Dave had planned on saving them for the road, but that was already quickly failing, and then the car would smell like fast food, which was another reason that he should enjoy the food now.
-.-
Melissa had made it clear that she meant business, and apparently Kit was bright enough to realize that he wasn’t going to talk circles around her. He began to explain that the target was restrained, and they used force. She didn’t bat an eye at this—and frankly would have been surprised if they were trying to get around using force. She had, after all, given them plenty of tools with which they could garner information. Had she believed that Bransen would have fessed up to everything, then she would have simply brought him in and skipped the whole affair with the brain and the brawn.
Mr. Marshall seemed to realize, at the very least, that Berkman was grasping at straws. So had his argument been convincing enough to sway Mr. Tucker to join his side? There were two distinct possibilities that came to her mind as Mr. Marshall explained Davian’s actions; either Mr. Tucker had a conscience, and only just realized during the interrogation that Hawtholders had some less than wholesome activities, or Mr. Tucker was tricked by their captive into believing that he had something to gain by helping the former engineer escape from Hawtholder’s clutches. Mr. Marshall explained that Bransen got under his skin, that the man’s attitude prompted him to attack the other man, and it began to sound to Melissa as if Kit had lost control of the situation, forcing Mr. Tucker’s hand.
Her eyebrows went up a bit in response to Kit’s explanation, including the fact that he was bludgeoned unconscious. She had a good number of questions forming in her mind, but Melissa knew the benefits of letting someone finish composing their thoughts. They often answered the questions before she could ask them—or their rambling enticed them to give away some other piece of information that they had not intended on saying, something to help direct the guilt. Hilda’s readings during the interrogation would give Melissa quite a bit more information about the discussion she was having with Mr. Marshall. One of the most notable results would be the extreme degree to which Kit’s adrenaline rose as he talked about Bransen getting under his skin. It would become even more apparent that Kit probably would have done something regrettable had Mr. Tucker not been there to deflect from the situation. It would also tell Melissa that the likelihood of Marshall being involved in some sort of scheme with the pair was incredibly low. He was more likely to try to snap their necks than he was to be in league with them.
Kit tried to change the subject, bringing up the nature of the activities in which Hawtholders was involved. Was he seriously trying to put Melissa on the defensive once more? Of course she knew what activities they were involved in. Unless he was saying this because he wanted some sort of pay off. The stupid man suffered the same flawed reasoning as many other men had before him. He believed that he was important, that he mattered. He was just a cog in the machine, a grunt worker necessary only to carry out the tasks that Melissa deemed unworthy of her time. And apparently this man wasn’t even good for that. The only reason he was alive right now was that he had information that was very important to the security of the company. “The security measures within the walls of Hawtholders have been re-evaluated. Of that, Mr. Marshall, I can assure you. I can also assure you that what goes on inside of Hawtholders, especially the affairs of the payroll department, are absolutely none of your business.” Melissa leaned forward on the table a bit, her ability to maintain her composure rather eerie in some ways. “What you need to decide, Mr. Marshall, is how you will continue to be an asset to Hawtholders from this moment on.”
Taking a deep breath, Melissa straightened and stood up from the table. “Hawtholders is continually growing and improving. Without us, this world would be in the dark ages. Our pursuits are, indeed, global, and every good company needs good, loyal employees. So I would like you to take a few hours, Mr. Marshall. Compose yourself, sleep, go to see a medical provider in our care wing if you deem fit. Then, by noon, decide where you fit into Hawtholders' mission, and come to my office then with your decision.” Giving him a few hours would give her time to ho have him watched, see if he did anything that would make her more suspicious of his loyalty. Of course, he could do all of the things he needed within the Hawtholders buildings themselves, but he would be watched via camera. Melissa would be able to confer with HILDA, and decide what they were going to do with Mr. Marshall. He could be a valuable asset, but she needed to run some simulations and decide if he was worth the risk of keeping alive any longer.
Over an hour passed, the station he had picked was fortunately still working alright, the time during which they were under bridges aside. He had seen a few signs for attractions that could have been worth a visit, if the pair weren’t running for their lives, of course. No, had Dave been traveling of his own accord, or with some of hide friends, he might have suggested stopping off. He could almost imagine the look of anger that would have surfaced on Bransen’s face if he had woken up outside of some ‘world renowned brewery’…especially if Dave had abandoned him and gone inside. Dave laughed to himself at the thought, though he continued driving.
In all honesty, Dave wasn’t used to the kind of quiet that Bransen perpetuated. He was used to small talk, and random talking about trivial things. Even though he had nothing to say, he still had trouble with the silence. Eventually, it was Bransen who broke it, and Dave almost called out in victory for having held out longer than the other man. It should have been an extra victory because Dave actually had to be awake the entire time he was driving, while Bransen got to sleep for almost the entire drive. Dave glanced sideways as the other man was rubbing his eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice if they wanted to switch. “You sure you can stay awake?” He asked in response, not even giving the thought enough time to process. It was meant to be a friendly jab, but Dave was doing a horrible job of remembering that Bransen wasn’t a friendly person. Had he waited a little longer, he might have realized that the offer on Bransen’s part to actually do something to help their situation was so rare that it needed to be cherished, rather than poked with a stick. Indeed, in Dave’s mind, Bransen had done almost nothing since they had paired up. It was a miracle that the engineer had survived as long as he had, really, with how uninvolved he was in his own life.
“Sorry, uh. Let’s stop somewhere and get a quick bite. Then you can drive if your foot isn’t too fucked up.” Dave added after a few moments, knowing he shouldn’t have poked fun at his driving companion. Dave figured if the man tried putting pressure on it and couldn’t walk, then driving would be out of the question, at least for a while longer. A few moments passed, during which Dave saw an exit sign that had denoted a few food places that would be coming up on an exit about a mile or so ahead of them. “There are quite a few places coming up… Which do you prefer, McDonald’s or Wendy’s?” Dave inquired. Most people asked McDonald’s or Burger King, however Dave already had an item in mind that he couldn’t get at the King. If Bransen chose Wendy’s, Dave would spoil himself with a frosty. If they chose McDonald’s, then he would get a McFlurry. Either way, Dave would be content for a while longer, and wouldn’t have to resort to drinking just to finish the trip. He planned to get food as well, but it was the desserts that determined where Dave wanted to go for food.
He glanced once more at Bransen as he pulled into the parking lot. “Do you want to go in?” Bransen didn’t look…that bad, and Dave figured that the other man would have to pee at least. He certainly did. Dave would have gone through the drive-thru to get the food if Bransen was uncomfortable, but either way he would end up parking for a bit, so that they could eat and he could use the bathroom. Dave would get some real food as well, if a burger and fries could really count as real food, of course. The fries would be dipped in whatever frozen drink he acquired, using that as his condiment of choice. “You ever have fries dipped in ice cream?” He asked Bransen before putting another one in his mouth. Dave had planned on saving them for the road, but that was already quickly failing, and then the car would smell like fast food, which was another reason that he should enjoy the food now.
