POOHEAD189

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Molly pulled the truck up with a skidding halt, the tires screeching on the pavement. Quintus thought for a moment she would simply run Cho-Tyrek over, but he shook his head at himself when she managed to stop just before the truck would run right over him. Quintus slapped the dashboard twice and shoved the door open, holding his blaster out in a two handed, tactical grip. In the old days, men and women would scramble over themselves to get out of his eyesight, when 'Sweep' was on the move. Now he was in the business of money, not reputation.

He saw Cho was unresponsive, but his pack began to wriggle. Definitely not a human child, he thought, even before the thing turned and looked at him. Quintus eyed it incredulously. However, before he acted violently, Silas' voice picked up over the comm. "Copy, we were belted tight." He informed the older gentleman. Usually he refrained from using proper military terms on an outfit like this, but whatever the hell was in the bastard's pack had him creeped out. It took all his will power not to shoot it and spit on whatever counted for its corpse.

He breathed a sigh, and flipped the safety back on his rifle, at ease. He knocked his knuckles against the truck's hood. "Hey Mall, get your ass here. You don't need to guard the seat." He remarked. "You can drive us back, I don't need a turn." Quintus said sardonically, dismissive of the fact the flames were spreading on the near-broken vehicle.

Maybe he should have told her to back it up before she got out, but little miss smoke and lighting was already hopping out.

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

Most ships were large enough to contain whole armies, as large as urban centers on civilized worlds. The Rogue was far smaller, about three times the size of a standard city block. Large enough for its crew of sixty souls and then some, however it was pitifully small for any sort of battle. Whatever trouble the ship got into to, if it was anything above a fighter class, it would have to flee or be annihilated.

Neil stepped past the hatchway corridor into the main hall. It was a spacious area, like the belly of a terran whale. In fact, that very aspect made it an anomaly. Most imperial starships, even the largest ones, were cramped things with an inordinate amount of imperial symbols, arches, chapels, buttresses, and symbols of the Emperor. The halls were drab, dark things filled with wires, and even the most brightly colored had a sombre look to them of ancient respect. The Rogue, however, had cleared out all of that, if it had ever been outfitted with it at all. Though it must have been relatively light on it before, as it would have been very difficult to break down the baroque interior corridors. Plus, it would have been heretical to have no icons of the Emperor, and the machine spirits would be furious, so every dozen meters there was a small shrine of dias's with open books to the Lectitio Divinatus and the Mechanicum's book of scripts, as well as two central tapestries of black and gold resplendent with the symbols of the Imperial Eagle and Skull. Even as they walked in, a figure in the robes of a tech priest performed sacred rites, praying in hushed tones and lighting incense beside the shrines. Skit was ushered out of the corridor by Neil's retinue, but the Captain took a moment with Tilda to let her get a sense of the place before he gave her a proper tour.

"You!" A gruff yet feminine voice clanged like a hammer in the din of the Rogue's thrumming systems. Before they even stepped out of the corridor, a short woman dressed with a mechanics garb, complete with overalls, approached. Her brown hair shoulder length and bouncing as she walked, if it weren't for the mechanicum skull emblazoned on a pin attached to her greased top, her rank as an enginseer and not a common groundcar mechanicm might have been easily overlooked. "We've been waiting for you! Did you get the goods, Captain?"

"Bonny! No 'how am I'? No 'are you ok, Captain Edwards? Can I shine your shoes?'" He said in faux lament, and she mimicked punching him. He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, we happy. Everything was gained, and nothing of value was lost."

"Really?" She said, with obvious disbelief. "Show it to me, mister 'all promises but no substance.'"

He placed his hand in his jacket pocket, but didn't produce anything. He merely gave the impression something was burgeoning within the fabric. "I will show it to you when we're not out in the open. Besides, did you even get the promethium you were supposed to get?"

"No thanks to clanker over there." She remarked, thrusting a thumb over her shoulder to the tech-priest. Neil snapped his fingers and she handed him a data-slate with the logs they had input into the cargo listing. Neil wouldn't hand this over to Tilda just yet, they needed to acclimate her first. "Where's Gantz?" Bonnie wondered, peering over his shoulder. Her eyes lingered on Tilda with a bit of apprehension.

"Like I said, nothing of value was lost." He responded darkly, fidgeting with the device, thoroughly plummeting the mood before pulling up into the sun again. He pointed at the screen. "What does this P stand for?"[1]

Bonnie leaned over, bemused. "...Promethium."

"Ah, makes sense. Ok then, everything uh, seems logged in correctly." She yanked it out of his hands in the middle of the proclamation. "By the way, meet Tilda. She'll be joining us."

