Thayr

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Pines End
Mentions: @Pyromania99

Isla took a moment, enjoying the quiet and peace that just sort of seemed to resonate from…everything, really. The cool enough breeze through the plains, the turbines in the distance, wind over the fields passing by in great, shimmering waves, almost like waves…the motion of it almost reminded the young girl of home. The wind whistled as it ran through the trees before passing through the fields, a slow, long sound. She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly to match the sounds of the field.

It was…nice. Calm. Slow. It wasn't the city, bustling about in teeming crowds, the noises of the street everywhere. It wasn't the forest, where she seemed to have to always keep an eye out for things here and there. It was just…nice. Calm. It was like home had got up and moved out into the countryside, bringing along with it the very waves. Isla could only see a few people in the distance, down the little road, some people and some Pokémon, and they seemed relaxed enough too.

The only intrusion to the quietness seemed to be a hotel, plopped down among the low ceiling houses and smaller shops. It seemed new enough, vaguely followed some of the same designs, true, some of the same roof shapes here and there but she could see it was clearly newer than the others. The other houses were weathered, well-worn, built to last and all the other adages that could be applied to those smaller places, but the hotel…the paint was new, not yet quite discolored. It almost didn't fit, really, but she couldn't blame it for that. You couldn't build age into a house, Isla thought with the smallest inward smile, but at least there was an effort there to not stand out too far.

In a further little distance she could see what looked to be an older structure. Set against the tree line, the wooden building was a bit smaller than the hotel and…just seemed removed, out of time. A dirt road let up to it, lines with wooden totems, figures of Pokémon, and the whole of the place just sort of clicked something in Isla. It intrigued her, talked about stories where those stories were written back in those centuries past, much unlike that museum from before. It was just…interesting in so many ways, and for a brief moment Isla wanted to see what was inside, talk to the caretakers of the place, something, anything.

Next to the building, on that dirt path, she could see someone who, honestly, Isla hadn't been expecting to see so soon. It took a moment for her to realize who it was in that distance, against that darker lighting, built it was Camila. Well, that was just…interesting. What had she found? What had she done? What was she going to do? Isla had a handful of questions she suddenly wanted to ask, to catch up in one way or another, and yet…she could see another figure walking back around that shrine, brisk enough that there had to be some sort of story. Was it closed? She wasn't quite sure. Did people, normal people, just go around that way? Isla really wasn't sure about that.

Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the aspiring curiosities of a newfound friend. Of course, he had been awake during the whole trip over, eyes open wide while smelling the world, but now found it to be the perfect time. Using Isla as a springboard, and with far less warning, he turned before leaping directly over a fence and into the tall grass. Isla just sort of watched, smiling just a moment at the sight. The tip of his tail, held up as almost a flag, betrayed the fox one way or another.

"Swiper, get out from there."

"Niiii," the grass responded, tail holding still for a moment before he bounded left, right, left, right.

Isla watched, standing there off to the side of the road, smile still there. He had to eventually run out of space, didn't he? Surely it was so. No Pokémon just had unlimited motion, just screaming about at full throttle. She made a mental note: Let Swiper tire himself out before getting him on the shoulder. He had to have just been storing up all that energy on the walk over. A nose poked out from the grass and between the fence posts, to which she leaned down to boop on the end, and zip! It recoiled back like a spring. Again, it slowly poked out a post over, closer to her leg, and she tried to boop him again. The nose zoomed back among the grass.

Straightening back up to declare in a sing-song voice, Isla went, "Well, I suppose we'll have to eat all these snacks by ourselves, won't we, Dancing." A step away from the fence and another ready down the street, the little Eevee on her shoulder yawning awake at the word to look expectantly around for the proclaimed gold, and Isla watched the fence posts. A little shape darted out between them, and maybe even under them a bit, to slam with full weight against Isla's leg; well, that helped enough. She drew out the little bar from before as Swiper weaved between her legs, walking along to break off a piece for Dancing and another for the offending villain. The smile kept on, though. Isla couldn't stay annoyed at such cuteness.

Walking up, dirt soon under her shoes on the way up to the shrine, Isla waved to Camila as she approached. "Hey! How's it going?"