-.-
Melissa had made it clear that she meant business, and apparently Kit was bright enough to realize that he wasn’t going to talk circles around her. He began to explain that the target was restrained, and they used force. She didn’t bat an eye at this—and frankly would have been surprised if they were trying to get around using force. She had, after all, given them plenty of tools with which they could garner information. Had she believed that Bransen would have fessed up to everything, then she would have simply brought him in and skipped the whole affair with the brain and the brawn.
Mr. Marshall seemed to realize, at the very least, that Berkman was grasping at straws. So had his argument been convincing enough to sway Mr. Tucker to join his side? There were two distinct possibilities that came to her mind as Mr. Marshall explained Davian’s actions; either Mr. Tucker had a conscience, and only just realized during the interrogation that Hawtholders had some less than wholesome activities, or Mr. Tucker was tricked by their captive into believing that he had something to gain by helping the former engineer escape from Hawtholder’s clutches. Mr. Marshall explained that Bransen got under his skin, that the man’s attitude prompted him to attack the other man, and it began to sound to Melissa as if Kit had lost control of the situation, forcing Mr. Tucker’s hand.
Her eyebrows went up a bit in response to Kit’s explanation, including the fact that he was bludgeoned unconscious. She had a good number of questions forming in her mind, but Melissa knew the benefits of letting someone finish composing their thoughts. They often answered the questions before she could ask them—or their rambling enticed them to give away some other piece of information that they had not intended on saying, something to help direct the guilt. Hilda’s readings during the interrogation would give Melissa quite a bit more information about the discussion she was having with Mr. Marshall. One of the most notable results would be the extreme degree to which Kit’s adrenaline rose as he talked about Bransen getting under his skin. It would become even more apparent that Kit probably would have done something regrettable had Mr. Tucker not been there to deflect from the situation. It would also tell Melissa that the likelihood of Marshall being involved in some sort of scheme with the pair was incredibly low. He was more likely to try to snap their necks than he was to be in league with them.
Kit tried to change the subject, bringing up the nature of the activities in which Hawtholders was involved. Was he seriously trying to put Melissa on the defensive once more? Of course she knew what activities they were involved in. Unless he was saying this because he wanted some sort of pay off. The stupid man suffered the same flawed reasoning as many other men had before him. He believed that he was important, that he mattered. He was just a cog in the machine, a grunt worker necessary only to carry out the tasks that Melissa deemed unworthy of her time. And apparently this man wasn’t even good for that. The only reason he was alive right now was that he had information that was very important to the security of the company. “The security measures within the walls of Hawtholders have been re-evaluated. Of that, Mr. Marshall, I can assure you. I can also assure you that what goes on inside of Hawtholders, especially the affairs of the payroll department, are absolutely none of your business.” Melissa leaned forward on the table a bit, her ability to maintain her composure rather eerie in some ways. “What you need to decide, Mr. Marshall, is how you will continue to be an asset to Hawtholders from this moment on.”
Taking a deep breath, Melissa straightened and stood up from the table. “Hawtholders is continually growing and improving. Without us, this world would be in the dark ages. Our pursuits are, indeed, global, and every good company needs good, loyal employees. So I would like you to take a few hours, Mr. Marshall. Compose yourself, sleep, go to see a medical provider in our care wing if you deem fit. Then, by noon, decide where you fit into Hawtholders' mission, and come to my office then with your decision.” Giving him a few hours would give her time to ho have him watched, see if he did anything that would make her more suspicious of his loyalty. Of course, he could do all of the things he needed within the Hawtholders buildings themselves, but he would be watched via camera. Melissa would be able to confer with HILDA, and decide what they were going to do with Mr. Marshall. He could be a valuable asset, but she needed to run some simulations and decide if he was worth the risk of keeping alive any longer.
Kamron should have known that this wouldn’t have been easy. Of course she wouldn’t simply put on the clothing and cooperate with what he was demanding. The girl’s voice was weak, and her demands were almost humorous. She said she wasn’t a whore, and yet, with the fancy dress clinging to her from the rain, she didn’t exactly look high-class. He stood with one hand holding a blade, and waited as she then demanded to be released. It was a joke. Even if he did release her, she was going to simply have him beheaded anyway. He wouldn’t have been any better off than if he just told the Society that he wasn’t going to obey their demands.
Her small monologue ended with her asking his purpose, and who sent him, though Kamron wasn’t distracted by her question enough to notice that she was going for the small dagger in her purse. “Looking for this?” He asked, pulling out the tiny blade that he had already removed from her person. Kamron tossed it to the side. “It doesn’t matter why. It matters that you do what I tell you.” He reached out and grabbed one of her wrists, and then twisted it around her back with her free hand. “If you do not change your clothing, I will change it for you.” He stepped forward quickly, pushing her against the wall. He still had a blade, and it was pressed gently against the woman’s back. He was told to bring her back alive, so the Princess did have that point at least. He didn’t want to kill her.
Instead, the man turned the knife a bit, and twisted it so that it began to cut through a bulge in the fabric. He dragged the knife down quickly, cutting her clothing and rendering it largely useless. He released her wrist, and spun her around so her body was facing him. He took the blade and slid it between the fabric and the Princess’ skin. “Don’t move…” He warned, and then slid the blade down, cutting the dress off of her completely. “Now you need to put these on.” He said, gesturing to the clothing he had provided. He stepped back from her, confident that she wouldn’t want to leave wearing that clothing anymore.
Her small monologue ended with her asking his purpose, and who sent him, though Kamron wasn’t distracted by her question enough to notice that she was going for the small dagger in her purse. “Looking for this?” He asked, pulling out the tiny blade that he had already removed from her person. Kamron tossed it to the side. “It doesn’t matter why. It matters that you do what I tell you.” He reached out and grabbed one of her wrists, and then twisted it around her back with her free hand. “If you do not change your clothing, I will change it for you.” He stepped forward quickly, pushing her against the wall. He still had a blade, and it was pressed gently against the woman’s back. He was told to bring her back alive, so the Princess did have that point at least. He didn’t want to kill her.
Instead, the man turned the knife a bit, and twisted it so that it began to cut through a bulge in the fabric. He dragged the knife down quickly, cutting her clothing and rendering it largely useless. He released her wrist, and spun her around so her body was facing him. He took the blade and slid it between the fabric and the Princess’ skin. “Don’t move…” He warned, and then slid the blade down, cutting the dress off of her completely. “Now you need to put these on.” He said, gesturing to the clothing he had provided. He stepped back from her, confident that she wouldn’t want to leave wearing that clothing anymore.