Bonnie looked at the taller woman with a small measure of curious amount of perturbation, but it did not seem to be out of jealousy or any sort of base reason. Perhaps it was to do with Gantz's sudden disappearance and the immediate arrival of a woman, who by anyone's measure, was stunning, was a bit daunting. Neil also knew their entire livelihood had been riding on the acquisition of the Edwardian Vigil. Such an unexpected development would put most crew members on edge. Bonnie, however, pushed whatever thoughts she had away and inclined her head. "Anyone who can manage this guy has my respect." She said, giving Tilda a wink. Bonnie then evidently had a thought pop in her head, as she leaned in to whisper something in Neil's ear quickly. Neil laughed, but continued as if the interaction had not occurred.

"She'll be managing me in more ways than one, and no I don't mean in a kinky way." Neil declared, gesturing for Tilda to follow him. The two stepped into the open area, past a few lounge benches bolted to the floors. To the left was a set of stairs leading to the lower decks, and around fifteen meters away was a huge pillar of plasteel and pylons coruscating blue light that seemed as integral to the ship as any engine. "I mean, unless you want to, but... Anyway, let me show you around the place. There's Lazarus. Hey Laz!"

Neil gave a wave to the busied tech priest, but the robed figure only turned enough to bleat in binary before he went back to his tasks. Neil waved him off and continued the tour, explaining the vast pillar was a part of the gellar field they would erect, in a sort of dual-purpose warp-drive the tech-priest and he had created. There were various doorways leading out of the central hub leading to turret mountings and the medbay, but Neil decided she could see the cockpit and the smaller areas anytime. He ushered her past the larger area into the next stop, the rec lounge, where a few of the crewmen were smoking lho-sticks near the open air hatch. A holoscreen, a small kitchen, various tables, and even some civilized world arcade games were set up. Neil told them to finish their breaks off, as they were about to take off again. There was a single groan, but most seemed happy to see him back alive and evidently with the prize. A few of their eyes lingered on Tilda with expression of curiosity mixed with typical, male interest.

After the lounge, there were three halls of crew quarters. Neil and Tilda's were at the end, her quarters being separate to everyone's, set to the right of Neil's captain's quarters. Neil did not show her the inside, but he guaranteed she would not be bunking with anyone unless she invited them in. Past that was the cargo bay, stocked with nondescript crates of plasteel, plastek, and armaplas with the varied foodstuffs. Very bog standard, and Neil explained the larger cargo bay was below decks. The interior veered left, which led into the life support systems, a room of light coloring with various purifying machines at work, periodically monitored by six crew men. After that, branching left and right were the torpedo systems, the gunwhale's being close to the bridge, and finally Neil led Tilda down a set of utility stairs.

The main cargo bay was the size of a warehouse, and stocked like one as well. Forty spacers, men and women both, were hauling and loading, and though some were checking the stocks, they seemed to be a bit out of their depth. One older gentleman threw a datapad on the ground in frustration, and pointed at two female crew who nearly dropped their canister of promethium. A servitor rolled across the floor, seemingly lost by some trick of code, or perhaps things were so disorganized, it simply could not compute its next destination.

"You'll make sure this place is in top top shape." Neil informed her, and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Gantz has it all under control, and clearly you were smarter than him." Other than a few waves and calls of 'Captain!' there was little else to acknowledge save for the distressingly damaged stack shelves, though Tilda took this time to ask again where they were going next.

"We're going to see a buyer for the Vigil, after that, though? Dealer's choice." He said. "I'll explain more later, but let's meet the navigator." His words were caught off by a small electric sparking sound, announcing the room down the last corridor.

A soft, ethereal blue light pulsated as they entered the navigator's den. The room was large, octagonal in shape and expanded outward in segments, the widest area halfway between the floor and the ceiling, almost like a squished krak grenade. In the center was the lower half of the great pillar, surrounded by a railing, as it plunged beneath the floor into the main engines of the Rogue. The chamber had three floors and a spiral stairway to reach each, but the navigator was on the ground to meet them. He was a beautiful man, with a slim build and a fine chin, sculpted as carefully as the busts of Sanguinius himself. Decked in robes of blue and purple, he carried a blacksteel staff that harbored incandescent electricity, yet it did not touch his naked hand. His third eye was obscured by a thick, woven cloth. All was revealed when he turned from his contemplation to regard the newcomers.

"Hey Mal, just showing the new girl around." Neil casually greeted, glancing up at the makeshift spiral floor directly above them.

"Captain," The navigator remarked imperiously, his voice as calm as the sea before a storm. "I foresaw your return."

"No, you didn't. Bonnie told me about the pool." Neil said with a grin. He whispered to Tilda. "His name is Malcador, like the Sigilite. Don't mention that bit, though.[2]"

Mal was silent for a moment. "I didn't think you wouldn't come back though, I just foresaw it would be under extenuating circumstances. But if you did, that means you got the Vigil. And this woman must be the..." He turned, and seemed as if he saw Tilda for the first time. He took her hand and kissed it, his voice low. "extenuating circumstances..."