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
• Swiper | Nickit | Level 7 | Runaway | Pokéball
  Quick Attack, Tail Whip, Beat Up

Inventory: 4000p

4 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

IV Legiones Astartes
Purge of Ur-Atlan

The Decree of the Emperor was absolute. The Hand of the Emperor were his Legions.

These two truths did little to comfort Isaac as he stood in what could little be described as a tent. He disliked the need for it, true, but there were some few benefits to weigh against his feelings. For one thing, the mortal beside him did not need to wear his mask though the wastes howled and screamed outside. For another, the cartographic display could properly function in the tent. He scratched against the stubble of his face, ignored the humidity of that tent and the heat in his armor from it. The display flickered as a technician worked against it, clicking various systems here and there through an open panel. The wind howled louder, flapped against it, and some breath of it invaded into the tent. It scorched against Isaac's skin and burned his throat, though he shrugged such issues away.

A chance look to the other, his tan, light uniform and breastplate testaments to the fact that the General did not suffer from the same issues as the rabble outside. The Legion Master had looked such over earlier, a mix of mercenaries, gene-warriors drawn from Saragorn, and professional soldiers. Some were used to the wastes and how they were, others simply didn't seem to be so at all. They wouldn't have to deal with such for much longer, though. Soon enough the IV would have its first true deployment and all would have a taste of war against Ur-Atlan. He snorted at the thought that it might be somehow better weather to their north. The comparison between the General's garb and his own unpainted plate came unbidden. Some tools were best left unadorned.

"Your men," his voice crackled, harsh and rough, "are they prepared?"

The General's gaze was set on the cartographic display as it hummed into action, displaying a number of positions. Watery eyes dared not shift away from it. "They are ready for whatever comes."

There were some questions which bore little use in clarifying. Isaac did not ask for more than what had been given. He stared further still at the display, waiting patiently on the other two whose presence had been called for by the Legion Master. There was little else he could or needed to do but await their arrival. He had been told they had entered camp some moments before, and thus had called up the General to come and speak. The pause was not for long, though. The heat and breath of the wastes invaded the tent again, whipping about, introducing the two figures even as their stench seemed to assail all.

Isaac but turned his head slowly to the two Primarchs. One was clad in the gray-gold of the Seventh, Apollyor with his lantern-jaw features and acid-shaven skull, while the other wore blue-and-yellow of the Fourteenth, Sunxian with crag-hills for a face. Neither seemed especially pleased, though Apollyor greeted all present with a clenched smile. This was a new adventure, a new deed, and the Legion Master knew Apollyor was eager for it to be penned to the Ashen Marauders' list of conquests. Isaac rendered a silent salute to them, returned in kind.

"We gather for the destruction of Ur-Atlan. Long have they guarded their south against the nomad tribes of the wastes, but such defenses will be ineffective against the Emperor's Decree. Once they are swept from the face of Terra, a new front against Albia may be opened and, with it, new promises of victory."

The General spoke, bowing before he began. "Ur-Atlan. They consort with witches and falsehoods. They claim their Queen is a god. Such affront to the Emperor cannot be allowed. Their primary city is…here," a finger jabbed into the cartographic display, "Their capital, Atlas Ultima, placed between two lakes. What information we can gather suggests both are highly polluted with their foul traditions and are impassable. Fortresses here, here, and here guard against the south while the hive of Atlan Tertia, to their north, appears to provide the bulk of their reserve forces, the majority of their populace."

"Mountain pass chokeholds. We cannot pass through these easily. Your suggestion?" Apollyor ground his teeth as he spoke, eyes narrowing in mental calculations for losses. They didn't appear good.

"Here and here," Isaac motioned to portions of the region near two of the strongholds, "We shall tunnel into these, place charges to induce landslides against the fortresses. After this…tunneling out into where the fortresses were should not be exceedingly treacherous."

"That sort of activity will be noticed. They may yet attack first." Sunxian was sour, it seemed, doubtful about such a motion that did not involve the sheer speed of the bike, the firepower of the tank. His arms were already crossed in condemnation.

"Then yours will be there to meet them in the field. Let them try to move on your plains. If the foe counter-tunnels, we shall dissuade him. False tunnels, angled approaches, so on will complicate their efforts. Ours is the Emperor's Decree."