The maid was the one to act first, yelling for the Princess to run. Kamron groaned—he should have realized that this wasn’t going to be easy. He hit the woman in the head, hoping only to knock her out, and then let fall to the ground as the Princess began to run. He couldn’t waste time checking to see if the nurse had actually fallen unconscious, or was, in fact, still living. No, his task was to fetch the Princess. She had a bit of a head-start, but he was able to keep up with her easily, and soon close the distance between them. Fortunately, she seemed to run the exact opposite way as help had been, and so they were let utterly alone. The woman tripped and fell to the ground as the rain continued to pour down.
Seeing her on the ground, he immediately closed the distance, and knelt down over her, pinning her to the ground. “You couldn’t just go along with things… could you?” He asked. “See… I really didn’t want to have to hurt you. I am sorry for what I am about to do.” He said, sighing before he brought his hand back and then punched her in the face. Fortunately, she would fall unconscious after only a single blow. He lifted up her body, surprised by the weight before realizing that her clothing was the cause. It was waterlogged, and she hadn’t even been wearing a proper cloak. He carried her with minimal difficulty towards the port, but he knew he wouldn’t get out of the alleys without someone noticing his catch. He changed course and brought her to a shop he knew, one which had a rather dubious back room, and broke into before he was spotted.
He placed the princess down by the counter, and then dealt with the owner, who came running down the stairs. He pushed a bundle of money into the man’s hand, and told him not to come downstairs until the morning. The owner looked at the money, and then nodded quickly before turning to go back upstairs, refusing to see or hear anything that was about to happen. Kamron honestly hoped that the princess would come to quickly, as he wanted to get moving once more. He grabbed some clothing that was good for traveling, including a pair of boots that were probably too big, and dropped them in front of her. If she wasn’t away, he would nudge her awake with his foot. “Hey, you need to put these on.” He unconscious and redress you myself.” He added, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Seeing her on the ground, he immediately closed the distance, and knelt down over her, pinning her to the ground. “You couldn’t just go along with things… could you?” He asked. “See… I really didn’t want to have to hurt you. I am sorry for what I am about to do.” He said, sighing before he brought his hand back and then punched her in the face. Fortunately, she would fall unconscious after only a single blow. He lifted up her body, surprised by the weight before realizing that her clothing was the cause. It was waterlogged, and she hadn’t even been wearing a proper cloak. He carried her with minimal difficulty towards the port, but he knew he wouldn’t get out of the alleys without someone noticing his catch. He changed course and brought her to a shop he knew, one which had a rather dubious back room, and broke into before he was spotted.
He placed the princess down by the counter, and then dealt with the owner, who came running down the stairs. He pushed a bundle of money into the man’s hand, and told him not to come downstairs until the morning. The owner looked at the money, and then nodded quickly before turning to go back upstairs, refusing to see or hear anything that was about to happen. Kamron honestly hoped that the princess would come to quickly, as he wanted to get moving once more. He grabbed some clothing that was good for traveling, including a pair of boots that were probably too big, and dropped them in front of her. If she wasn’t away, he would nudge her awake with his foot. “Hey, you need to put these on.” He unconscious and redress you myself.” He added, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Dave had always been good at talking to his friends. They had similar interests (granted, those interests were often for illegal activities) and had spent enough time together to know what the other people were comfortable talking about. Dave had not had such opportunities with Bransen. His first encounters with the man had been cordial enough, escorting him around and generally looking a little menacing. To go right from there to interrogation was hard on their relationship, though. Dave couldn’t get past the idea that he was just some thug, a suit, a body without a brain. Yea, his brain wasn’t huge, and he couldn’t do calculus or build planes or anything, but in his world, he hadn’t been dumb. He didn’t even think he was particularly dumb now. He was the reason they had gotten as far as they had, switching cars, plates, getting supplies, and doing things that would keep them off of the radar. He had made what he thought were the good decisions, and he answered Bransen’s questions as best as he could. The response he received from the man, however, was less than Dave had hoped. It was like he had taken two steps forward only to move three steps backwards.
The man had barely responded to his ideas, which were really just trying to confirm that they would continue to work together. Had he still been interrogating the man, he would have called him a liar in a heartbeat. The man looked sick at the prospect of continuing, and Dave could tell that something was very wrong. He had messed something up, but he had no idea what. Bransen mumbled something to agree with him, and Dave made one more attempt at conversation, talking about missing being connected to the net. Once they had new identities, they would be able to start that sort of thing again, make new friends and have new lives, it would just take time. Dave hadn’t changed his name when he had moved to Chicago, but he did have to cut all ties and start fresh, to maintain his own sanity.
The last attempt at conversing with his traveling companion, however, was met with a vacant look, and Dave knew that his words had meant nothing. The man made some excuse to leave, and stumbled into the bathroom. Dave sat in shock for a few moments, and then shook his head as he had gotten up. He wanted to tell himself that the stitches had just made Bransen a little queasy, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He had misjudged the man, thought that they could have a conversation, be somewhat friendly towards each other, but he was wrong. Dave cleaned up the supplies from the table, busying himself quickly so he didn’t have to think about the disappointment. He put aside enough things for Bransen to take care of his foot again in the car, whenever the man felt up to it. He then packed up the rest of their things and went outside.
It was probably best to get a new car, and so Dave looked around the parking lot for a few moments. He saw a few contenders, but decided to go to the front desk and check out first. Getting someone to come to the desk so that he could return the keys was annoying, but fortunately the man left the desk as soon as Dave was done, giving the man the opportunity to look at the lost and found siting behind the counter. He grabbed the two sets of keys that had been there, and brought them out to the parking lot to see what luck he had. There was a sporty-looking thing, red with a racing stripe down the middle, and a rather boring looking dark blue Jeep. While the little one was more his choice, he knew that it would be noticed quickly, no matter what he did to the plates, and so he picked the Jeep, grateful that this time he would have the keys. Again he switched the plates, cautiously since it was day-time now. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone in the motel was likely still hung-over from their activities the night before.
Once the cars were settled, he went back to the room and brought everything out, packing up the Jeep quickly and getting ready to go. All he needed now was Bransen. Dave went back into the room and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, umm… I am ready to hit the road. The car is all packed, and we might want to get going before anyone notices… Oh it’s a dark blue Jeep now.” He turned and left the room once more, glancing over to make sure that he hadn’t left anything incriminating behind. Dave got in the car, and fiddled with the stations, hoping to find something decent to listen to. The second pop-tart still sat in the cup holder on the driver’s side, since he knew he would want to munch while he drove.
The passenger’s side was empty, apart from a plastic bag on the floor that had what Bransen would need to re-patch up his wound, if he wanted it. Their bigger bag was in the back on the floor. When Bransen returned, Dave would silently put the car in gear and begin to drive. He had failed miserably at small-talk before, and Bransen had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in conversing, and so Dave stayed quiet. He could do silence, and maybe even make it all the way into New York earlier, if they didn’t stop for food. He figured Bransen would prefer that, since he had gotten rather annoyed at the mention of having to stop at another motel for the evening.
