Starlance

The Conflict

Up-close fighting was always messy. Lot more room to fuck something up, which is why she was surprised they completely steamrolled the patrol, four for four successes. Training and nutrition work wonders. The biggest of the bunch looked a few pounds lighter than the smallest one of the team. Looking over the pockets of the poor bastard she killed, he was indeed a poor bastard. Nothing of note to his name except a Vz. 61 and a single 20 round magazine. Probably the FNG, at least it was light to carry. Catching the AK magazine Sean passed her with a “Thanks.” She checked the ammo inside it, finding the cheapest steel-cased Tula one could get. At least it was clean. What was it she heard one of the Tolyatti base’s armorers say? ‘If it can’t run the steel, it doesn’t deserve the brass.’ or some such nonsense?

Seeing the shotgun Hayden recovered, an idea popped into her mind. “Guess she liked to keep something handy for close encounters.” She grinned, borrowing it and ejecting one shell to see what it was loaded with. “00 buck. They’re no breaching rounds, but they’ll work in a pinch. Unless someone wants it more.” She reloaded the shell and held it out for any takers to grab, else she’d keep it for the time being, shoving the loose shells into one of the grenade pouches and hanging the Škorpion in the flare strap by its stock before stacking up behind Hayden again.

She was surprised by the lack of resistance from the locals. Every corner, she expected another patrol, or some alarm as the patrol they’d killed failed to check in or someone found the bodies, but nothing ever came of it and they pretty much walked into Melani’s compound unchallenged. Looked like their initial guess was accurate, and Melani had most of her goons out fighting with little in the way of rear-echelon security. Was she low on manpower, or was she that sure that nobody would or could try to go for her directly? Pride goeth before the fall?

And there was the queen bitch, in the flesh, looking like an idiot with that piece of rebar in her hand. Not that Yekaterina wanted that thing anywhere near her. “Sounds workable, but shouldn’t we prepare a way out beforehand? I’d hate to get lost in here or climb the wall with vengeful skinnies on our backs.” Yekaterina suggested a slight modification of an otherwise simple plan, “Otherwise I’m good to go, waiting on you Beth.” She shouldered her rifle, posted up behind a corner and took aim at two thugs sharing a cigarette a little bit off to the left side, the brick-and-mortar wall providing a good amount of reassuring bulk between her and them.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

C A R L O S V A L E R O

_{Location: Valero House}

Timeframe Early morning

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: N/A

One of the many things the end of the world as they knew it changed for Carlos was the wake up alarm. More specifically, it gave it its second lease on life. After a decade of retirement and getting up whenever he felt like it, it was taking time to get used to the phone nagging at him as early as seven in the morning. But responsibilities waited and couldn’t be ignored by anyone of sound morals, as by now his guests-turned-companions had been going hungry for five and ten hours respectively.

Getting himself out of bed and dressed, he started making his way to the kitchen when he heard something fall in the garage. Freezing on the spot, he shifted his grip on his cane and faced the door. ”Carson?”
”Yes, mr. Valero?” Came a slightly delayed reply from within.
”Nevermind.” Carlos breathed a sigh of relief, ”Breakfast in half an hour.”
”Okay, thank you.” The youngster had been spending a lot of time in the garage, having removed the alternator and some other components from Mr. Valero’s 2011 Sienna minivan to build a manual generator for when they’d eventually lose power, in two weeks at most in the young electrical engineer’s semi-qualified opinion.

Carlos entered his kingdom, the kitchen, and peered at the list of remaining supplies. Selecting a good mix of the freshest things available, keeping anything canned or otherwise long-lasting for later, he got to work, wondering how long until gas stopped working too and force them to cook outside over an open fire. He loved cooking outside, by choice in the warm summer months, but now the thought was not at all appealing to him.