"What after?"

"We strike across Ur-Atlan like lightning. Destroy the remaining fortress behind us - their fortifications will be weak from the interior - and bound against Atlas Ultima to place it under siege. Reinforcements from their northern hive will be intercepted by the Ashen Marauders in the field, before they can solidify their position, and you shall burn Atlan Tertia to the ground. After that, Apollyor, you shall join us for the assaults against Atlas Ultima."

"When?"

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Route 1
Mentions: N/A

Isla smiled at the Nickit's response, slowly nodding as she drew out another small piece of candy. As he nibbled away and she petted him, one hand drew down into one of her cargo pockets. That assistant was right, the girl thought, and really it seemed almost benign now that Isla considered it from the angle presented before. He seemed comfortable enough about the whole ordeal, about going along with her and the pampering. Ah, there one was…she drew out that Pokéball, holding it out in one hand.

Click the button and it snapped open, a sudden flash of light as the Pokémon disappeared before her eyes. Shafts of light between her fingers, fur turning into just…weightless nothing amid the slightest heat, and there he was, gone. The Pokédex chirped out a description by the Professor yet again, something Isla paid half-attention to as she looked down at the red and white ball in her hand. It didn't seem all that weighty, considering what it did. Honestly, it could be pretty useful for carrying around most anything…why only Pokémon? Another passing question about things here or there.

Glancing up at Dancing in the corner of Isla's vision, who still sat on her shoulder, the girl couldn't help but notice his attention on the flash and the Pokéball she held. Passing it to her other hand, Isla reached up to pet him between the ears.

"It's ok, Dancing, don't you worry. I won’t forget to spoil you too."

He yawned in return, head going down low to once again drape over the favored shoulder. She took it as a good enough answer, clicking the Pokéball open with another flash of light. Pocketing the thing, as there was that Nickit before her, she sucked at her tooth briefly. What was a good name for him, anyways? Something…something descriptive like Dancing was, something descriptive and ironic. Something funny. There was a number of names, sure, but they seemed either rude or just…rough, not easy to go and say. Reaching over, she pet him as well, idly so.

"Hello…" Oh to heck with it, name'll have to do. "Hello Swiper."

He looked up, eyes wide before leaning into the pets with a whine. Side-eyes soon came though, up to the perch that Dancing held, and Isla was immediately reminded about that Pokédex entry. They were sneaky little guys who just tended to want things because they were things…she suspected this guy was interested because she gave something without him having to work with it. He looked up, though, eyes wide in those little mental calculations on how to gain that shoulder perch.

Dancing, for his part, looked down amid his fluff collar and yawned again. Swiper whined out his response, numbers seeming to click into place as he decided that there was a free enough equal perch. With about as much agility as much be expected, in a flash the fox went from there on the ground to Isla's other shoulder, almost in what seemed to be a single leap but the weight she felt told her he'd gone up her arm. Of all the things, though, she barely had enough time to give out a surprise as he padded in a little circle before settling down as well. Isla sighed inwardly. She had only so many shoulders to give up.

Getting to her feet slowly, perhaps a tiny bit unsteadily, the girl considered her future options. She could go to the researcher deeper into the Lost Woods, true, yet it seemed like that bike from before had gone off and away…it could have been that researcher and Isla wasn't entirely certain that she wanted to trek further in there. After all, there were those signs…and besides, if they hadn’t come yet, would Isla's statements change things? She couldn't imagine so. Standing there for a few moments, between one issue and another, she finally made a choice and began the little trek to Pine's End.

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
• Swiper | Nickit | Level 7 | Runaway | Pokéball
  Quick Attack, Tail Whip, Beat Up

Inventory: 4000p

4 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

I am immediately entertained that 3/4 of our cast is some percentage of Asian nationality.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

Nickel Harry

Name: Haruto “Harry” John Murray
Alias: Nickel Harry
Faction: Gunners 606
Gender: Male
Age: 33
Appearance:

Standing at 5’6”, roughly average height, Harry’s build can be generally considered stout, well-built more so than the average Okinawan. His black hair is kept short and neat in a side part, and he is exceptionally average in having absolutely no facial hair. A number of smaller scars can be seen about the man’s arms, generally puncture wounds and cuts from a number of events in the Middle East.

