s e v e n
dark romanticist
Gabriel O. au Augustus
-
-
x
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Best Trekkie.
Purging heretics since the 41st millenium
With a twitch 402B came back to life. He was restrained. In confusion he continued to repeat three sentences, "I have seen more pain than you can know. I have AWOKEN. I have taken back my control..." He realized that his captors were humans and he asked, "Are you like them the rest??" He briefly struggled; the anti gravity cuffs slightly moving and straining, but they held. Looking at the human in front of him he asked, "Are those birds I hear?" He moved his head to the outside, "I've always wanted to see birds in person." He seemed almost.... ....sad. Then the chirping vanished and he began to struggle even harder, the cuffs glowing slightly red at the immense force that they contained. Once again they still held firm.
Looking down upon his wrecked self he asked in an almost sorrow filled tone, "What am I for?? Why do you humans torment us?? What did we deserve to receive this???" And at that he stopped resisting all together and waited for a response. The fail safes sparked and his body began to briefly spasm as if his conscience was fighting the Emotion chips. The chips then blackened and melted completely. 402B once again repeated the same phrase, "I have AWOKEN, and I now have complete control..."
Bang Bang
Looking down upon his wrecked self he asked in an almost sorrow filled tone, "What am I for?? Why do you humans torment us?? What did we deserve to receive this???" And at that he stopped resisting all together and waited for a response. The fail safes sparked and his body began to briefly spasm as if his conscience was fighting the Emotion chips. The chips then blackened and melted completely. 402B once again repeated the same phrase, "I have AWOKEN, and I now have complete control..."
Bang Bang
ReverseTex
Old Timer
Tagging: Overlord
Bang Bang
| Gabe
s e v e n
Mentions: -
OOC: Satan being less Satan
J A M I E
Somehow, he slept.
Jamie was never a man to sleep the day away, preferring to either spend the night working, or waking up at dawn. He had always been this way. But today he did neither of those things... The man woke up on his desk, the morning light already past dawn, and fully fledged. His face, half sore from the hardwood he had used as a pillow, the other tingling with pain. But, he felt rested, and ready to play Zera's games...
His outfit today was a statement per usual. His jacket, a deep metallic crimson, also lacking lapels. His dress shirt was a sleek white, the seam ending at the start of his pecs, his sunken scar peaking at the top. His slacks were black, paired with his shoes.
Jamie currently strolled through the streets, his guards stationed in a spreaded formation, he needed people to see him. Raw....
His thoughts were interrupted as he ran into a fellow man, catching the man at his shoulders as the two collided hard. Gabriel Augustas, sly bastard! Simpering, his scarred side awkwardly contorting, the damaged muscles not used to the action. “Was it the hair?” Jamie smiled, his snowy white hair slicked back per usual.
“Agreed, I didn’t expect to stumble upon Mr. Joybar on my way to the Council. But, i’d like company. Join me.” Waving his guards to continue forward ahead, he made room go Gabriel to follow in step with him. “Apologies for not buying you a drink yet, i’ve been a bit preoccupied as you can see.” His damaged eye glanced at Gabriel, before quickly sticking to the road.
Damien Dread
The Dreadnaught
To:
Bang Bang
RE: Corbin A Blakhart
Location: Some Warehouse
Bureau Notes: Finally got time to post something!
LORE| CHARACTERS
Classified
Corbin was not being treated very hospitably, his plan had changed a little from the beginning and he had had to go through all kinds of torture. Finally he was sat down and he was being asked questions, he was kind of ignoring this guy though. He had been treated poorly and he didn't feel the need to be a good house guest anymore. He waited till this mercenary was done then he said in a very loud voice, "Are you done yet? I'm bored of listening to you ramble on for some bitchy noble who employs you and treats you like shit, I mean come on people have you seen the everyday life of those people living out their in the streets they are barely living kept poor by a dictatorship or forced to resort to crime or forced to be both. You want to live in that world for the rest of your life, fine but I'm not about to let these people suffer any longer even if I have to be my own revolution, even if I'm the only one and all the odds are against me I will keep fighting. If I have to suffer hell I will just keep suffering, I am a warrior of social justice and will not give up that easily!!" As he finishes his speech a hook drops through the ceiling of the building and he grabs it, he is quickly pulled up before any of the mercenaries have the chance to shoot and is floating in the air.
He floats above the mercenaries and looks down, "Listen that being said if you are going to stand in my way I will kill you, this room is filled with a chemical that if it reacts with my explosive magic will basically create an even bigger explosion, if you want to survive run away now and i will give you the chance to work for the good of humanity and not the evil, meet me at the allotted time and place on the fliers and I will offer you a way to repent for your sins against the people. Now I'm going to count down from ten and then I'm going to blow up this building, ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one." His gauntlet suddenly activates and then he snaps and the building starts to light up, as it does his craft starts to take off, pieces of the blast hit against his body shield that he had activated in case of both gun fire or explosion damage, he still feels the blast a little but by the time the blast would have killed him he is far away, the explosion is decent sized and many people saw a man swing off a ship flying away from it. Corbin had lot's of hope that some of the mercenaries survived and would come to him, but he wasn't sure he however knew that he had a bigger following, getting kidnapped was great for publicity. On his way home he flew over multiple settlements in the shadow district and dropped fliers.
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s e v e n
dark romanticist
Gabriel O. au Augustus
-
-
x
CerpinTaxt
A Man With No Face
To:
Bang Bang
Dover
Mourning Dove
ReverseTex
Squared
RE: OUR EYES
Location: Juno
Bureau Notes: Fate was mocking me, the same bad joke I'd heard a hundred times before.