---

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A L E N A S O K O L O V Á

_{Location: Valero House}

Timeframe Early morning

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: N/A

The clock on her phone showed 06:41. At long last, another night, another watch was coming to an end. During the two o’clock changeover, Carson reported a loud noise coming from somewhere in the town, though sadly he’d been understandably too startled by the sudden sound to figure out a direction. ”Damn near pissed myself.” She recalled his exact words with a chuckle as she stretched in her rooftop nest and snuggled up more tightly into the ‘watch coat’, a long coat that belonged to Mr. Valero, to keep the cold at bay. Summer couldn’t come soon enough.

The watchkeeping schedule was established the day after the undead first appeared in Huddeen, as neither of the three occupants of the blue house close to the edge of Mulberry street could sleep knowing what was outside. Mr. Valero had a shortened first watch on account of his age between six and eight, Carson took over until two, then it was her turn until seven. The night had at least been calm, save for the mysterious bang that wasn’t her problem as far as she was concerned.

With the clock striking 07:00, she unplugged her phone from the powerbank and made sure the solar panel she usually carried attached to her backpack on multi-day hunting trips was secured to the South-facing roof to recharge it during the day, grabbed her hunting crossbow and started making her way off the roof, driven by the vision of a breakfast.

---

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C A R S O N H A C K E T T

_{Location: Valero House}

Timeframe Early morning

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: N/A

Thirty minutes was more than enough time to finish everything he could do with what he had available to him. After days of labor, he’d hit a wall in the form of a lack of a soldering iron and some components. He should’ve seen that coming. Now, had they been in a civilized place, he’d just run to the closest home improvement store, but that was a few miles away. Having washed the grime off his hands, Carson made his way into the kitchen to ask Mr. Valero if he needed any help, getting the expected negative answer. The old man enjoyed his cooking, so Carson left him to it and took to setting the table. It looked like poached eggs with toast and tea today.

The door opened and a voice spoke in accented English, heralding the arrival of the third party member. ”Good morning.” She greeted the room and sat down with her back against a radiator. Good to enjoy those while they lasted, though fortunately the house had a wood burning stove.
”So, any guesses as to what the crash was? Burst pipe, collapsing building…?” Alena asked.
”No, nothing like that. Maybe someone drove out here, thinking there wouldn’t be that many zombies here and crashed?” Carson put forward his theory, having had time to think about it.
They were joined by Carlos, who passed their food around. After breakfast, they held their daily briefing, summarizing their watches with the fortunately usual ‘nothing to report’ report, with the exception of the crash and the resulting increased undead activity, but none had come close to the house. The food situation was a bit more pressing. They still had canned and pickled supplies, but they had worked through the meat and dairy supplies quickly, just in case Carson’s guesstimate of power cutout was wrong, and this breakfast was the last of their eggs and the start of their last loaf of bread. The situation, until now manageable, was thrown into disarray by the bang, as all three agreed that going out to hunt now would’ve been a bad idea, giving rise to a mostly solid plan of luring prey to them since they couldn’t go out to find it. Once again, like many times in the past two weeks, Alena had to kick herself for being too cheap to buy her own NODs instead of borrowing her father’s whenever going night hunting and too lazy to bother with all the paperwork required to bring her EDC gun onto the flight.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

Would the people of Mulberry Street know that/how many others survived and is it known if the undead are actually dead risen again or still living and just infected?

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Within the four minutes given by the Captain, there was a line of boxes across the hole in the wall, leaving a gap about 80 centimeters wide for people to enter and exit the hangar. Good luck fitting in there, Rudolph. The ancient Romans wouldn't have looked at their improvised fortification twice, but given the time and resources available, she was proud of it. It was around that time that Ixtaro brought the requested vest and helmet, along with some bonus ammo. Nice. Let’s hope that carrying that was just wasted effort. Looking up at Ixtaro as the woman spoke, Vigdis noted something in her eyes and voice that was commonly seen among people who were thrown into a situation they had little control over and weren’t yet used to it. She’d seen it at the academy when EVA instructors in the vac chamber released the air from their suits in an unguarded moment, in rookie technicians the first few times they had to board an unstable wreck… She probably looked like that when the bullets started flying in Stavanger three days ago. She turned to the time-tested method of dissipating some of these worries: A bad joke. “Had a feeling these vermin might be too big for him. He’d still try, given a chance, believe that.” Vigdis said in reference to Fritjof as she put on the provided equipment, noting the Captain leaving the safety of the hangar simply as another weird thing that was happening that made no sense to her.