Personality:

Confident, competent, and seeing jobs as challenges rather than simple assignments to be completed, Harry is a naturally gregarious guy. He finds jokes in things that aren’t funny, optimism when things look dark, and opportunity for a job well done when things are going completely and utterly sideways. His times on the job, however, have given the man few opportunities to express this as he rarely has anyone with which to share such jokes with. Harry is also somewhat superstitious; there’s never a time when he doesn’t have a nickel in at least one pocket, and to not have a nickel is to invite fate against you.

Backstory:

Born in Okinawa, Japan to an American sailor and an Okinawan Bento driver, Harry’s early life had a few moves involved. Mom and he moved about wherever he’d get stationed, shift from one place to another, and by the time Harry had gotten to age twelve he’d been in Japan, Kuwait, Spain, and even a short time in Cuba. He learned how to make friends quickly as a kid, experienced a surprisingly little amount of hate from other military brats, and generally had a good childhood. He grew up wanting to do the same, though, wanting to go out and see the world, to do things. At age seventeen, he started looking through the different branches, where he might fit in, where he might see that world. His dad wanted him to go Navy - after all, to him it was one of the safest options, though of course he refused to entertain the thought of something like the Air Force for even more safety. That little rift grew to become something of a killer, and Haruto became slowly convinced that he wanted to take his life in his own hands. After scoring exceptionally well on the tests, as well as having a good background with public school grades, he went off to join the Marines as an 0311, infantryman.

His time through Paris Island was hard enough, and he gained that nickname of Harry which seemed to stick long, long after, but to him it seemed fun, almost. He loved the challenges, the energy of it all, the brothers you made, memories of a good time. Over the course of twelve years with the Marine Corps, the man deployed throughout the Middle East and Far East, as well as attended the USMC’s scout sniper school. His skills with the languages, which really came about as a byproduct of having time to kill, as well as his marksmanship would earn the attention of several members in Gunners 606 also serving in the area at the time. Fourth deployment would be when Harry was finally approached by one, and the offer they made intrigued him in many ways.

After his discharge, Harry spent a year still in the Middle East as an interpreter and bodyguard for several arms deals in the region. His operations with the organization following this would largely be as a cleaner, when Gunners 606 was forced to exit a portion of the Syrian market due to instability in the region threatening other more profitable deals. As a result, Harry liquidated a total of twenty-five individuals in the region, from leaders to suppliers, primarily using a network of informants to feed information to Syrian Army officials, directing strikes wherever needed whether that was the target itself or a different safehouse to force his quarry into the open. Since then, he has performed a number of services to the organization.

---

COMBAT STYLE

Overview:

A simple style makes for the most robust style, in Harry’s eyes; Go Quiet, if it goes bad, Go Loud. The game requires one dead man, more often than not, and how he dies comes with a variety of possibilities. Flushing out that target is often the first step, one he takes with a variety of methods from fire alarms to phone calls into sight of a window to cutting elevator cables when the man finally leaves for lunch, these are all methods Harry tends to utilize in bringing the target out into frame. From there, a silenced .22 and the target tends to die.

Skills:

His time in the USMC, from the fundamentals of scout sniper school to the practical experience in the Middle East, has for Harry developed a strong degree of marksmanship. The longest range is better, but never a guarantee; as such, he is quite competent at both long and close ranges. Silenced rifles are that first line, often sourced specifically for the job and conditions expected from lighter, silenced subsonic weapons for cities to the M95 for long, open spaces where wind and distance makes the lighter ammunition ineffective. At most other ranges, should the job remain quiet, Harry tends to prefer silenced, subsonic pistols; what the enemy doesn’t know about they can’t react to.

Harry is also a MCMAP practitioner, which encompasses a wide variety of techniques and methods for ensuring compliance in a subject. More often than not, he tends to shift to the swiftest, most incapacitating methods, chokes and holds. Knife techniques are also strongly preferred. To him, combat should always be armed such that it will end as quickly as possible.