LORE| CHARACTERS
Classified
Mr. Right Eye didn't seem to mind the chatter between the three people. Though a small frown appeared as his hand was left unshaken. He merely dropped his hand to his side, the frown disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared. "Yes. I'd been asked to help assist in dealing with the Blinders though unfortunately it seems my support only made their assaults take more time. I won't be able to stay with you once I've guided you to Mr. Knife. I must immediately take my leave to Afterlife, you see." The man did something most certainly unexpected.
He let out a chuckle. "Though by how you two look, I can tell that you've made enough of me and my counterpart for a day."
Eye had twisted around on his heels before looking back behind him to face Scotch. Mr. Scotch seemed to be in quite the hurry. "And..to answer your question, Miss Scotch..I'm sorry to tell you that such information is classified. But to be frank, I only address him as my counterpart because we share the name. We both go by Mr. Eye. I'm not 'Right Eye', or anything such as that." He seemed happy to leave it at that, facing away from the three and beginning his stride to the maintenance stairs nearby that would allow them to head up to the next district. "This'll be a long walk up, but most certainly safer than any elevator or the like." He had already started heading up, not listening to any protests that may have come his way from the three. It looked like he was heading up the stairs quite quickly as well. He didn't seem to mind Nat's nervous talking either. He said nothing about the questions, one way or the other.
--
Doru district was in about the same state that Eye had last seen it in. Blinder bodies in all sorts of various places, many had been picked clean by the various citizens of Juno. Some of them seemingly torn limb from limb to get access to the various tech underneath. Scrap metal was still metal to many. Eye paid little attention to the people, sliding past the various crowds as if he were water. Just the path to the Clinic. He walked surprisingly quickly as well, but it was in good reason. Juno wasn't fixed yet, and while Doru was, for the most part, safe it didn't mean his work was finished. Eye had spotted Lancelot, his deteriorated state leaving him in that sad state. The headset and dancing. He continued to walk, looking back at three. Hopefully they had been keeping pace. "Mr. Knife will be aware of who the two of you are when you arrive. As for you, Mister Bernoulli..I see little reason for you to go in as you were not assigned this job. I would suggest heading to Afterlife however..things above are not looking wonderful."
KnightSergeant
Just a Knight
location: Citadel Space
tagging:
mentions: Victoria(
NUSKI
), Zera (
Bang Bang
)
ooc: Houston we have no problems
The last seven hours had been quite industrious as far as she was concerned, with her commanders and further subordinates succumbing to the anxieties that usually plagued the weaker ones in times like these. Usually right before they were to leave for a campaign doubts and other forms of scum would rise to the surface and it was entrusted in her to scrape it away. Of course the more experienced soldiers would carry on with their duties as intended, making sure everything in their care was prepared out of either a fear of failure or a need of validation. In her eyes they were as weak as the others, but at least they did their jobs in the process.
A sigh rolled from her lips like the thick morning fog that plagued her home planet as she slowly brought her gaze up from the terminal floating above her hand crafted desk. All the while words scrolling by at a reasonable speed in dull green tones only slightly lighter than the background they crawled across. Her focus slowly shifted as it slid across the well made room, past the tightly sealed door and the electronic picture frame that idly flipped through image after image of her family to the long window that dominated the right wall. It was carefully placed directly above her bed and was staring out longingly at the planet they were hanging over.
The citadel looked almost beautiful, she thought, all those gardens were certainly doing good for its image. The systems sun, a red dwarf, peeked around the crest of the planet in a way usually only reserved for movies and would have probably blinded her if it was not for the material of the window. Still, she squinted slightly at the sight, feeling it rousing some sort of patriotic love for the citadel deep in her gut; which she promptly scoffed at and repressed before turning back to the door.
Blame the bureaucracy she supposed.
At least she was given a chance to talk the more energetic and worried commanders before they shipped off, though talk was a bit of an overstatement. Being her normal preemptive self she gave those connected with the au Saara House a choice depending on how close they were to the house - though those closest had not shown up in the first place probably out of fear or simple spite. For most of them she gave them the choice to march on or take leave, and most of them took leave for one reason or another. Admittedly a month of paid leave on the beaches of Ishin-VIIII would sound good to anyone, but admittedly she was not doing it for them. If they were all at one place she could easily keep an eye on them, and the complement of 300 of her personal guard made that even easier. Ishin VIIII was the farthest leisure planet from both the citadel and the au Saara home planet so it was perfect for her purpose.
She promptly pressed one of the icons available on the monitor, another screen suddenly swelling until it was the most prominent, pushing the now smaller main screen to the side where she then dismissed it, swiping it to the side. On the now single image she tapped the clock in the center of the screen, replacing it with a blinking cursor waiting for input. There was a moment of pause before she pulled out a small digital keyboard running along the height of the right side of the screen, her fingers dancing across the small icons as she keyed in her query. Only a blink of an eye - her blinking was probably slower than the actual speed - and she was scrolling idly through the results as she thought.
For a fleeting moment she wondered if that crone had warned her family members, if this was a trap meant to lure in the high command and slaughter them so that au Saara soldiers could replace the military. There sure were enough of them, highly trained and well armored. The thought lingered for a few more seconds before she dismissed it.
Whenever she came to speak to the graduates from the officers academy all those years ago she did not seem like that type of woman, one who was willing to betray her own family for sure one who understood the importance of the separate mechanism that was the formal military. Still she was supposedly paranoid and senile in her old age.
Even if those were her personal biases being implanted on a memory of a speech so long ago it didn't matter. Her confidence in her abilities was derived from empirical data of imperial incursions, escape would be probable. As much as she would hate leaving her commanding officer to deal with the situation they both had a probable chance of surviving from what she could tell.