-.-
Kit seemed to try to maintain his composure, which amused Thompson a bit. She sat quietly, waiting as he called HILDA defective, and put all of the blame on Tucker—convenient since he was gone. “Mr. Marshall.” Melissa Thompson finally stated when the man was done spewing whatever thoughts popped into his head. “Most individuals, when asked a question, see fit to answer that question. When speaking to me, most individuals see fit to reply concisely. I had yet to meet an individual, who not only refused to answer the single request posed to them, but instead babbled incessantly, saying nothing of any consequence, until you. And please, feel free to take offense to that statement, for I have spoken to your former partner, and even he boneheaded as he might be, was able to answer a simple question.”
Mr. Marshall was annoying. He was annoying, cocky, arrogant, and many other synonyms that she had no desire to name. If he had been a capable individual, then she wouldn’t have been in such a position, so early in the morning. “Perhaps HILDA does need some reprogramming. After all, she did predict that you would be capable of performing such a job, and clearly that was incorrect, and your intelligence was…over-estimated as much as Mr. Tucker’s loyalty. So I will take this incredibly slow for you.”
“You have stated thus far that Mr. Tucker compromised the mission, that he is rogue. Tell me how, and why. What changed in the storage unit that made Mr. Tucker side with the intended target and betray you? You have worked with the man, if only for a short while. I take it you did not predict such an extreme level of betrayal ahead of time, because you certainly would have called us up earlier.”
Melissa Thompson knew absolutely nothing about what had happened after they had captured Berkman. Something had clearly changed, because Mr. Tucker had taken the evidence and the man, and left. Had Berkman offered him money, power, drugs? She had predicted these circumstances before she thought that Tucker would have grown a heart and actually wanted to help the fellow clear his name and go up against all of Hawtholders. No, Kit Marshall was supposed to be the intelligent one, so for all Melissa Thompson truly knew, they had all planned this together. Hilda had run the analysis—of course the program was still highly trusted—and it was far more likely that Marshall had been the mastermind behind any plans made than Tucker would have been. Perhaps Marshall was left behind on purpose, to throw off Hawtholders while the rest of his new allies set up something else, or had time to get away.
Thompson hadn’t gotten anywhere in life by trusting people, and she had no intention of starting now. “I expect a full report of the events that transpired Mr. Marshall, immediately.” She said and clasped her fingers together as she turned to face him. If he would refuse, she would happily get her own interrogators in here to help him finish his report. However, Marshall still needed to prove his own innocence, and Hilda had given Thompson some indication that Marshall was running on very high levels of adrenaline, and a few other chemicals that implied revenge might be an apt route for them to use to control the operative. For now, though, Thompson would wait until the man climbed off of his high horse, and began to take responsibility for what had happened in the unit.
The man had barely responded to his ideas, which were really just trying to confirm that they would continue to work together. Had he still been interrogating the man, he would have called him a liar in a heartbeat. The man looked sick at the prospect of continuing, and Dave could tell that something was very wrong. He had messed something up, but he had no idea what. Bransen mumbled something to agree with him, and Dave made one more attempt at conversation, talking about missing being connected to the net. Once they had new identities, they would be able to start that sort of thing again, make new friends and have new lives, it would just take time. Dave hadn’t changed his name when he had moved to Chicago, but he did have to cut all ties and start fresh, to maintain his own sanity.
The last attempt at conversing with his traveling companion, however, was met with a vacant look, and Dave knew that his words had meant nothing. The man made some excuse to leave, and stumbled into the bathroom. Dave sat in shock for a few moments, and then shook his head as he had gotten up. He wanted to tell himself that the stitches had just made Bransen a little queasy, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He had misjudged the man, thought that they could have a conversation, be somewhat friendly towards each other, but he was wrong. Dave cleaned up the supplies from the table, busying himself quickly so he didn’t have to think about the disappointment. He put aside enough things for Bransen to take care of his foot again in the car, whenever the man felt up to it. He then packed up the rest of their things and went outside.
It was probably best to get a new car, and so Dave looked around the parking lot for a few moments. He saw a few contenders, but decided to go to the front desk and check out first. Getting someone to come to the desk so that he could return the keys was annoying, but fortunately the man left the desk as soon as Dave was done, giving the man the opportunity to look at the lost and found siting behind the counter. He grabbed the two sets of keys that had been there, and brought them out to the parking lot to see what luck he had. There was a sporty-looking thing, red with a racing stripe down the middle, and a rather boring looking dark blue Jeep. While the little one was more his choice, he knew that it would be noticed quickly, no matter what he did to the plates, and so he picked the Jeep, grateful that this time he would have the keys. Again he switched the plates, cautiously since it was day-time now. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone in the motel was likely still hung-over from their activities the night before.
Once the cars were settled, he went back to the room and brought everything out, packing up the Jeep quickly and getting ready to go. All he needed now was Bransen. Dave went back into the room and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, umm… I am ready to hit the road. The car is all packed, and we might want to get going before anyone notices… Oh it’s a dark blue Jeep now.” He turned and left the room once more, glancing over to make sure that he hadn’t left anything incriminating behind. Dave got in the car, and fiddled with the stations, hoping to find something decent to listen to. The second pop-tart still sat in the cup holder on the driver’s side, since he knew he would want to munch while he drove.
The passenger’s side was empty, apart from a plastic bag on the floor that had what Bransen would need to re-patch up his wound, if he wanted it. Their bigger bag was in the back on the floor. When Bransen returned, Dave would silently put the car in gear and begin to drive. He had failed miserably at small-talk before, and Bransen had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in conversing, and so Dave stayed quiet. He could do silence, and maybe even make it all the way into New York earlier, if they didn’t stop for food. He figured Bransen would prefer that, since he had gotten rather annoyed at the mention of having to stop at another motel for the evening.
-.-
Kit seemed to try to maintain his composure, which amused Thompson a bit. She sat quietly, waiting as he called HILDA defective, and put all of the blame on Tucker—convenient since he was gone. “Mr. Marshall.” Melissa Thompson finally stated when the man was done spewing whatever thoughts popped into his head. “Most individuals, when asked a question, see fit to answer that question. When speaking to me, most individuals see fit to reply concisely. I had yet to meet an individual, who not only refused to answer the single request posed to them, but instead babbled incessantly, saying nothing of any consequence, until you. And please, feel free to take offense to that statement, for I have spoken to your former partner, and even he boneheaded as he might be, was able to answer a simple question.”
Mr. Marshall was annoying. He was annoying, cocky, arrogant, and many other synonyms that she had no desire to name. If he had been a capable individual, then she wouldn’t have been in such a position, so early in the morning. “Perhaps HILDA does need some reprogramming. After all, she did predict that you would be capable of performing such a job, and clearly that was incorrect, and your intelligence was…over-estimated as much as Mr. Tucker’s loyalty. So I will take this incredibly slow for you.”
“You have stated thus far that Mr. Tucker compromised the mission, that he is rogue. Tell me how, and why. What changed in the storage unit that made Mr. Tucker side with the intended target and betray you? You have worked with the man, if only for a short while. I take it you did not predict such an extreme level of betrayal ahead of time, because you certainly would have called us up earlier.”