“Fuck no. If she wants to get stabbed or trampled, that’s her choice, I’m staying here.” Vigdis answered the Cuban’s question and banged on the crate she was crouched behind with her fist, the sign on the side identifying its content as electrolytic iron powder. At that moment, Vigdis had to laugh. Her brain was still thinking in terms of human weaponry, where a crate filled with iron powder would’ve been adequate cover. Against arrows and crossbow bolts, it was as if they’d gotten the shield running again. As for magic, a decade of tabletop gaming had taught her there was no way to truly prepare for magic and they’d have to roll with the punches, assuming they survived the first one.

“What do you think they’re saying?” She shared her curiosity as she reorganized the magazines in her pouches to keep the armor piercing darts on hand, figuring they’ll be more useful at range and against armor than flechettes. If it came to the worst, assuming everyone could pull the trigger, she guessed the 23 ponies would be worm food before they got halfway, barring any magical protection. Or their mage would send a 20-foot radius Fireball into the shuttle bay and call it a day. Not great odds, but better a medieval cavalry platoon than a contemporary cavalry platoon. Then she got an idea. After all, they had their own brand of magic. “Chief, Vigdis.” She called Zhao, “How quickly can you reduce O2 content inside down to 19,5% if it turns ugly out here and the locals force their way inside? If they’re used to breathing 29%, such a drop would hit them like a ton of bricks, assuming airtightness to allow this.” She didn’t tell the Captain or the XO yet, confident that if it was possible, Zhao would notify them of that option herself and if it wasn’t, then there was no need to bother them with it.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

”And if my gods didn’t want your kneecaps dusted, they wouldn’t have allowed your gods to give you any.” Marit gave a curt reply to the lunatic raving on the open channel. A land train with a nuke on board. So much for no surprises at the end of the mission. They were just lucky the Heavenly Swords had paced themselves instead of going all at the same time. Where did they even get that? Some CCAF stockpile? Why would they keep nukes here of all places? Uranium from an old fission reactor somewhere? Or was it powder from some radiation therapy source like that one city eons ago on Terra - a salted bomb? Couldn’t be, that wouldn’t harm the dam. Either way, she had a feeling the ‘interrogation’ of any survivors would include a pipe wrench and a drill. And kneecaps.

”Let’s not all end up like the Blackwatch.” Marit muttered as she took stock of remaining munitions. All lasers working, 165 missiles left. Four volleys of 35 and then 15 plus 10. ”Lance lead, Giggles, I’ll get a head start while you finish the leftovers here, though I’m almost winchester LRMs.” She advised and started moving downstream, feeling Archie leaning side to side once every few steps as he compensated for his feet slipping on the muddy riverbed. Reaching a strip of the river where the Heavenly Sword presence was light on the other side, Marit made a ninety degree turn and headed across the river. She was gonna kick the damn thing if she had to. All light from the outside disappeared as Archie’s low-slung cockpit plunged into the murky depths, leaving nothing but the glow of instruments and the HUD in her neurohelmet illuminating the cockpit. She knew the ‘Mech was sealed and could operate in a vacuum, but diving like that still felt weird, especially since the Sons secured her first BattleMech when it fell into a lake after a hit breached its cockpit and its original pilot drowned. Navigating solely by compass, she felt upward acceleration after a few seconds as Archie started climbing the right bank. Feeling the feet start slipping even more, she pulled back on the throttle to reduce the shearing force exerted on the riverbed, the cockpit eventually breaching the water on the other bank, Archie coming out with a full laser salvo directed at a few nearby trucks while the leg heat sinks were still submerged.