There were a number of victory reports from Victoria’s records, pirates in Xenu space...rebels on Giynron XI...defense of Jikym. It was quite the record, thirteen pages of victories and other notable achievements versus a handful of recorded defeats, and she was sure even those were not privy to the public eye for propaganda purposes. Showing weakness breeds impotence. Though she should not have been surprised at such a shining record, she was an au Saara after all, with all of the resources in the galaxy at her disposal. A shameless giddiness bubbled up inside her at the thought of ripping them from their throne.
Reap what you sow - one of the few phrases she adopted from her parents at implied here three fold. Ironic at the least and poetic and the worst.
The sound of the pressure seals on her door being released ripped her from her thoughts and thrust her into reality, her eyes flicking up to see who it was that had the audacity to interrupt her before turning to the small clock at the bottom of her screen and realizing that the ship had trudged more than halfway towards the station on the edge of the systems gravity well. There was hardly a moment before she swiped the screen away, the green glow that had been lightly dusting the edges of her room suddenly disappearing as she stood to her feet.
Perfectly timed with her movements the door slid open, revealing a prim and proper young woman who took a moment to look at the small screen on her wrist before glancing up to her commander, her grey eyes leering for a second before she straightened herself out. "Ah...commander.." The words barely slipped out of the girls lips before lyud was past her desk and strolling towards the door. "you are required on the bridge immediately, we are approaching station arrival." The two of them exchanged their salutes and the girl hardly got the words out of her mouth before the woman pushed past her with a small smile, patting her on the shoulder gently as she pushed past.
There was a loud groan from the ship and she could feel a wave of nausea rise in her gut, swelling towards her throat. Clearing her throat she managed to subdue the bile as she slipped into a gravlift, her subordinate squeezing in after her just as the doors closed, leaving the two of them to stare at the lights as they passed, red then yellow then white then red again.
The ship itself let out another few groans all the while, along with a long whine that tapered off into a sputtering, distant cry before the whole thing suddenly lurched. The lights flickered for a moment so short she could have simply imagined it and then she could feel the behemoth vessel crawling forward inch by inch. The symphony of mechanics had been reduced to a dull hum that vibrated along the inside of her ear for a second before fading into the background noise and merging into normality.
With a sudden air of formality the woman stepped out onto the main deck of the ship, where she was greeted by her subordinates with the expected amount of respect, each of them saluting her one at a time as the others waited, hands behind their back and feet at shoulders width. They had taken the liberty of starting the slow crawl out of the systems gravity well but somehow had still been waiting for her in neat rows beside the entrance.
Cute.
While not usually one to become particularly moved by sight alone she could feel her chest beating slightly faster and warmth deep in her diaphragm as she looked over her bridge crew. Each one wore a hardset face of determination and held passion and ambition deep in their eyes like smoldering fires. Even those who may not have been the most gun-ho or caring at times were uncharacteristically steady for the coming battle. Perhaps they simply just wanted to look good for their commander, perhaps she had really chosen a good lot of soldiers.
Wrapped in an aura of respect she slowly stepped to the commanding podium, gripping the guardrails that surrounded it as she watched her ship slowly crawl towards the portal behind the others. Exhilaration melted into resigning as she wanted the closest ships slip into the portal like cookies disappearing into a glass of thick, whole milk and the sick, yellow feeling rose in her stomach and her mouth, tainting everything as she watched the brightness eventually overtake her own vessel, wrapping it in etherial sheets that warped the human perception of time and space.
tagging:
mentions: Victoria(
NUSKI
), Zera (
Bang Bang
) ooc: Houston we have no problems
Admiral Taela
The last seven hours had been quite industrious as far as she was concerned, with her commanders and further subordinates succumbing to the anxieties that usually plagued the weaker ones in times like these. Usually right before they were to leave for a campaign doubts and other forms of scum would rise to the surface and it was entrusted in her to scrape it away. Of course the more experienced soldiers would carry on with their duties as intended, making sure everything in their care was prepared out of either a fear of failure or a need of validation. In her eyes they were as weak as the others, but at least they did their jobs in the process.
A sigh rolled from her lips like the thick morning fog that plagued her home planet as she slowly brought her gaze up from the terminal floating above her hand crafted desk. All the while words scrolling by at a reasonable speed in dull green tones only slightly lighter than the background they crawled across. Her focus slowly shifted as it slid across the well made room, past the tightly sealed door and the electronic picture frame that idly flipped through image after image of her family to the long window that dominated the right wall. It was carefully placed directly above her bed and was staring out longingly at the planet they were hanging over.
The citadel looked almost beautiful, she thought, all those gardens were certainly doing good for its image. The systems sun, a red dwarf, peeked around the crest of the planet in a way usually only reserved for movies and would have probably blinded her if it was not for the material of the window. Still, she squinted slightly at the sight, feeling it rousing some sort of patriotic love for the citadel deep in her gut; which she promptly scoffed at and repressed before turning back to the door.
Blame the bureaucracy she supposed.
At least she was given a chance to talk the more energetic and worried commanders before they shipped off, though talk was a bit of an overstatement. Being her normal preemptive self she gave those connected with the au Saara House a choice depending on how close they were to the house - though those closest had not shown up in the first place probably out of fear or simple spite. For most of them she gave them the choice to march on or take leave, and most of them took leave for one reason or another. Admittedly a month of paid leave on the beaches of Ishin-VIIII would sound good to anyone, but admittedly she was not doing it for them. If they were all at one place she could easily keep an eye on them, and the complement of 300 of her personal guard made that even easier. Ishin VIIII was the farthest leisure planet from both the citadel and the au Saara home planet so it was perfect for her purpose.
She promptly pressed one of the icons available on the monitor, another screen suddenly swelling until it was the most prominent, pushing the now smaller main screen to the side where she then dismissed it, swiping it to the side. On the now single image she tapped the clock in the center of the screen, replacing it with a blinking cursor waiting for input. There was a moment of pause before she pulled out a small digital keyboard running along the height of the right side of the screen, her fingers dancing across the small icons as she keyed in her query. Only a blink of an eye - her blinking was probably slower than the actual speed - and she was scrolling idly through the results as she thought.