Melissa Thompson knew absolutely nothing about what had happened after they had captured Berkman. Something had clearly changed, because Mr. Tucker had taken the evidence and the man, and left. Had Berkman offered him money, power, drugs? She had predicted these circumstances before she thought that Tucker would have grown a heart and actually wanted to help the fellow clear his name and go up against all of Hawtholders. No, Kit Marshall was supposed to be the intelligent one, so for all Melissa Thompson truly knew, they had all planned this together. Hilda had run the analysis—of course the program was still highly trusted—and it was far more likely that Marshall had been the mastermind behind any plans made than Tucker would have been. Perhaps Marshall was left behind on purpose, to throw off Hawtholders while the rest of his new allies set up something else, or had time to get away.
Thompson hadn’t gotten anywhere in life by trusting people, and she had no intention of starting now. “I expect a full report of the events that transpired Mr. Marshall, immediately.” She said and clasped her fingers together as she turned to face him. If he would refuse, she would happily get her own interrogators in here to help him finish his report. However, Marshall still needed to prove his own innocence, and Hilda had given Thompson some indication that Marshall was running on very high levels of adrenaline, and a few other chemicals that implied revenge might be an apt route for them to use to control the operative. For now, though, Thompson would wait until the man climbed off of his high horse, and began to take responsibility for what had happened in the unit.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Hearing the door open, Dave’s gaze shot upward, and one hand instinctively went to the bag that contained the weapons he had pilfered from Hawtholders. Fortunately, it was only Bransen, and the only thing he was struggling with was a variety of foods that had obviously come out of a vending machine, and Dave’s coffee. He accepted the paper cup quickly, letting it warm his hands before he began to sip it. At Bransen’s comment about it being difficult to drink, Dave haphazardly shrugged. “It grows on you.” He said, and took a large sip before looking over to the assortment of things that Bransen had acquired from the machine. He glanced over the assortment, and then helped himself to the muffin, peeling off the wrapper before drinking a bit more coffee. “Wanna split the poptarts?” He asked, since there was an obvious imbalance between the number of people in the room and the number of items that Bransen had gotten. “Or you can get me a pack of my own.” He grinned. Dave wasn’t in a particularly sour mood that day, even with the strange dreams. Having the time to shower helped him re-center himself a bit, and as he bathed, the dream faded away until he barely remembered more than Bransen talking circles around him, and his dad being in New York. Since neither of these things were false, or particularly noteworthy, he was able to let it go quickly.
After the food was settled, Dave began to get his own wound sorted out, not sure what they would be stopping again in the evening, and whether he would have time to take care of it later. The suit noticed Bransen moving closer to him, and he glanced over to the man before he heard Bransen offer to…do what, exactly? “huh?” He asked, pausing what he was doing long enough for Bransen to take control and push his sleeves up and suggest that he would wrap it instead.
“That’s alright.” Dave chuckled a little. “I’m not a doctor either.” He said, glancing down at Bransen’s foot. Did the man seriously think that Dave had any medical training whatsoever? As Bransen touched his bare skin, Dave flinched a little, and then immediately scolded himself mentally for flinching do to only the man’s cold fingers. The engineer said that he owed Dave, and the man grinned a little before lifting up his coffee with his free hand. He wasn’t going to protest—if Bransen finally wanted to start pulling his own weight, then that was all fine and good.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked when he saw Bransen look up at him a bit nervously. “If you would rather just take a shift driving the car--that is fine too.” He suggested. It wasn’t like Bransen needed to sew the wound shut or anything. It was just a matter of dabbing it with disinfectant, drying it, and then placing a clean bandage on top. However, things that seemed easy to Dave were not necessarily going to seem common sense to a ‘learned’ individual.
Bransen seemed content on continuing though, and Dave humored him by continuing the conversation. “Yea, we can probably get there tonight, but by then the roads will be a bit dangerous, so I would rather wait till morning. I figure we can find one more motel tonight near the city. It has been too many years for me to feel comfortable walking around the streets as late as we would probably be if we rushed. The plan is still the same though, yea? We get new IDs and go to Canada and just…disappear?” Dave wanted to confirm it with Bransen again, even though there had been no information that would sway the decision otherwise. Once Bransen finished with his arm, he would offer to look at the foot once more before beginning to pack up their things.
“It’s weird, I keep reaching into my pocket to check my phone. I am so used to getting notifications, or even just checking the time…It makes me feel like I am missing something when I don’t. Do you feel like that?” Dave asked, oblivious to the fact that Bransen, in fact, did have a cellular device in his pocket. Of course, Bransen wasn’t using it for the things that Dave was suggesting, but he was misinformed all the same.
“I think we can take the same car there…but if you want to switch it up again, I can go hunting for different plates.” Dave suggested. Unlike Bransen, he didn’t have any problems walking, and now that he had actually gotten some sleep, he didn’t particularly mind doing the leg work. Within an hour the pair would be back on the road, the beginning of another long stretch of driving, and hoping that New York would bring them some sort of peace.
-.-
It was three in the morning when the door to the storage unit finally opened. Melissa Thompson stood there, in a pinstripe suit with her heals that seemed to have a way of avoiding all of the puddles that had formed with the rain. She looked upon the scene with her perfectly manicured nails (underneath a thin set of black gloves) and styled hair, in a way that one might have expected to see from someone going to a business meeting, rather than having just been dragged from bed.
In fact, Melissa had been in bed when she got the message. HILDA had sent a notification to her home device detailing suspicious activity of Davian Tucker’s personal accounts. Hilda had used that piece of information, and completed a search to find out where he was. Unfortunately, both Davian and Kit were revealed to be nowhere near the storage unit. The software then pulled up footage from the unit, finding that Davian had left with their suspect, putting him in the trunk, but Kit had not left. There was no camera that could see inside, but the GPS footage, when lined up with the video, found that Tucker had both of the cellular devices. Two quick withdrawals followed by excessive use at a gas station gave the computer enough data to compute with 70% certainty that the man was running from Hawthholders, and so Melissa Thompson was summoned.
If Kit was awake, she would merely gesture to the large black vehicle that waited outside of the unit. She had honestly expected him to be dead, and if he was unconscious, she would step forward into the unit and quickly check her pulse. As had been the case with Tucker’s phone, Thompson had the clean-up crew on speed dial, and they would be called to make sure the unit looked like nothing suspicious had occurred here. Hilda took care of wiping the tapes of the unit, though. The drive back to headquarters wasn’t far, but Thompson didn’t give Kit the chance to say much. There were two large suits that had opened the door for him, and sat on either side. Melissa had been sitting in the front passenger seat, busying herself with giving Hilda updated protocols for the search. Thompson didn’t speak a word to Kit until they were in one of the holding rooms in one of the Hawtholders buildings. She escorted him to the room, which was adorned with only a single table and two chairs. There were cameras, so that Hilda could run scans of his sweat, facial expression, and other body ticks to determine the truth or fallacy of his statements.
