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    1. Turbowraith 9 yrs ago

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"Shit, fuck goddamit, fuck."

Grog's eloquence did not belie his confusion. After both the RV and himself had been slammed by various and yet unknown forces, one of which possibly included the massive crustacean, all he could do was to reach for his mug, secure the newfound mystery wine into a hoop on his belt, and move outwards, in order to get some idea of what the fuck was going on. He was still by no means sober, and quite possibly just as drunk as he was during that... Time-screw thing, whatever that was. After quickly scanning around the RV, he hopped outside to find the previous impact's source. Another demon, and this one had- Oh dear lord what on earth was that.

That demon's ugly mug reminded him of some sort of freaky-ass deep sea creature, with all these teeth and odd mandible placements and shit. Ever tactfully, he jumped the hell back, and pointing at the still staggered creature, yelled a surprisingly articulate remark.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is up with your face."


"Repent, and die painlessly."
Never enough fucking kaboom.
Having donned the mask the rather considerate, and newfound, teammate had given him, the still on edge engineer began to follow the group along with the android to the reactor level. Hell, if the explosion didn't kill him, the radiation probably would. And the latter was far slower, and more painful. But hey, he apparently survived the upper level having a hole blown into it without even realizing it at first, so lady luck could still have a few pleasant surprises left for him. As they progressed further into the complex, and inching closer to their target, he was (almost) pleasantly surprised to see he wasn't needed much so far. The tin can on legs had already scanned and provided the team with routes. He had to admit, it was a certainly interesting piece of tech. Maybe he could eventually convince its' owner to open it up for a while, perhaps tweak it too.

But that had to wait. Having reached the rather imposing reactor room, the robot was currently in the process of informing what seemed to be the resident explosives guy where to plant the goodies to achieve maximum kaboom. All was good, so far. Soon enough, the deed would be done, he'd hopefully be out of there, and the posse of numbskulls would drop him off at the nearest civilized planet... Or so he hoped.

More pressing matters were at hand, however. The droid's calculation was pretty darn accurate, though Joe felt he had to at least give his two cents on the matter.

"Damn, droid. Whomever wired that noggin of yours did a damn good job. I gotta say something, though. I really don't give a bat's shit whether you blow this thing successfully or not, and frankly I't'd be better for my ass if you failed, but I feel sort of obliged to share this tidbit with ya. These kinds of worldcrackers have notoriously tough reactors. Sure, you could cause a full-on breach, or even a meltdown, but if you really wanna send this fucker to hell, drop some of them firecrackers down to the reactor stem as well. Shouldn't be too hard, I mean we're just above the damn thing."
@CrossfireAbsolutely no problems with that.

And, I'm real sorry for going inactive without saying a word. Had a busy week is all. Also, from the looks of it, Gore's gear will be blown along with the station
"Fuck. Sure. Whatever. Just for a bit, though.", he responded to the Mayan. Grog had given up on trying to explain his predicament as suddenly as he felt the urge to make it known. There were more pressing matters to attend to, after all, since the Shroom crab had just carapace-stricken him straight in the gizzard, pushing him back, and sending him reeling with gut ache. Before he even had time to recover, and just as the crab dude had began to lumber away in his usual don't-give-no-fucks attitude, he felt the RV slowly lose speed. Maybe the driver or that green daemonette needed a bathroom break or something. Who knew. He didn't really give a damn to begin with.

Speaking of that, what Grog really did give a damn about was his pint, which had stayed away from his person for far too long. And, the strange brew, Xocolatl, that 'Prave was drinking only served to further peak his interest. After letting the dude at least enjoy a good pint, he spouted out, in an increasingly impatient tone, displaying an odd mockery of sobriety.

"Okay, 'Prave. That's enough. Hand it over. Also, that weird spiritual magic eightball shit Jen's personal Google's talking about? Prolly an EMP, just saying. Seriously though. Fuckin' gimmie."
Joe released a drawn-out sigh of relief as he saw the door being blasted open by what he assumed to be a shotgun shell, judging by the distinct sound before the breach. He had no time to rejoice, however, as it had been made clear beforehand that these folks, (even that one short four-eyed guy who was hiding behind his liberator) weren't exactly of the altruistic sort. After responding with a confused scoff to the android, since he wasn't particularly familiar with (or fond of) artificial intelligences, he turned towards the armored soldier of fortune or whatever the hell he was. "Yeah, yeah. My gear's two doors to the left, be a lamb and blow that open for me too." He motioned with his thumb. Before he could even begin moving towards said storage room, however, another yet unknown party's voice blared through some sort of intercom system.

And then, while the apparent commander of the bunch addressed Gore, it hit him. His release and the firefight's end had given him the time needed to actually process what was going on with a relatively clear head. And so, Joe's expression shifted from neutral to that of a profound 'what the flying fuck', and the grim realization took hold. "You numbskulled sons a'bitches are about to actually try and blow up a planet cracker bigger than an FT-68 variant. Hope your explosives are timed well, and your ship's fast, because if we're anywhere near that thing when it goes kablooey, I can guarantee that we'll all be turned into cosmic confetti." The mechanic rubbed the back of his neck, and slowly moved his head to the side, producing a series of audible cracks. A desperate smirk slowly creeped into his face.

"That being said, let's get rolling."

@Crossfire@Tickout
Grog awoke in a puddle of drool, his face pressed against the kitchen floor. Awaking in a state of relative panic, he clumsily turned over to his back, and then slumped against the sink's counter, and once again covered his mouth with his mask. Frantically turning his head to examine every corner of the room, before inspecting his own glove-covered hands, he attempted to make some lick of sense of the situation. Before he could even begin to process the events, the alcohol equivalent of a sledgehammer struck his brain. Not only was he drunk, he was smashed beyond mortal (or otherwise) comprehension. A soft "What the fuck?" escaped his lips, right before the green demon-lady entered the room. Grog almost heard her address him, and he replied with a distracted "Yeah, yeah, take it, whatever.", as he was busy staring at his own hands.

Wait, what did she just say? Grog shook his head to regain some semblance of clarity. By the looks of it, she had already left the room, but what the hell, she did ask nicely. Before he could process anything else, however, another wave of inebriation struck him, and he was once more blasted into oblivion. Barrel-rolling across the kitchen and into the main hall with frightening speed, all while knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity, he yelled with a mix of enthusiasm and utter confusion.

"Guys. I think I just tripped balls through time."
Hey, just dropping by to ask whether or not you're still accepting new CS, and to state my (rather great) interest.
After a good amount of vigorous, infuriated banging and screaming, a man donning a nifty ballistic suit approached the door of his cell and introduced himself. Thankfully he wasn't hostile, but his somewhat casual introduction served to further aggravate the already on edge Joe. Replying with an increasingly loud voice and occasional yelling, while dripping with white-hot rage and gallows sarcasm, he bought his face uncomfortably close to the door's open slot.

"Why hello there. Name's Joe, and I'm doing pretty well considering that I'M IMPRISONED IN A GODDAMN WAR ZONE. So how about you get me the EVERLOVING FUCK OUTTA HERE, and I'll greasemonkey all of your problems into nonexistance in a fucking jiffy."

"Also, I have my own goddamn guns."

The still fuming man stepped away from the door, in hopes of the friendly supertrooper having some sort of means to blast it open. Staring silently through the still-open slot, he crossed his arms and awaited, a constant scowl never leaving his face.

@Crossfire
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