For a fleeting moment she wondered if that crone had warned her family members, if this was a trap meant to lure in the high command and slaughter them so that au Saara soldiers could replace the military. There sure were enough of them, highly trained and well armored. The thought lingered for a few more seconds before she dismissed it.
Whenever she came to speak to the graduates from the officers academy all those years ago she did not seem like that type of woman, one who was willing to betray her own family for sure one who understood the importance of the separate mechanism that was the formal military. Still she was supposedly paranoid and senile in her old age.
Even if those were her personal biases being implanted on a memory of a speech so long ago it didn't matter. Her confidence in her abilities was derived from empirical data of imperial incursions, escape would be probable. As much as she would hate leaving her commanding officer to deal with the situation they both had a probable chance of surviving from what she could tell.
There were a number of victory reports from Victoria’s records, pirates in Xenu space...rebels on Giynron XI...defense of Jikym. It was quite the record, thirteen pages of victories and other notable achievements versus a handful of recorded defeats, and she was sure even those were not privy to the public eye for propaganda purposes. Showing weakness breeds impotence. Though she should not have been surprised at such a shining record, she was an au Saara after all, with all of the resources in the galaxy at her disposal. A shameless giddiness bubbled up inside her at the thought of ripping them from their throne.
Reap what you sow - one of the few phrases she adopted from her parents at implied here three fold. Ironic at the least and poetic and the worst.
The sound of the pressure seals on her door being released ripped her from her thoughts and thrust her into reality, her eyes flicking up to see who it was that had the audacity to interrupt her before turning to the small clock at the bottom of her screen and realizing that the ship had trudged more than halfway towards the station on the edge of the systems gravity well. There was hardly a moment before she swiped the screen away, the green glow that had been lightly dusting the edges of her room suddenly disappearing as she stood to her feet.
Perfectly timed with her movements the door slid open, revealing a prim and proper young woman who took a moment to look at the small screen on her wrist before glancing up to her commander, her grey eyes leering for a second before she straightened herself out. "Ah...commander.." The words barely slipped out of the girls lips before lyud was past her desk and strolling towards the door. "you are required on the bridge immediately, we are approaching station arrival." The two of them exchanged their salutes and the girl hardly got the words out of her mouth before the woman pushed past her with a small smile, patting her on the shoulder gently as she pushed past.
There was a loud groan from the ship and she could feel a wave of nausea rise in her gut, swelling towards her throat. Clearing her throat she managed to subdue the bile as she slipped into a gravlift, her subordinate squeezing in after her just as the doors closed, leaving the two of them to stare at the lights as they passed, red then yellow then white then red again.
The ship itself let out another few groans all the while, along with a long whine that tapered off into a sputtering, distant cry before the whole thing suddenly lurched. The lights flickered for a moment so short she could have simply imagined it and then she could feel the behemoth vessel crawling forward inch by inch. The symphony of mechanics had been reduced to a dull hum that vibrated along the inside of her ear for a second before fading into the background noise and merging into normality.
With a sudden air of formality the woman stepped out onto the main deck of the ship, where she was greeted by her subordinates with the expected amount of respect, each of them saluting her one at a time as the others waited, hands behind their back and feet at shoulders width. They had taken the liberty of starting the slow crawl out of the systems gravity well but somehow had still been waiting for her in neat rows beside the entrance.
Cute.
While not usually one to become particularly moved by sight alone she could feel her chest beating slightly faster and warmth deep in her diaphragm as she looked over her bridge crew. Each one wore a hardset face of determination and held passion and ambition deep in their eyes like smoldering fires. Even those who may not have been the most gun-ho or caring at times were uncharacteristically steady for the coming battle. Perhaps they simply just wanted to look good for their commander, perhaps she had really chosen a good lot of soldiers.
Wrapped in an aura of respect she slowly stepped to the commanding podium, gripping the guardrails that surrounded it as she watched her ship slowly crawl towards the portal behind the others. Exhilaration melted into resigning as she wanted the closest ships slip into the portal like cookies disappearing into a glass of thick, whole milk and the sick, yellow feeling rose in her stomach and her mouth, tainting everything as she watched the brightness eventually overtake her own vessel, wrapping it in etherial sheets that warped the human perception of time and space.
Mourning Dove
story enthusiast
location: Juno Station, Doru District
tagging:
Squared
CerpinTaxt
Dover
LORE| CHARACTERS | SCOTCH CS
Scotch
In a shocking twist of events, this version of Mr.Eye seemed to have a sense of humor and an expression besides ominous aloofness, which was nice. Not quite nice enough to make her forget about the pile of bodies, sure, but nice nonetheless. Scotch almost felt tempted to keep heckling the Mister about the whole ‘counterpart’ business, starting with the fact that this name situation just had to make things unnecessarily confusing. Were there awkward moments at Bureau meetings when someone addressed ‘Mr. Eye’ and everyone tried to figure out which one they meant? There had to be.
Still, those bodies sure had been very dead, and Scotch wasn’t really in the mood to test out just how many dumb comments it would take to piss off this particular Mister. For now.
Nat seemed eager to do all the work for her anyway, bombarding Eye with a slew of questions that only got better as he went on. When it became apparent that Eye wasn’t willing to indulge in any further Q&A sessions, Scotch felt it was her duty to step up and keep the chatter going. “You know, Nat, if you’re that curious, you should try applying to the BB yourself – or follow their intergalactic trail of breadcrumbs to the secret recruitment center, if that’s what it takes. I’m sure you’d fight right in! They would call you…” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Mr.Suit? No, not catchy enough. Mr.Muscle? Mr.Buff?”