Melissa followed Kit inside, and took a seat on the opposite side from Kit. She crossed her legs and slowly pulled off her gloves, laying them on the table beside her before turning to Kit. “Explain to me, Mr. Marshall, the course of events that led to you losing not only your acquired target, but your partner, and the stolen documents that you were originally tasked with returning.” She stated, her words firm and her gaze stern.
After the food was settled, Dave began to get his own wound sorted out, not sure what they would be stopping again in the evening, and whether he would have time to take care of it later. The suit noticed Bransen moving closer to him, and he glanced over to the man before he heard Bransen offer to…do what, exactly? “huh?” He asked, pausing what he was doing long enough for Bransen to take control and push his sleeves up and suggest that he would wrap it instead.
“That’s alright.” Dave chuckled a little. “I’m not a doctor either.” He said, glancing down at Bransen’s foot. Did the man seriously think that Dave had any medical training whatsoever? As Bransen touched his bare skin, Dave flinched a little, and then immediately scolded himself mentally for flinching do to only the man’s cold fingers. The engineer said that he owed Dave, and the man grinned a little before lifting up his coffee with his free hand. He wasn’t going to protest—if Bransen finally wanted to start pulling his own weight, then that was all fine and good.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked when he saw Bransen look up at him a bit nervously. “If you would rather just take a shift driving the car--that is fine too.” He suggested. It wasn’t like Bransen needed to sew the wound shut or anything. It was just a matter of dabbing it with disinfectant, drying it, and then placing a clean bandage on top. However, things that seemed easy to Dave were not necessarily going to seem common sense to a ‘learned’ individual.
Bransen seemed content on continuing though, and Dave humored him by continuing the conversation. “Yea, we can probably get there tonight, but by then the roads will be a bit dangerous, so I would rather wait till morning. I figure we can find one more motel tonight near the city. It has been too many years for me to feel comfortable walking around the streets as late as we would probably be if we rushed. The plan is still the same though, yea? We get new IDs and go to Canada and just…disappear?” Dave wanted to confirm it with Bransen again, even though there had been no information that would sway the decision otherwise. Once Bransen finished with his arm, he would offer to look at the foot once more before beginning to pack up their things.
“It’s weird, I keep reaching into my pocket to check my phone. I am so used to getting notifications, or even just checking the time…It makes me feel like I am missing something when I don’t. Do you feel like that?” Dave asked, oblivious to the fact that Bransen, in fact, did have a cellular device in his pocket. Of course, Bransen wasn’t using it for the things that Dave was suggesting, but he was misinformed all the same.
“I think we can take the same car there…but if you want to switch it up again, I can go hunting for different plates.” Dave suggested. Unlike Bransen, he didn’t have any problems walking, and now that he had actually gotten some sleep, he didn’t particularly mind doing the leg work. Within an hour the pair would be back on the road, the beginning of another long stretch of driving, and hoping that New York would bring them some sort of peace.
-.-
It was three in the morning when the door to the storage unit finally opened. Melissa Thompson stood there, in a pinstripe suit with her heals that seemed to have a way of avoiding all of the puddles that had formed with the rain. She looked upon the scene with her perfectly manicured nails (underneath a thin set of black gloves) and styled hair, in a way that one might have expected to see from someone going to a business meeting, rather than having just been dragged from bed.
In fact, Melissa had been in bed when she got the message. HILDA had sent a notification to her home device detailing suspicious activity of Davian Tucker’s personal accounts. Hilda had used that piece of information, and completed a search to find out where he was. Unfortunately, both Davian and Kit were revealed to be nowhere near the storage unit. The software then pulled up footage from the unit, finding that Davian had left with their suspect, putting him in the trunk, but Kit had not left. There was no camera that could see inside, but the GPS footage, when lined up with the video, found that Tucker had both of the cellular devices. Two quick withdrawals followed by excessive use at a gas station gave the computer enough data to compute with 70% certainty that the man was running from Hawthholders, and so Melissa Thompson was summoned.
If Kit was awake, she would merely gesture to the large black vehicle that waited outside of the unit. She had honestly expected him to be dead, and if he was unconscious, she would step forward into the unit and quickly check her pulse. As had been the case with Tucker’s phone, Thompson had the clean-up crew on speed dial, and they would be called to make sure the unit looked like nothing suspicious had occurred here. Hilda took care of wiping the tapes of the unit, though. The drive back to headquarters wasn’t far, but Thompson didn’t give Kit the chance to say much. There were two large suits that had opened the door for him, and sat on either side. Melissa had been sitting in the front passenger seat, busying herself with giving Hilda updated protocols for the search. Thompson didn’t speak a word to Kit until they were in one of the holding rooms in one of the Hawtholders buildings. She escorted him to the room, which was adorned with only a single table and two chairs. There were cameras, so that Hilda could run scans of his sweat, facial expression, and other body ticks to determine the truth or fallacy of his statements.
Melissa followed Kit inside, and took a seat on the opposite side from Kit. She crossed her legs and slowly pulled off her gloves, laying them on the table beside her before turning to Kit. “Explain to me, Mr. Marshall, the course of events that led to you losing not only your acquired target, but your partner, and the stolen documents that you were originally tasked with returning.” She stated, her words firm and her gaze stern.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Name: Davian Tucker. He goes by Dave, and doesn’t bother to correct people when they assume it is David. He isn’t fond of the name Davian, and most of his former friends call him Tucker.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Hair: Dirty Blonde - he sometimes wears it layered just above his ear, though he has been known to buzz cut it occasionally too. He lets his face get a bit stubbly when he is busy, too, though he shaves it before important meetings and such.
Eyes: Greenish- can seem to change colors a bit based on what he is wearing
Physique: Dave is athletic. His job requires him to be able to run miles, and though they don't require defined abs, he has them too.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Dave used to have his eyebrow and ears pierced, and one might still see those if they got close enough. He even had snake bite piercings on his lower lip, when he was in a more rebellious phase. He has a tattoo of a barcode on his forearm, another attempt he had made to be cooler to his friends and to defy the parents who never noticed he had one.
Personality: Dave responds well to certain kinds of authority- but never demands. People making demands reminds him too much of his step-mother. In terms of his own life, he is highly unambitious. He doesn’t think much about the future, or care to think much about the future. The only thing he does take seriously is his job. He suffered quite a bit before he learned the benefits of a smile and sucking up, a lesson he learned best when he was in high school. He is on the cusp of an internal crisis, because of his lack of direction in life.