As a believer in the “What works, works” school of thought, he is also quite experienced at explosives, both as far as the building of such and the actual use of it. Shaped charges are a favorite, should one ever feel the need to kill a man through an armored door or roof, and every lock has a thermite key if you’re really in a rush to open it. Making such a device into a less-than-obvious package, though, is the real trick, one which Harry is eager to show whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Special Trait: Improvisation

Every job has a number of correct ways to complete it and, to Harry, there’s nothing quite like performing the job with the least amount of collateral. After all, only one person really needs to die and how they die just needs to be verifiable. Quiet with a single silenced shot, loud with an explosive, and somewhere in between with a falling elevator, they all have their place within the toolkit and Harry isn’t one to throw away tools. Thinking on your feet is, to him, simply a way of life.

---

COMBAT SLOTS

Preferred Equipment:

For weaponry, Harry always carries to a job his Ruger MK II, suppressed, in a shoulder holster as well as a KS-23M for whenever things go poorly. Both of these weapons have been well maintained, with some custom-made parts to ensure the best reliability and the least amount of glint. For when he needs, a knife of one variant or another is often somewhere on his person.

The man always wears a bulletproof suit with many of the same innovations as those seen in the years before, from the silicon carbide discs to ceramics, as well as a rather heavy woolen coat with similar modifications for his own protection. The coat also has a number of interior pockets for ammunition, grenades, and other interesting presents.

Special Slot: N/A

---

MISC

Theme Song: Four Tops - Reach Out I'll Be There
Likes: Black Coffee, Gyoza, Bowling, Sudoku
Dislikes: Energy Drinks, Meatloaf, Golf, Loud chewers
Other Information:

Harry is fluent in English, Japanese, Arabic, and Kurdish, as well as passable in Syriac and Farsi. He does speak all of the above, with the exception of his Japanese, with a mild accent though is fairly intelligible.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

Nickel Harry

Name: Haruto “Harry” John Murray
Alias: Nickel Harry
Faction: Gunners 606
Gender: Male
Age: 33
Appearance:

Standing at 5’6”, roughly average height, Harry’s build can be generally considered stout, well-built more so than the average Okinawan. His black hair is kept short and neat in a side part, and he is exceptionally average in having absolutely no facial hair. A number of smaller scars can be seen about the man’s arms, generally puncture wounds and cuts from a number of events in the Middle East.

Personality:

Confident, competent, and seeing jobs as challenges rather than simple assignments to be completed, Harry is a naturally gregarious guy. He finds jokes in things that aren’t funny, optimism when things look dark, and opportunity for a job well done when things are going completely and utterly sideways. His times on the job, however, have given the man few opportunities to express this as he rarely has anyone with which to share such jokes with. Harry is also somewhat superstitious; there’s never a time when he doesn’t have a nickel in at least one pocket, and to not have a nickel is to invite fate against you.

Backstory:

Born in Okinawa, Japan to an American sailor and an Okinawan Bento driver, Harry’s early life had a few moves involved. Mom and he moved about wherever he’d get stationed, shift from one place to another, and by the time Harry had gotten to age twelve he’d been in Japan, Kuwait, Spain, and even a short time in Cuba. He learned how to make friends quickly as a kid, experienced a surprisingly little amount of hate from other military brats, and generally had a good childhood. He grew up wanting to do the same, though, wanting to go out and see the world, to do things. At age seventeen, he started looking through the different branches, where he might fit in, where he might see that world. His dad wanted him to go Navy - after all, to him it was one of the safest options, though of course he refused to entertain the thought of something like the Air Force for even more safety. That little rift grew to become something of a killer, and Haruto became slowly convinced that he wanted to take his life in his own hands. After scoring exceptionally well on the tests, as well as having a good background with public school grades, he went off to join the Marines as an 0311, infantryman.

His time through Paris Island was hard enough, and he gained that nickname of Harry which seemed to stick long, long after, but to him it seemed fun, almost. He loved the challenges, the energy of it all, the brothers you made, memories of a good time. Over the course of twelve years with the Marine Corps, the man deployed throughout the Middle East and Far East, as well as attended the USMC’s scout sniper school. His skills with the languages, which really came about as a byproduct of having time to kill, as well as his marksmanship would earn the attention of several members in Gunners 606 also serving in the area at the time. Fourth deployment would be when Harry was finally approached by one, and the offer they made intrigued him in many ways.