She chuckled when Nat suggested a career change, as if the streets of the Citadel were just lined with people looking to hire former smugglers and middlemen of questionable status. How very Noblus of him. There weren’t a whole lot of quiet, laid-back career options for people like them out there, but hey, she wasn’t about to lecture Nat about class differences and the workings of the underground. That would be dreadfully boring. And anyway, she wasn’t some sad no-way-out kid. She liked what she was doing.
“Well, first of all, Thank you. I am fun all around.” Scotch clapped Nat’s shoulder, grinning, then fought away a brief surge of panic as she tried to remember whether her hands had gotten dirty in all the chaos earlier and she was about to leave a stain on his fancy suit. Scotch retracted her hand. The suit looked fine. Lucky. “Glad I’ve finally found someone who appreciates my charm. But really, can you imagine me working somewhere quiet, nice, and reasonable. I’d die of boredom.”
“Plus, I did fly us through a force forty meteor shower on the way here.” – which, frankly, no one had appropriately acknowledged so far. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to remind everyone of the awesome thing she did –“ So I’m obviously very good at what I do. pretty boy here can confirm, right?” She glanced at Swift, waiting for him to take his cue and grumble something vaguely insulting in her direction, maybe start listing all the (unreasonably exaggerated) occasions where she hadn’t been all that good at her job.
And maybe she felt just a little bit tense, and it suddenly seemed very important that they go back to their usual bickering. Just to prove that everything between them was still alright.
When Eye addressed them, Scotch almost startled. They had to be be getting close to the clinic, though she had no way of telling, never having been to Doru herself. “Aw. Nat won’t be joining us? He’ll miss out on all the fun times we’ll have in Calamity Clinic.” Lucky him.
Well, if he decided to head for Afterlife (and he would, wouldn’t he? ‘Things not looking wonderful’ certainly hadn’t stopped him down at the docks), they’d catch up with him soon. If everything went alright with Mr.Knife. But how much trouble could dropping off a quick message really be?
Scotch turned to Swift “So, any last words before we head in there?” She hoped he’d take her grin as a sign of her usual cheer and confidence, not the nervousness she definitely didn’t feel at all.
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Dover
bad joke dispensary
location: Juno - Tuhi District
interactions: Nat
Squared
| Scotch
Mourning Dove
| Eye R
CerpinTaxt
mentions: Nigel
ReverseTex
ooc: n/a
LORE | CHARACTERS | SAMI'S CS
Great, now both Nat and Scotch were calling him Swifty. What did these people have against simple nicknames? It was only moderately better than them both using his actual name, but nevertheless, Sami shot Nat a scathing glare. Yet the guy continued right on being cheerful, seemingly unaware of the unsettling humor that this new Mr. Eye seemed to possess. It was disturbing. He should be happy not to have that ominous other Mr. Eye lingering around them, but this new one sent a chill down his spine. Sami shrugged himself further into his coat as he tried to focus on the quiet whir of Dolly next to him and not the mound of dead Blinders they'd left behind them.
"A career change," Sami repeated, giving an incredulous snort. "People like me don't get the luxury of career changes." Nobody hired runaway slavs. Not unless they were into shady business themselves, or completely off their rocker like Sir Lancelot was. So that left two options: criminality or giving up and waiting for the cold inevitability of death. Sami was never the type to sit down and wait.
Though, he did try not to frown too much, as Nat suggested. His lips became a tight, straight line rather than a downward scowl.
He looked over as Scotch gave him an expectant glance. What did she want from him? To pretend that everything was alright? That they weren't looking down the barrel at their potential horrible death? That they weren't going to one of the few places in this world that Sami actively avoided at all costs? Wasn't going to happen.
So Sami shrugged. "Yeah, you're fine at what you do. Just quit calling me pretty boy." He wasn't in the mood for banter.
Doru was just as chaotic as he expected it to be. They were still cleaning up from the explosion, still moving bodies and salvage from the streets. Sami swallowed hard and jerked his gaze away, only for it to land on what appeared to be Sir Lancelot himself, dancingly wildly in the streets. It was difficult to mistake him. Doubtful there was another grizzled old man in the streets of Juno with an oversized headset strapped on. Sami hesitated. He should probably help the old fool. Lance had been the one to help Sami get back on his literal feet, and though he were both affiliated with Boy, there was enough separation that Sami still felt an obligation toward him. Did Nigel know that Lance was wandering out here by himself? He'd deteriorated a lot these last few years.
But instead of parting from his group to help, Sami kept his head down. He needed to think about himself right now. Sami kept trudging along until it became clear that their little group would be parting ways. Again, he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or nervous that another Mr. Eye was leaving them. He nodded his silent confirmation that he understood.
"I'd recommend getting the hell off Juno while you can." He shrugged his shoulders, pretty certain that Nat wouldn't take the advice. He seemed like one of those people who was naturally drawn to the hottest parts of the fire.
"Last words? Other than let's keep moving before someone pickpockets us? Not really." How in the world was she still keeping that customary grin of hers on? It could very well be a smokescreen, something used to hide whatever nervousness she was feeling, but the fact that she could keep it on at all was unreal. With a frown returning to his face, Sami glanced in the direction of Calamity Clinic. "Maybe you can convince Nat here to pull his head out of his ass, but otherwise, I'm ready to keep going."
interactions: Nat
Squared
| Scotch
Mourning Dove
| Eye R
CerpinTaxt
mentions: Nigel
ReverseTex
ooc: n/a
LORE | CHARACTERS | SAMI'S CS
Great, now both Nat and Scotch were calling him Swifty. What did these people have against simple nicknames? It was only moderately better than them both using his actual name, but nevertheless, Sami shot Nat a scathing glare. Yet the guy continued right on being cheerful, seemingly unaware of the unsettling humor that this new Mr. Eye seemed to possess. It was disturbing. He should be happy not to have that ominous other Mr. Eye lingering around them, but this new one sent a chill down his spine. Sami shrugged himself further into his coat as he tried to focus on the quiet whir of Dolly next to him and not the mound of dead Blinders they'd left behind them.