Still moving through the river in order to be able to use all four of Archie’s lasers with impunity, she made a brief stop to take more careful aim at a dune buggy that somehow got past Raven. For a moment, Marit thought she felt the ‘Mech sink. But when she didn’t notice the movement again, she chalked it up to Archie automatically leaning into the current and let it be. The front half of the buggy disappeared after the laser hit, but when she moved the throttle to get going again, instead of moving, an alarm bell notified her of unusual stress on the myomer bundles in both legs and automation pulled back on the throttle. She tried advancing it slowly, but it didn't help. Neither did trying to reverse, turn the legs, leaning to any side or any combination of the above. Archie’s fruitless dance lasted a few seconds, accompanied by a series of quiet, yet increasingly frustrated ”Oh…”s as Marit realized what she’d just done. ”Uhh, problem. Someone’s going to have to be my eyes for indirect fire, I can’t move.” She let the lance know of her blunder and went back to picking off anyone she could reach just by twisting Archie’s torso.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

I'm a fan of the Valeros. Not too many people willingly play old characters in zombie apocalypse roleplays. My only question is that you mention that that you mention their daughter, Amanda, being a regular visitor... but she isn't listed in the sheet? Do you intend on bringing her into the RP, or will she be a background character at most?

The sheet is accepted, I just want to know what's the haps with that particular character.

@Kuro

She was meant just as an extra bit of flavor for the family/Carlos, zombies happened to pick a weekend when she wasn't visiting, though I suppose when if someone's brain gets munched on and the town needs more manpower she could be used.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

Valero Household

The Valero Household
The Valero Household

"Home is where you hang your hat."

_{[ ❇ ] B R I E F H I S T O R Y}

Mr. and Mrs. Valero have moved to Hudeen from Claremont for their retirement nine years ago. Drawing on their former careers, they've taken it upon themselves to organize annual neighborhood cookouts in the summer to get to know and give something to the town's citizens, something Mr. Valero has kept up even after his wife passed away of coronary heart disease. Mr. Valero has been actively taking part in the town's local government since their second year in Huddeen. Their daughter, Amanda, regularly visits, although most of Huddeen only knows she drives a silver Camry.

_{[ ❇ ] H O U S E H O L D M E M B E R S}

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "You bake with your brain, but cooking comes from the heart." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 74 year old retired chef, the son of Spaniards fleeing Franco's regime, Carlos worked himself up from potwash to owning a small hotel in Claremont along with his wife, Alejandra. At 65, they sold the hotel and retired to the countryside. After his wife's passing, he decided to solve the problem of being alone in a house far too big to inhabit or maintain by himself by offering rooms to students at lower rates in exchange for help with housework. One of the lucky few whose lifelong career had been their passion and hobby, Carlos is a cheerful fellow, nearly impossible to anger, at worst disappoint. A self-made man, he has no patience for lazyness and false excuses. Unfortunately, youth spent in financial insecurity and draconian working hours are catching up with him at his age in the form of Osteoarthritis.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Hunt to live, don't live to hunt. Yes, those who do the latter exist, they're called 'cunts'." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 21 year old third year student gamekeeper from the Czech Republic spending a semester abroad. Adopted at an early age by a gamekeeper and a teacher after her biological parents died in a flood, her father instilled in her a love of the outdoors and she eventually chose to follow in his career footsteps, enrolling in a bachelor's gamekeeping program at the Mendel University in Brno. In her third year, she took a semester in the United States as part of research for her bachelor's thesis, which is where the outbreak caught her, now stranded almost 6500 kilometers away from home. An active, outdoors person and an avid fantasy fan, Alena is outgoing, irreverent and loves to talk about her field of study to anyone who's interested in hearing about it. She is also a competent guitar player, particularly of the folk and country genres. She's been staying in Hudeen for only a few months.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "If it's stupid but it works, it's still stupid, you just got lucky." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 19 year old second year undergraduate student of electrical engineering from Fayetteville, NC. The eldest of four siblings from two marriages, son of a USN machinist aboard the USS Helena and an optometrist. Finding the technical education in Fayetteville sorely lacking, he aplied to the New Hampshire Technical Institute in Concord, NH. A bashful Sci Fi nut, physics aficionado and amateur astronomer, Carson is the quintessential nerd. Unfortunately for the situation he finds himself in, he's spent a grand total of 20 minutes outside of a city in his whole life, the only reason he can even be found in what he would privately describe as the armpit of the universe being the drastically cheaper rent offered by Mr. Valero, althugh he would never admit his opinion of Huddeen to any of its citizens, especially since being in a sparsely populaated area might've saved his life. He's been living in Huddeen for a little over a year.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