After his discharge, Harry spent a year still in the Middle East as an interpreter and bodyguard for several arms deals in the region. His operations with the organization following this would largely be as a cleaner, when Gunners 606 was forced to exit a portion of the Syrian market due to instability in the region threatening other more profitable deals. As a result, Harry liquidated a total of twenty-five individuals in the region, from leaders to suppliers, primarily using a network of informants to feed information to Syrian Army officials, directing strikes wherever needed whether that was the target itself or a different safehouse to force his quarry into the open. Since then, he has performed a number of services to the organization.

---

COMBAT STYLE

Overview:

A simple style makes for the most robust style, in Harry’s eyes; Go Quiet, if it goes bad, Go Loud. The game requires one dead man, more often than not, and how he dies comes with a variety of possibilities. Flushing out that target is often the first step, one he takes with a variety of methods from fire alarms to phone calls into sight of a window to cutting elevator cables when the man finally leaves for lunch, these are all methods Harry tends to utilize in bringing the target out into frame. From there, a silenced .22 and the target tends to die.

Skills:

His time in the USMC, from the fundamentals of scout sniper school to the practical experience in the Middle East, has for Harry developed a strong degree of marksmanship. The longest range is better, but never a guarantee; as such, he is quite competent at both long and close ranges. Silenced rifles are that first line, often sourced specifically for the job and conditions expected from lighter, silenced subsonic weapons for cities to the M95 for long, open spaces where wind and distance makes the lighter ammunition ineffective. At most other ranges, should the job remain quiet, Harry tends to prefer silenced, subsonic pistols; what the enemy doesn’t know about they can’t react to.

Harry is also a MCMAP practitioner, which encompasses a wide variety of techniques and methods for ensuring compliance in a subject. More often than not, he tends to shift to the swiftest, most incapacitating methods, chokes and holds. Knife techniques are also strongly preferred. To him, combat should always be armed such that it will end as quickly as possible.

As a believer in the “What works, works” school of thought, he is also quite experienced at explosives, both as far as the building of such and the actual use of it. Shaped charges are a favorite, should one ever feel the need to kill a man through an armored door or roof, and every lock has a thermite key if you’re really in a rush to open it. Making such a device into a less-than-obvious package, though, is the real trick, one which Harry is eager to show whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Special Trait: Improvisation

Every job has a number of correct ways to complete it and, to Harry, there’s nothing quite like performing the job with the least amount of collateral. After all, only one person really needs to die and how they die just needs to be verifiable. Quiet with a single silenced shot, loud with an explosive, and somewhere in between with a falling elevator, they all have their place within the toolkit and Harry isn’t one to throw away tools. Thinking on your feet is, to him, simply a way of life.

---

COMBAT SLOTS

Preferred Equipment:

For weaponry, Harry always carries to a job his Ruger MK II, suppressed, in a shoulder holster as well as a KS-23M for whenever things go poorly. Both of these weapons have been well maintained, with some custom-made parts to ensure the best reliability and the least amount of glint. For when he needs, a knife of one variant or another is often somewhere on his person.

The man always wears a bulletproof suit with many of the same innovations as those seen in the years before, from the silicon carbide discs to ceramics, as well as a rather heavy woolen coat with similar modifications for his own protection. The coat also has a number of interior pockets for ammunition, grenades, and other interesting presents.

Special Slot: N/A

---

MISC

Theme Song: Four Tops - Reach Out I'll Be There
Likes: Black Coffee, Gyoza, Bowling, Sudoku
Dislikes: Energy Drinks, Meatloaf, Golf, Loud chewers
Other Information:

Harry is fluent in English, Japanese, Arabic, and Kurdish, as well as passable in Syriac and Farsi. He does speak all of the above, with the exception of his Japanese, with a mild accent though is fairly intelligible.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

Call me interested.
Do you plan on having a game Discord for easy communication (especially for when the fights start) or just here?

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Route 1
Mentions: N/A

Isla watched as the Nickit struggled with the thick material, chewing away and adjusting its angle before the first joined-in with Dancing in growling away in annoyance at the unwelcome one. The second soon set off and away, the first yawning as it pawed away at her leg. Well, that was quite unexpected…it was soon enough becoming rather comfortable, comfortable enough that it was wanting something or another more. She giggled at the motion, one hand reaching out to tentatively scratch behind the fox's ears.