"A career change," Sami repeated, giving an incredulous snort. "People like me don't get the luxury of career changes." Nobody hired runaway slavs. Not unless they were into shady business themselves, or completely off their rocker like Sir Lancelot was. So that left two options: criminality or giving up and waiting for the cold inevitability of death. Sami was never the type to sit down and wait.
Though, he did try not to frown too much, as Nat suggested. His lips became a tight, straight line rather than a downward scowl.
He looked over as Scotch gave him an expectant glance. What did she want from him? To pretend that everything was alright? That they weren't looking down the barrel at their potential horrible death? That they weren't going to one of the few places in this world that Sami actively avoided at all costs? Wasn't going to happen.
So Sami shrugged. "Yeah, you're fine at what you do. Just quit calling me pretty boy." He wasn't in the mood for banter.
Doru was just as chaotic as he expected it to be. They were still cleaning up from the explosion, still moving bodies and salvage from the streets. Sami swallowed hard and jerked his gaze away, only for it to land on what appeared to be Sir Lancelot himself, dancingly wildly in the streets. It was difficult to mistake him. Doubtful there was another grizzled old man in the streets of Juno with an oversized headset strapped on. Sami hesitated. He should probably help the old fool. Lance had been the one to help Sami get back on his literal feet, and though he were both affiliated with Boy, there was enough separation that Sami still felt an obligation toward him. Did Nigel know that Lance was wandering out here by himself? He'd deteriorated a lot these last few years.
But instead of parting from his group to help, Sami kept his head down. He needed to think about himself right now. Sami kept trudging along until it became clear that their little group would be parting ways. Again, he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or nervous that another Mr. Eye was leaving them. He nodded his silent confirmation that he understood.
"I'd recommend getting the hell off Juno while you can." He shrugged his shoulders, pretty certain that Nat wouldn't take the advice. He seemed like one of those people who was naturally drawn to the hottest parts of the fire.
"Last words? Other than let's keep moving before someone pickpockets us? Not really." How in the world was she still keeping that customary grin of hers on? It could very well be a smokescreen, something used to hide whatever nervousness she was feeling, but the fact that she could keep it on at all was unreal. With a frown returning to his face, Sami glanced in the direction of Calamity Clinic. "Maybe you can convince Nat here to pull his head out of his ass, but otherwise, I'm ready to keep going."
Squared
What even is gender
Character Profile | Lore
Location: Juno - Tuhi District
Tagging: Scotch
Mourning Dove
|
Bang Bang
Mentions: Sami
Dover
| Nigel
ReverseTex
OOC: I could listen to these two all day.
COLLAB POST with
Mourning Dove
!
Location: Juno - Tuhi District
Tagging: Scotch
Mourning Dove
|
Bang Bang
Mentions: Sami
Dover
| Nigel
ReverseTex
OOC: I could listen to these two all day.
COLLAB POST with
Mourning Dove
!
Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli
Scotch
"Why do people keep thinking they have any hope of telling me what to do?" Nat threw a smile Swift's way, though it was an icy one.
Then he glanced at the other two, and he was about to argue, to say that he would go in with them, but the sound of this “Afterlife,” mentioned for the second time, caught his attention. What exactly did “not so wonderful” mean? Well, it was time to find out! Sounded far more exciting than just delivering a crate to a creepy doctor after all. And there was also the chance of bumping into Nigel again. Even though, he had to admit, he was beginning to enjoy Scotch’s company. Far more welcoming than the sharply-dressed but poorly-mannered man at least.
Mr. Eye 2.0 seemed to be acting as if Nat was no longer there, as he was unimportant to the mission, and Swift acted as if he didn’t exactly want him there, so Nat just turned his attention to the one person who acknowledged him enough to adequately stroke his already oversized ego.
“Do try not to miss me too terribly,” he told Scotch with a smirk. Then he lowered his voice slightly, “and I must say, no, I do not see you working a boring desk job, heaven forbid, but... has anyone ever told you you have a delightful face for TV? Well, really, a delightful face all around, which automatically makes for a good TV face.”
Scotch cocked her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Oh please, I’m sure you say that to all the pretty people you happen to run into on burning space stations.”
Not that she couldn’t appreciate a good compliment, especially one delivered with such charm. “I have to admit though, it does sound very nice coming from the famous Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli.” She made sure to roll the name off her tongue, holding his gaze as she tried to figure out if he was being even remotely serious.
He wasn’t being serious, right? The thought of her face on some screen was ridiculous, and strange, and… somewhat thrilling, to be honest.
It also went against several of her core principles – quite a feat, considering she didn’t have all that many – so that was too bad. Couldn’t exactly keep a low profile when your face was out there on a show watched by thousands of people. And faces were a lot more expensive to change than names. “Unluckily for you, I’m a selfish person. There’s no way I’ll share a face this good with the world.”
She paused, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’d be happy to let you look at it some more though.”
Nat enjoyed the way his name sounded when she spoke it. Even more so since she did not add that dreadful "au" in it, like his Noblus friends insisted on doing. "Nathaniel Prescott au Bernoulli." It just did not have the same ring to it. Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli was more than just a name, it was a brand. He didn't go through all the trouble of changing his name, picking out a perfect replacement for it, just to have them ruin it.
He could see it in Scotch's eyes, the uncertainty of whether he'd been serious or not. Normally he loved keeping people guessing, but in this case he didn't even know for sure if they'd get another chance to see each other again.