Family: He is fifteen years younger than his next youngest sibling. He has two older step-brothers and an older step-sister. They are all his step-mother’s children, his father only had him, and he married Davian’s step mother when he was still a young child. His step-mother had already raised her children. When Davian moved into the house, her youngest had just gone off to college. She was more than a bit distant, acting like she had already done her part to raise her own children. Davian’s father was never around. He worked from before Davian woke to after he went to sleep, though he did see the man occasionally, like at family holidays and such. The holidays were always geared towards the adults though, and Davian had to go to bed before they did anything fun. By the time he was old enough to enjoy the events, no one came to family holidays, having families of their own. His step-mother went to her children’s home, and Davian, who was supposed to spend it with his father, usually spent the holidays eating Chinese food and sneaking from theater to theater with all of the Jewish people in town.
Significant Other: No current relationships. He was dating another girl within the company, but broke it off when she wanted more commitment—going to dinner for the holidays with her family. He doesn’t date men, and when he has the occasional urges that need to be satisfied, he goes to a club, and finds someone to bring back to a hotel. He makes sure to be out before the guy wakes up, though, not trying to form any relationships with them. He likes to think that he isn’t really gay, that he just has better luck with men, and he is desperate enough for attention that he takes anything, but he is really just lying to himself.
Education: Davian barely finished high school. When his step-mother and father found out he was failing, they threatened to kick him out, taking his car and his possessions. They were stunned that he was doing poorly, and tried to take away his freedoms until he improved things. Dave wasn’t used to these types of restrictions, and so he fought back. He rebelled quite a bit, getting piercings and a few tattoos. He did graduate high school, though it was partially due to him giving a couple of blow jobs to the one teacher who refused to offer extra credit to the slacker.
Career: Davian’s job title is Security Escort. His job is rather simple usually. He makes sure that people don’t wander off when they are going to secure areas. He knows which people should be in which places, and doesn’t abandon people so that they could wander off and potentially steal information, technology, or complete some sort of attack on the company. He got the job through a friend, when the office had opened and was hiring a variety of positions. His friendly attitude has made him quite well known among some of the technical workers and supervisors, and he has even been requested at certain locations because of his attentiveness when he is at work.
Lost the original, but I think I had used something like this---appearance:
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Hair: Dirty Blonde - he sometimes wears it layered just above his ear, though he has been known to buzz cut it occasionally too. He lets his face get a bit stubbly when he is busy, too, though he shaves it before important meetings and such.
Eyes: Greenish- can seem to change colors a bit based on what he is wearing
Physique: Dave is athletic. His job requires him to be able to run miles, and though they don't require defined abs, he has them too.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Dave used to have his eyebrow and ears pierced, and one might still see those if they got close enough. He even had snake bite piercings on his lower lip, when he was in a more rebellious phase. He has a tattoo of a barcode on his forearm, another attempt he had made to be cooler to his friends and to defy the parents who never noticed he had one.
Personality: Dave responds well to certain kinds of authority- but never demands. People making demands reminds him too much of his step-mother. In terms of his own life, he is highly unambitious. He doesn’t think much about the future, or care to think much about the future. The only thing he does take seriously is his job. He suffered quite a bit before he learned the benefits of a smile and sucking up, a lesson he learned best when he was in high school. He is on the cusp of an internal crisis, because of his lack of direction in life.
Family: He is fifteen years younger than his next youngest sibling. He has two older step-brothers and an older step-sister. They are all his step-mother’s children, his father only had him, and he married Davian’s step mother when he was still a young child. His step-mother had already raised her children. When Davian moved into the house, her youngest had just gone off to college. She was more than a bit distant, acting like she had already done her part to raise her own children. Davian’s father was never around. He worked from before Davian woke to after he went to sleep, though he did see the man occasionally, like at family holidays and such. The holidays were always geared towards the adults though, and Davian had to go to bed before they did anything fun. By the time he was old enough to enjoy the events, no one came to family holidays, having families of their own. His step-mother went to her children’s home, and Davian, who was supposed to spend it with his father, usually spent the holidays eating Chinese food and sneaking from theater to theater with all of the Jewish people in town.
Significant Other: No current relationships. He was dating another girl within the company, but broke it off when she wanted more commitment—going to dinner for the holidays with her family. He doesn’t date men, and when he has the occasional urges that need to be satisfied, he goes to a club, and finds someone to bring back to a hotel. He makes sure to be out before the guy wakes up, though, not trying to form any relationships with them. He likes to think that he isn’t really gay, that he just has better luck with men, and he is desperate enough for attention that he takes anything, but he is really just lying to himself.
Education: Davian barely finished high school. When his step-mother and father found out he was failing, they threatened to kick him out, taking his car and his possessions. They were stunned that he was doing poorly, and tried to take away his freedoms until he improved things. Dave wasn’t used to these types of restrictions, and so he fought back. He rebelled quite a bit, getting piercings and a few tattoos. He did graduate high school, though it was partially due to him giving a couple of blow jobs to the one teacher who refused to offer extra credit to the slacker.
Career: Davian’s job title is Security Escort. His job is rather simple usually. He makes sure that people don’t wander off when they are going to secure areas. He knows which people should be in which places, and doesn’t abandon people so that they could wander off and potentially steal information, technology, or complete some sort of attack on the company. He got the job through a friend, when the office had opened and was hiring a variety of positions. His friendly attitude has made him quite well known among some of the technical workers and supervisors, and he has even been requested at certain locations because of his attentiveness when he is at work.
Lost the original, but I think I had used something like this---appearance:
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Dave wasn’t thinking about anything about their situation being romantic. He was focused entirely on sleep, which Bransen promptly interrupted with some irrelevant comment about ditching him in the morning. Dave let out a groan into the pillow in response, something he hoped was indicative of the fact that he wasn’t interested in discussing that, or discussing anything else, for that matter. “Sleep, Berkman.” He muttered. If he didn’t get some sleep, then he wouldn’t be going anywhere in the morning. It only took a few moments for Dave to fall asleep, but his sleep was far from restful.
Dave dreamed about New York, and about his father. The dream was… unrealistic, of course. He was trying to find a way to get to New York, but every road that they were going to take was patrolled. The men were wearing black suits, and they looked as menacing to Dave as he had probably looked to Bransen. Somewhere in the dream, they had to ditch the car and were on foot. When they finally picked a road, sirens followed them immediately, and he could hear the radios of the suits, his father’s voice on the other end, demanding that they arrest Dave. Permission to use lethal force granted he heard the stern voice command, and then the guns came out. Dave felt a sharp pain in his leg as a bullet hit his shin (though the man was unaware it was more likely to be Bransen’s heel hitting his leg). He fell to the ground, and asked his partner for him. “Berkman, give me a hand.” Bransen had been a few feet ahead of him at the time, and the man stopped before turning quickly on his heal. “You expect me…to aid you? Is it possible that you are such an imbecile that you perceive us to be working in some sort of comradery?” He asked. The suits were getting closer, and Dave was barely able to follow what he said. “You are, quite simply put, a Neanderthal. And evolution is not sympathetic to those individuals who do not possess the skills that are compulsory in the quest for survival. It is your time to die, suit. I only maintain the wish that I had been given the opportunity to dispose of you myself.” He sighed.