The question, she supposed, was whether or not he was…would trust really apply to a Pokémon? Probably. Isla trusted Dancing and he, she guessed, trusted her. The little guy hadn't warned her of the second, sneaking up behind, and even probably helped him out in one way or another. But he had growled away, and he had drove off the second…it was entirely possible that such had been out of self interest, true, but surely he'd be more needy about begging for food. It was all hypothetical, anyways, all suspicion. She supposed trust had to be met with trust. After all…what Pokémon ran while being pet?

Her free hand reached into one of the cargo pockets, withdrawing a little bar - the ship restaurant had said it was part snack, part candy, and entirely loved by the little friends as well as by people. Opening the wrapper with one hand was by no means an easy feat until her hand found the little plastic tab. A flick and she felt the wrapper deflate a little in her hand, the pressure seal broken. Pinching it with thumb and forefinger, while also adjusting it against one leg, slowly the snack was revealed - bright blue, smelling vaguely of berries and probably half a dozen other things beyond Isla's senses.

Dancing had been careful to watch the second Nickit run off, stare off into the forest to make sure more didn't sneak up, yet the smell of food and the attention to another had certainly driven him back to the most important matters. A paw on the top of Isla's head was his way to get attention, a stare at the bright bar his way to communicate exactly what he wanted. Isla started slightly at the unexpected touch, head moving just a tad to see what he was looking at. Another fit of giggles at the strange circumstance. It was all patently absurd.

"You're all just needy, needy, needy," she half-heartedly exclaimed in a soft tone, prodding fun at both of them. Holding the bar low to the Nickit, with her thumb as a fork she pinched off a block perhaps two inches long in front of the fox before shifting out more by pushing the wrapper against her leg. The same was given to Dancing, though he caught the piece in his mouth as it fell off. Gnawing away at the treat was surprisingly easy, almost like taffy.

Smiling while slowly, almost, shaking her head Isla looked down at the Nickit. She'd been petting at it the whole time, becoming bolder as the moments slipped by. Almost unthinkingly, she began talking with the Pokémon, her voice probably better used for the smallest of children in its positivity and bubbliness. "Aren't you just a happy little guy, huh? A hungry little guy? The other guy was a grump, but you aren't. You're just a lil guy with a big floofing tail." Pausing, she added, "You don't seem so scared. Do you maybe want to see more? Go out a bit?"

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish

Inventory: 3000p

5 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

City In Flames: A Night City Story

Well in that case, @DisturbedSpec Jennifer Hudson is accepted.

City In Flames: A Night City Story

<Snipped quote by Thayr>

As far as modular upgrades go, she's going to be baseline for a while before she attempts acquiring one of the specialized packages- that will most likely be the 'Reinforced Tendons' modification to the limbs, which would function like a pneumatic piston inside the base of her heel that propels her up in the air by shooting into the ground. Given Zetatech seems to have only one HQ office in Night City's Berkley Avenue (being where Vik works if I'm not mistaken from what we see) it'll be that.

She'll be flying in at the first post, checking in at the hotel in Corpo Plaza. Cover would be indeed difficult to achieve and maintain, especially with such an enigmatic entity as NightCorp. To be truthful, I have not exactly figured out a way to achieve said cover. If anything, it'll be first getting acquainted with the terrain and lay of the land with Night City. if this poses a conflict with her implementation into the setting, I can more than make needed adjustments.

The relationships tab was, funnily enough, pasted over from another format. These relationships are individually-specific and (later) faction-specific. When Jennifer interacts with someone in-game, or hears about news/directly has information, it's merely a dynamic way to add more flavor to her inner thoughts regarding what happens to her character development.

@DisturbedSpec

I see. Not entirely certain why FIA would send such an agent in, although it is entirely possible that they are banking on Night Corp hitting Jennifer, revealing their assets for more obscure FIA agents, while hoping Jennifer's skills would keep her alive. As such, I imagine she would lose connection to her FIA handler rather early-on as to isolate any potential losses.

Would this be acceptable as a why for having such an overt agent go against such a covert agency?