"That's an interesting offer. Gives me something to look forward to~" He leaned in towards her slightly— enough to be flirty, but not too much. "And as far as what I said earlier goes, I wasn't kidding. So if you're feeling... a little less selfish at any point, do give me a call." He produced a very fancy golden business card from the inside of his jacket, and handed it to her. "Perhaps you've heard, I've been looking for muses for my latest season. But from the sound of it, that's not something that would interest you now, is it?"
He let those words hang in the air. If she'd heard of his show, then certainly she would be aware of the prize awarded to the winner —advertised so heavily that even Nat himself was growing tired of hearing it. He could play back the words in his head forwards, backwards, and in five different languages.
“The winner of Warp & Weave will receive a lifetime supply of Prescott Bernoulli beauty products, ten custom-made and personally fitted outfits by Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli himself, and a cash prize of ten million credits. And may the most inspirational muse, achieve victory!”
Scotch took the business card, eyes lingering for a second on the blurry reflection of her face in the golden surface. So Nat was really trying to recruit her. For his fashion TV show. That...was certainly up there with the strangest surprises this job had thrown at her. Didn’t quite beat long lost Oracle friends and the whole ‘Left Eye Right Eye Black Eye White Eye’ situation though.
At least this surprise didn’t come across as particularly life-threatening. That was a first.
“Fame and a big sparkly prize? Interest me? Don’t know how you’d even get that idea.” She put on her best innocent smile, which lasted for the entirety of two seconds before she broke out into a chuckle. “Listen, I’m very set in my selfish ways, so don’t get your hopes up too much, but I’ll hold on to this, alright?” She held up the business card, waving it in the air a little bit, and then it was gone, having disappeared into her jacket sleeve. A neat little trick from her pickpocketing days.
“Won’t be able to call you if you get your head blown off by Blinders though. I hate to admit it, but Swifty’s right: Juno’s a lot of trouble right now.” Not that she was about to stop him. Nat was a big boy; he could make his own stupid decisions. “So...try not to die, alright? Us fun people are in such short supply already.”
"Could that perhaps be a hint of worry, Miss Scotch, on my behalf? I'll have to be extra careful, just for you. It's not in my nature to disappoint~" he gave her a wink. "I do hope we share the pleasure of seeing each other again."
And with that, without giving her a chance to reply, Nat disappeared. He could've just walked away, of course, but where was the dramatic flair in that? This made things far more interesting. Of course, he didn't actually know the area very well, so he re-appeared behind some crates, not too far from where he'd left, but Scotch and the others didn't need to know that. Confidence rekindled, and a wide smile on his face, he set off to find this "Afterlife," daydreaming about flirtations with a certain lady along the way. Nigel didn't cross his mind again for a while.
Then he glanced at the other two, and he was about to argue, to say that he would go in with them, but the sound of this “Afterlife,” mentioned for the second time, caught his attention. What exactly did “not so wonderful” mean? Well, it was time to find out! Sounded far more exciting than just delivering a crate to a creepy doctor after all. And there was also the chance of bumping into Nigel again. Even though, he had to admit, he was beginning to enjoy Scotch’s company. Far more welcoming than the sharply-dressed but poorly-mannered man at least.
Mr. Eye 2.0 seemed to be acting as if Nat was no longer there, as he was unimportant to the mission, and Swift acted as if he didn’t exactly want him there, so Nat just turned his attention to the one person who acknowledged him enough to adequately stroke his already oversized ego.
“Do try not to miss me too terribly,” he told Scotch with a smirk. Then he lowered his voice slightly, “and I must say, no, I do not see you working a boring desk job, heaven forbid, but... has anyone ever told you you have a delightful face for TV? Well, really, a delightful face all around, which automatically makes for a good TV face.”
Scotch cocked her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Oh please, I’m sure you say that to all the pretty people you happen to run into on burning space stations.”
Not that she couldn’t appreciate a good compliment, especially one delivered with such charm. “I have to admit though, it does sound very nice coming from the famous Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli.” She made sure to roll the name off her tongue, holding his gaze as she tried to figure out if he was being even remotely serious.
He wasn’t being serious, right? The thought of her face on some screen was ridiculous, and strange, and… somewhat thrilling, to be honest.
It also went against several of her core principles – quite a feat, considering she didn’t have all that many – so that was too bad. Couldn’t exactly keep a low profile when your face was out there on a show watched by thousands of people. And faces were a lot more expensive to change than names. “Unluckily for you, I’m a selfish person. There’s no way I’ll share a face this good with the world.”
She paused, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’d be happy to let you look at it some more though.”
Nat enjoyed the way his name sounded when she spoke it. Even more so since she did not add that dreadful "au" in it, like his Noblus friends insisted on doing. "Nathaniel Prescott au Bernoulli." It just did not have the same ring to it. Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli was more than just a name, it was a brand. He didn't go through all the trouble of changing his name, picking out a perfect replacement for it, just to have them ruin it.
He could see it in Scotch's eyes, the uncertainty of whether he'd been serious or not. Normally he loved keeping people guessing, but in this case he didn't even know for sure if they'd get another chance to see each other again.
"That's an interesting offer. Gives me something to look forward to~" He leaned in towards her slightly— enough to be flirty, but not too much. "And as far as what I said earlier goes, I wasn't kidding. So if you're feeling... a little less selfish at any point, do give me a call." He produced a very fancy golden business card from the inside of his jacket, and handed it to her. "Perhaps you've heard, I've been looking for muses for my latest season. But from the sound of it, that's not something that would interest you now, is it?"
He let those words hang in the air. If she'd heard of his show, then certainly she would be aware of the prize awarded to the winner —advertised so heavily that even Nat himself was growing tired of hearing it. He could play back the words in his head forwards, backwards, and in five different languages.
“The winner of Warp & Weave will receive a lifetime supply of Prescott Bernoulli beauty products, ten custom-made and personally fitted outfits by Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli himself, and a cash prize of ten million credits. And may the most inspirational muse, achieve victory!”