”Understood.” She replied to Raven’s clarification before the first distant detonation. Marit directed the rangefinder in the town’s direction, but even if it wasn’t too far away, LRMs would do just as much damage to the town as the suicide bombers. She almost turned to make for the city on autopilot, but that would’ve been a mistake. If they ignored the attack on the town, those people would die. If they broke off to try and protect it, they could succeed in protecting both the dam and the town, with a probability of that happening somewhere between ‘tiny’ and ‘none’. But if they tried to help the town and the fanatics took out the dam, then everyone in the town would die, they would die, and who knew how many more would be killed by the lack of power. No heating, no fresh or running water, no power in hospitals, emergency services unable to communicate... Fuck. Her father once explained this to her as ‘calculus of war’ - Sacrifice 100 over here to save 1000 over there. If by the end of it more people survived than died, you did okay. It was the best they could do given the situation, but that didn’t mean one had to be happy about it. Knowing they were driving the Heavenly Sword maniacs to desperation was a small comfort for the price the locals would pay, and not even that surprising. Three ‘Mechs, a tank and a few squads short of an infantry company of the meanest fighting bastards within five lightyears. If you were facing that in a truck, you had to be afraid unless you were functionally braindead, although the average Heavenly Sword schmuck was approaching that definition.

Seeing how much the Heavenly Swords hated him, Marit considered asking Family Man if he needed help, but stopped halfway to the PTT. He'd probably spent more time in a ‘Mech than she had as a sapient being, he knew she was there and that she had almost a quarter of his 'Mech's tonnage worth of undamaged armor. If he needed help, he'd ask. Instead, Marit focused on offense. She started pacing her launchers, creating a continuous hail of ordnance, but taking care not to aim too close to Family man or in the 180° arc around his current heading. By only using both LRM 10 launchers and two medium lasers, and with the river’s help, Archie was sinking more heat than he produced and at that rate, she had some 220 seconds of fire, with 10 missiles every five seconds. Fortunately, unlike the depot raid, there weren’t supposed to be any nasty late-game surprises this time around according to the briefing, so she didn’t see any reason to conserve ammunition, aside from making what they had last longer than three sorties. She caught herself with the heretical thought that Archie was better at this than a Catapult. True, with 15 heat sinks, four of them in the legs and a smaller profile, it had its strengths, but with the same laser armament, two LRM 15s and only half the missile capacity, it’d be dry in a little over half the time.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

Valero Household

The Valero Household
The Valero Household

"Home is where you hang your hat."

_{[ ❇ ] B R I E F H I S T O R Y}

Mr. and Mrs. Valero have moved to Hudeen from Claremont for their retirement nine years ago. Drawing on their former careers, they've taken it upon themselves to organize yearly neighborhood cookouts in the summer to get to know and give something to the town's citizens, something Mr. Valero has kept up even after his wife passed away of coronary heart disease. Mr. Valero has been actively taking part in the town's local government since ther second year in Huddeen. Their daughter, Amanda, regularly visits, although most of Huddeen only knows she drives a silver Camry.