"Careful, she's your new boss." Neil responded. Malcador blinked in shock and let her hand go, the would-be casanova struck speechless. Neil's grin grew bigger, shaking his head with a teasing bit of fake incredulity. "You didn't foresee that?"

---

Tilda's Log

[1]I believe I have some authority to speak on the subject after my long and *ahem* storied association with him. It is safe to say even to myself, Neil is something of an anomaly, but it is also clear that, despite the evident insanity, he does have a method to his madness. His persona, though entirely himself, also has the plain purpose of a kind of misdirection to cause everyone around him to underestimate his abilities. The mere experience of hearing a clever remark escape his lips at one moment, and a completely nonsensical declaration next, is by its very nature, off-putting. He shows surprising mental alacrity in times of crises, is a formidable combatant, and shrewd in dealings, however his complete lack of respect, decorum, and sometimes wits, I find is generally meant to put others, even his allies, at odds with his full capabilities. The very fact he named his ship Rogue, a moniker that on the surface has just enough style to be considered, but just enough unintelligent obviousness to be eschewed by any sensible Rogue Trader, is proof enough. This smoke screen of buffoonery has saved his life, and truth be told, my own, on numerous occasions.

[2]To some of the stringiest members of my order, as well as the insane inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus, to mention the Sigilite in such a casual manner would have raised eyebrows. Then again, he was confiding in me.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

None of that matters right now, though, because your method of attack is based on a piece of ancient wisdom, from back before mankind took even its first faltering steps into the stars.

Force equals mass times acceleration.

@ctrlsaltdel

The sacred texts!

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

(Molly veering a burning truck into Cho)
Quintus: May I offer you a bicep in this trying time?

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

_{big money}

big money

NO WHAMMIES

STOP

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren shared the look with Jo, and then curled his fingers around his chin as he contemplated the implications. What they had seen in the wastes was powers beyond what he thought possible, as if reality could bend to this ancient pharaoh's will. It was unsettling the more he dwelled on it. However, before he could truly grapple with it, he knew there was something he had to ask.

"Can I say the name?" Beren queried, raising his hand.

"No!" The locals all cried together, some pleading, others frustrated. Beren held both hands up disarmingly, and then deflated. He had just wanted the flames to go out when he said it, too. Jocasta patted his bicep consolingly. Fazel gave Beren an appraising look, something mysterious in his eyes, but it was gone quicker than a flash.

"What you can do, is take a bath." The elder said, holding his nose for emphasis. "Your stories are believable for nothing else but the smell of dust and sweat."

Jocasta and Beren looked at him, and then simultaneously smelled themselves, Beren lifting his arm and Jocasta clipping her shirt with her thumb and index finger and sniffing the fabric. It was not as bad as the elder made it out to be, likely using that as a segue so he could speak to the other townsfolk alone. However, Beren had to admit it had been awhile since he or his clothing had been cleaned. Jocasta looked good in anything to him, but when she smelled herself, he could tell she felt the same.

They were ushered off to separate bath houses, their clothing being left out to be taken and cleaned. The villagers assigned to them smiled and were always polite, but said very little beyond pleasantries, though it was obvious they wanted to. Visitors from the north were seldom seen, in Jocasta's case, and they knew not where Beren was from, only that he was certainly not a local. Beren was pleased to find the water was not cold, and there was lye to use, mercifully. He thoroughly scrubbed himself, and did his best to get the blood and grime out of every nook and cranny, before ascending and drying himself off, trying to tame his unruly hair. Once finished, Beren donned the garb they had left for him, and followed a village woman who looked at him admiringly, fixing a few imperfections of his outfit before she guided him to their room.

It was a small, open air guest house. One needed to step up two, wide steps to reach the well furnished, wooden structure, with a bed covered by an embroidered canopy, and glass lamps with diminutive but bright flames. There was a small table that straddled the ground, and a few cushions around it to accommodate a small group. Beren looked at the "missing" wall, and saw it could be closed by the extension of a row of fold-able wooden slides one could draw with the yank of a pulley.

Beren's eyes explored the small system, admiring the work. Now that he was in the light, his outfit was illuminated and easily visible from the street. He wore a long, dark blue thobe, opened down the center to give a nice view of his neck and torso. His belt was swaddled in red, comfortably twined around his slim waist, and he wore a loose salvar as bottoms. Beren turned to thank the woman, but he found she was gone, and Jocasta had appeared in her place. She gave him a smile and a wink, and she stepped up to him, placing a hand on the small wooden railing framing the makeshift 'porch.'