“You can.” Another voice chimed on. One of the suits approached the pair and gave Bransen a gun. It was only when he was close that Dave recognized the salt and pepper hair that was so neatly trimmed, and the clean shaven face that he has seen more in pictures than in his actual life. Davian’s father gace Bransen a gun, and the man regarded it slowly, turning it over in his hands. Davian’s father began to apologize to Bransen, and say that they knew he was in the right, and Dave had been the monster. “He deserves to die.” The older man agreed, and then took a step back so that Bransen could pull the trigger.
Dave threw his arms up to cover his face, and heard the gun fire before he was started from his sleep by Bransen nudging him. Dave opened his eyes in surprise, his heart pounding from the stress of the nightmare. He was holding onto the pillow tightly, and it took him a few moments to gather his composure once more. His eyes flickered to the window and he groaned. “Is it morning? It is morning, isn’t it… I don’t do mornings.” He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow once more, unaware that he was finally giving Bransen a bit of space, or that he had been a heat-seeking missile the night before.
Though Dave wished it, there was no way that he was really going to go back to sleep now. He knew they had to keep running, that they had to get going to New York, but his dream had been far from pleasant, and he wasn’t ready to face the day. After a few more moments of trying to bury himself in the blankets, Dave rolled a bit more and managed to get completely out of the bed before standing. He was in his boxers and the t-shirt that he had been wearing beneath the button down. He didn’t particularly care if Bransen saw his tattoo, or the cut on his own arm that he had hastily stitched back together not too long before. He had changed the bandage the night before, but it would be best to change it again soon. “I am going to take a shower. We probably have hot water again, after your spa last night.” He complained, though his complaint was mostly about being awake in the morning. “I can change the bandage on your foot again this morning if you need it, and show you how too. In the meantime, if you can tolerate walking, you should see if this place has one of those continental breakfasts, or at least coffee.”
Grabbing his clothing so he could go into the bathroom, turned back a moment later. “I like my coffee like a goth kid likes their…everything. Black.” He said, and then closed the door behind him. Dave would take longer this time, actually taking the time to get clean, and hoping the Bransen would manage to find food somehow. A part of him wondered if the man would run, and another part of him hoped that the man would. Things would be so much easier if they were apart, for Dave at least. Though the man thought he was better on his own, his dream had made him question that a bit. He exited the room with damp hair, and enough scruff on his face to make him actually wish he had gotten a razor at that CVS the night before. At least he exited the bathroom fully dressed, and he dried off his arm quickly so that he could do his own re-bandaging first, incredibly grateful that it didn’t seem to look infected, despite the hasty method he had used to close it in the first place. If Bransen had was there, he would look around expectantly for the coffee, and hopefully something sweet for breakfast as well. If he wasn’t, Dave wouldn’t likely be too concerned yet. Instead, he would enjoy his peace and quiet, savoring it while it lasted.
Dave dreamed about New York, and about his father. The dream was… unrealistic, of course. He was trying to find a way to get to New York, but every road that they were going to take was patrolled. The men were wearing black suits, and they looked as menacing to Dave as he had probably looked to Bransen. Somewhere in the dream, they had to ditch the car and were on foot. When they finally picked a road, sirens followed them immediately, and he could hear the radios of the suits, his father’s voice on the other end, demanding that they arrest Dave. Permission to use lethal force granted he heard the stern voice command, and then the guns came out. Dave felt a sharp pain in his leg as a bullet hit his shin (though the man was unaware it was more likely to be Bransen’s heel hitting his leg). He fell to the ground, and asked his partner for him. “Berkman, give me a hand.” Bransen had been a few feet ahead of him at the time, and the man stopped before turning quickly on his heal. “You expect me…to aid you? Is it possible that you are such an imbecile that you perceive us to be working in some sort of comradery?” He asked. The suits were getting closer, and Dave was barely able to follow what he said. “You are, quite simply put, a Neanderthal. And evolution is not sympathetic to those individuals who do not possess the skills that are compulsory in the quest for survival. It is your time to die, suit. I only maintain the wish that I had been given the opportunity to dispose of you myself.” He sighed.
“You can.” Another voice chimed on. One of the suits approached the pair and gave Bransen a gun. It was only when he was close that Dave recognized the salt and pepper hair that was so neatly trimmed, and the clean shaven face that he has seen more in pictures than in his actual life. Davian’s father gace Bransen a gun, and the man regarded it slowly, turning it over in his hands. Davian’s father began to apologize to Bransen, and say that they knew he was in the right, and Dave had been the monster. “He deserves to die.” The older man agreed, and then took a step back so that Bransen could pull the trigger.
Dave threw his arms up to cover his face, and heard the gun fire before he was started from his sleep by Bransen nudging him. Dave opened his eyes in surprise, his heart pounding from the stress of the nightmare. He was holding onto the pillow tightly, and it took him a few moments to gather his composure once more. His eyes flickered to the window and he groaned. “Is it morning? It is morning, isn’t it… I don’t do mornings.” He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow once more, unaware that he was finally giving Bransen a bit of space, or that he had been a heat-seeking missile the night before.
Though Dave wished it, there was no way that he was really going to go back to sleep now. He knew they had to keep running, that they had to get going to New York, but his dream had been far from pleasant, and he wasn’t ready to face the day. After a few more moments of trying to bury himself in the blankets, Dave rolled a bit more and managed to get completely out of the bed before standing. He was in his boxers and the t-shirt that he had been wearing beneath the button down. He didn’t particularly care if Bransen saw his tattoo, or the cut on his own arm that he had hastily stitched back together not too long before. He had changed the bandage the night before, but it would be best to change it again soon. “I am going to take a shower. We probably have hot water again, after your spa last night.” He complained, though his complaint was mostly about being awake in the morning. “I can change the bandage on your foot again this morning if you need it, and show you how too. In the meantime, if you can tolerate walking, you should see if this place has one of those continental breakfasts, or at least coffee.”
Grabbing his clothing so he could go into the bathroom, turned back a moment later. “I like my coffee like a goth kid likes their…everything. Black.” He said, and then closed the door behind him. Dave would take longer this time, actually taking the time to get clean, and hoping the Bransen would manage to find food somehow. A part of him wondered if the man would run, and another part of him hoped that the man would. Things would be so much easier if they were apart, for Dave at least. Though the man thought he was better on his own, his dream had made him question that a bit. He exited the room with damp hair, and enough scruff on his face to make him actually wish he had gotten a razor at that CVS the night before. At least he exited the bathroom fully dressed, and he dried off his arm quickly so that he could do his own re-bandaging first, incredibly grateful that it didn’t seem to look infected, despite the hasty method he had used to close it in the first place. If Bransen had was there, he would look around expectantly for the coffee, and hopefully something sweet for breakfast as well. If he wasn’t, Dave wouldn’t likely be too concerned yet. Instead, he would enjoy his peace and quiet, savoring it while it lasted.
© 2007-2024