_{[ ❇ ] H O U S E H O L D M E M B E R S}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "You bake with your brain, but cooking comes from the heart." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 74 year old retired chef, the son of Spaniards fleeing Franco's regime, Carlos worked himself up from potwash to owning a small hotel in Claremont along with his wife, Alejandra. At 65, they sold the hotel and retired to the countryside. After his wife's passing, he decided to solve the problem of being alone in a house far too big to inhabit or maintain by himself by offering rooms to students at lower rates in exchange for help with housework. One of the lucky few whose lifelong career had been their passion and hobby, Carlos is a cheerful fellow, nearly impossible to anger, at worst disappoint. A self-made man, he has no patience for lazyness and false excuses. Unfortunately, youth spent in financial insecurity and draconian working hours are catching up with him at his age in the form of Osteoarthritis.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Hunt to live, don't live to hunt. Yes, those who do the latter exist, they're called 'cunts'." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 21 year old third year student gamekeeper from the Czech Republic spending a semester abroad. Adopted at an early age by a gamekeeper and a teacher after her biological parents died in a flood, her father instilled in her a love of the outdoors and she eventually chose to follow in his career footsteps, enrolling in a bachelor's gamekeeping program at the Mendel University in Brno. In her third year, she took a semester in the United States as part of research for her bachelor's thesis, which is where the outbreak caught her, now stranded almost 6500 kilometers away from home. An active, outdoors person and an avid fantasy fan, Alena is outgoing, irreverent and loves to talk about her field of study to anyone who's interested in hearing about it. She is also a competent guitar player, particularly of the folk and country genres. She's been staying in Hudeen for only a few months.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "If it's stupid but it works, it's still stupid, you just got lucky." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 19 year old second year undergraduate student of electrical engineering from Fayetteville, NC. The eldest of four siblings from two marriages, son of a USN machinist aboard the USS Helena and an optometrist. Finding the technical education in Fayetteville sorely lacking, he aplied to the New Hampshire Technical Institute in Concord, NH. A bashful Sci Fi nut, physics aficionado and amateur astronomer, Carson is the quintessential nerd. Unfortunately for the situation he finds himself in, he's spent a grand total of 20 minutes outside of a city in his whole life, the only reason he can even be found in what he would privately describe as the armpit of the universe being the drastically cheaper rent offered by Mr. Valero, althugh he would never admit his opinion of Huddeen to any of its citizens, especially since being in a sparsely populaated area might've saved his life. He's been living in Huddeen for a little over a year.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

That had to have been the most awkward handshake in the history of two homeworlds. She was this close to giving up when Nellara finally made up her mind. “Friends. Not foes.” Vigdis confirmed with a nod and a shake of her head accompanying the respective positive and negative statements, delighted and relieved that it had worked. The fact that shaking one’s head for ‘no’ was the same, or at least she was reasonably certain, made things a bit easier even further. Having greasy substances on her hands was fortunately nothing strange to the engineer, so she resisted the impulse to wipe her hand off easily. Let’s not offend the ‘Not Foes. Friends?’ by giving the impression one found them filthy.

But all good things must come to an end, as was evidently true even in this system. “Shaking hands has been working great so far, Captain, none of us have been eaten yet.” Vigdis shrugged when the doom clock started ticking again, “I would guess they’re not their friends, since we don’t yet have any friends here.” Her latest exchange with Nellara still didn’t mean anything. Yes, they both expressed the desire to avoid fighting, but until they learned to communicate, no one could say they were friends. In order to communicate, they would either need one of their… what, interpreters? Mind readers? Either that, or Wodan. In order for Wodan to decipher a full language in a reasonable time frame, he’d need to be running at full capacity. In order to get Wodan to 100%, at least one reactor would have to be restarted. In order to restart at least one reactor, they’d need more power. And in order to get more power, they’d need to communicate with the locals. “If you want to know which faction to trust, in my humble opinion the people who showed up in force and formed a phalanx are the wrong choice.”

“Not friends? Not foes? Neutral.” She pointed outside, trying to get some sort of answer out of any of the locals that hadn’t yet run outside. “They are neutral?” What she saw when she looked out didn’t fill her with much hope for a peaceful resolution. She’d seen enough fantasy movies to know where this was going. A knight riding out in front of his ranks to address the men before a charge.

“Hey, someone who’s going into the armory, bring me a helmet and plate carrier, I wear a medium. Eva,” So that was the power armor operator’s name, she’d been meaning to ask for three days but circumstances said ‘no’, “,could you give me a hand with this?” Vigdis called out as she undid the straps around some of the crates that hadn’t been torn free by the crash. Bracing her shoulder against one and pushing with her healthy foot, she moved the box across the shuttle bay into its port side fore corner, trying to set up a barrier to further narrow down the entry point.