"Not bad," she said to him, feeling the fabric of his long robe. For her part, Jocasta wore a similar belt to clinch her waist, but there the similarities ended. Her outfit ran from her ankles to cover her chest, all a white, form fitting garmet, and she sported a jelick jacket of blue and embroidered gold. Beren would have thought it was a tan salvar with a matching, lowcut white top if he did not know better. Her scarab earrings sparkled in the light of the eldritch moon.

"You're impressed now, what do you think of my theory we're in the Harine Satrapy." Beren said, glancing at the carpet. "Their textiles seem to fit the description, and it's not-"

"Yeah, I figured that when I heard their dialect." Jocasta said with a casual enthusiasm. "The anu'sarian influence is subtle, but it's obviously present by the decorum, and the Arad occupation was not too long ago. The peoples have been heavily integrated culturally for some time, even before that. I saw a few of their swords too. Even past the blades, the hilts are refurbished from the crescent imperial style. But brass has been more heavily used in their make, likely using local ores in the remaking. Furthermore-"

As she rattled on, Beren simply listened. As usual, during her lecture she made various hand gestures, at one point her eyes bugged out and she stuck her tongue out when describing a deva from regional myth, and somehow she even incorporated bird calls in the talk. He had been so proud of himself for figuring it out, but of course Jo nonchalantly rams a mallet onto his theory and gives a ten minute spiel on what he did not know.

Evergod help him, he was infatuated.

By the time she was done, she breathed out and wiped her forehead in exaggeration, and then she smiled. "But anyway, you are right! Congratulations, you're not just a pair of shoulders."

Beren opened his mouth, and then stopped, before he leaned outside and gazed up at the sky suspiciously. He glared accusatory, even growling.

"What is it, boy?" Jo asked him, looking up too. Beren walked back into the house and paced.

"I uh..." He started, crossing his arms, clearly in distress. "I..." He sighed. "I want to uh...I want to kiss you. But everytime we tried, something would happen. And now we have this dark sorcerer cursing the land, getting in everyone's business. It's like...." The warrior monk hung his head. "I feel like if we get interrupted again, I'm really cursed. I might just jump into the spring."

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal had thought she might pull away immediately, maybe slap him as some other women might have. He felt he had a good eye for when he was pushing too far on that end, and though he was amoral in many ways, he never blamed a woman for striking him if he got it wrong. Not to mention a drow made it thrice as dangerous. But not only did she kiss back, she mounted his lap, and a thrill shot up his chest. Ibrandul save him, this was looking to be a very nice night.

Until a few seconds later, when Ibrandul cursed him for a fool and she pulled away from him. Her fingernails on his chest made it even worse! He could still feel the titillating sting, and it drove him mad. He gave a frustrated groan as she rolled off of him.

"You delight in torturing me, do you?" He asked as he turned on her with an annoyed look on his handsome face, but it was rhetorical question. He knew the answer quite well. He wanted to complain more, or perhaps even beg in his near drunken state, but he knew it was fruitless either way. The thief fell back onto the cushion and ran a hand across his face. "Very well, I expect we shall."

Then he chuckled, finding the humor in it. Amal was not so used to letting his guard down, but she had him good. Perhaps he was beginning to grow fond of her enough to actually trust her. Who would have thought the first person to gain his acceptance in a decade would be a dark elf maiden? "Well, maybe we should get some sleep. We have a long way to travel tomorrow, if we are really heading north."

Maybe he could win some coin in dice in the morning if they had time, but it was just a distracting thought. He knew he would go to sleep dreaming about Charynrae's lips.

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty

Quintus should have known, even after their brief association, that sarcasm and a facetious light touch would not pierce Molly's road insanity. Not that he had much room to judge considering how he was in a firefight or playing dice, but she could call him a hypocrite all she wanted after they lived through this. Quintus held on for dear life, nearly tipping out of the vehicle as it lurched, grateful he had the frame of mind to hold onto his rifle.

With a yank from his muscled left arm, he pulled himself back into the cab and flipped the safety on the blaster so it didn't erupt with superheated plasma inside the truck. "If I were to get you drunk before the next time you drive, would that mellow you out enough to drive safely?" He asked her, but he knew it would only make her cackle more loudly. Something spun out of the traffic in front of them and cracked the right side of the windshield, Quintus didn't have time to ponder what. Instead, he saw Molly swerve to the left, attempting to slam into Cho like a swinging hammer. The truck skidded, and Quintus saw that as usual, reality continued to ruin his life. To help out little miss self preservation, he grabbed the wheel and pushed it with her, lending his strength to hers so the truck was forced to obey.

"Cho's about to go." He promised.

Hider

I add one stress to my character and let Penny add a +d6 to her roll

Scum and Villainy - Plentiful Bounty