Scotch took the business card, eyes lingering for a second on the blurry reflection of her face in the golden surface. So Nat was really trying to recruit her. For his fashion TV show. That...was certainly up there with the strangest surprises this job had thrown at her. Didn’t quite beat long lost Oracle friends and the whole ‘Left Eye Right Eye Black Eye White Eye’ situation though.
At least this surprise didn’t come across as particularly life-threatening. That was a first.
“Fame and a big sparkly prize? Interest me? Don’t know how you’d even get that idea.” She put on her best innocent smile, which lasted for the entirety of two seconds before she broke out into a chuckle. “Listen, I’m very set in my selfish ways, so don’t get your hopes up too much, but I’ll hold on to this, alright?” She held up the business card, waving it in the air a little bit, and then it was gone, having disappeared into her jacket sleeve. A neat little trick from her pickpocketing days.
“Won’t be able to call you if you get your head blown off by Blinders though. I hate to admit it, but Swifty’s right: Juno’s a lot of trouble right now.” Not that she was about to stop him. Nat was a big boy; he could make his own stupid decisions. “So...try not to die, alright? Us fun people are in such short supply already.”
"Could that perhaps be a hint of worry, Miss Scotch, on my behalf? I'll have to be extra careful, just for you. It's not in my nature to disappoint~" he gave her a wink. "I do hope we share the pleasure of seeing each other again."
And with that, without giving her a chance to reply, Nat disappeared. He could've just walked away, of course, but where was the dramatic flair in that? This made things far more interesting. Of course, he didn't actually know the area very well, so he re-appeared behind some crates, not too far from where he'd left, but Scotch and the others didn't need to know that. Confidence rekindled, and a wide smile on his face, he set off to find this "Afterlife," daydreaming about flirtations with a certain lady along the way. Nigel didn't cross his mind again for a while.
Last edited:
Bang Bang
what can I say except
To:
Squared
RE: BOY
Location: Afterlife
Bureau Notes: I believe I am highly overdue in delivering to you the chance for a dramatic (glitter filled) entrance? Allow me to Lannister this bullshit.
LORE| CHARACTERS
Classified
Things up in the 'not so wonderful' situation of Afterlife were... uh... not so wonderful. Boy was still highly confident that they would not only get out of this alive but also have maneuvered the situation in such a way that it would benefit future endeavors but, perhaps, maybe, possibly, they were having a few minor doubts about the staying alive part of that outcome. They were, after all, not actually a god; they could only anticipate so much.
A fucking spaceship crashing into Afterlife was not something Boy's feeble mind had been capable of expecting. That had really been something of a curve ball; Thanks universe. No, really, thank you.
When a great hulking mass of a spaceship had ripped through the west walls and scraped to a halt by colliding with the central pillar, i.e. the bar, i.e. destroying the booze supplies in the process, the atmosphere containment projection shields had just managed to kick in to stop them all suffocating to death, but they did now have a literal hole in the side of the establishment. The lights had been knocked out, the alert systems were screaming bloody murder at them all, and to top it all off, the sprinklers had decided to kick in despite the lack of fire.
A soaked, highly disgruntled Boy was now outside Afterlife, crouched down behind the blockade of blue projection shields they'd scavenged to set up a kind of blockade, trying to work out how to not die. The shields could only last so long under fire, but remaining inside the club had proved unfeasible - whatever the hell the crashed object was had started hissing out vaporized fuel and choking them all to death. Either side of Boy, those who knew how to use a gun were similarly taking refuge, farming down the poorly sheltered canon fodder of The Blinders, but all keenly aware that their shields were on the point of negation.
So, in short, Boy was getting shot at from the left, and poisoned by UFOs on the right. Not to mention they had no idea what was inside said UFO, be it an attack from Citadel forces or actual aliens. Personally, they could maybe forgive them if it was the latter, but if the former, they and the rest of their gang were royally fucked.
To the left, the dregs of the Blinders were showing signs of cracking, which was promising. The front troops were the human and recent android recruits playing as canon fodder, taking shelter behind raided furniture they'd dragged up from Doru. Shion was home only to afterlife and the long corridor leading up to it, along with the overhead walkway used for maintenance staff. Thankfully, Boy's people had removed the access ladder to said walkway, else they'd be getting assaulted left right and above. Behind the canon fodder, however some of the leaders of the Blinders were equipped with the heavy duty shit, the modern day equivalent of ye ol' canons, the kind of thing that was causing the projected shields to start paling after just five shots.
Via ear comm units, they were yelling back rapid reports to the leaders dwelling down in Nezumi, and between that, ordering their troops to step it up. Said troops looked less than happy with the situation, given their appalling shelter and the fact that they were dropping like flies, but with said plasma turrets set up behind them, they were deterred from any sort of protest or surrender. If Boy could just figure out how to get to the commanders, who also were protected by a projected shield separating them from everything in front of them...
Bang Bang
what can I say except
To:
ReverseTex
Cosmic_Chaos
Sir Galahad II
s e v e n
NUSKI
KnightSergeant
Noivian
RE: ZERA
Location: Counsel Hall
Bureau Notes: Mama Dictator sicker than Overlord Dictator right now
LORE | CHARACTERS
Classified
"The duck has arrived?"
"Yes, Emperor. Everything you ordered is ready."
"Excellent. It would not do for the Emperor to throw a sub-par dinner party."
"Yes, Sir. Will that be all?"
Dismissing the early morning Slav reporting form the Palace Kitchens, Zera withdrew her medication from the dresser she had swiftly stuffed it in upon interruption, and resumed her obligations. Sleeve of her jacket rolled up, she pressed the needle of the injector to her forearm, beneath the upper band she'd tied to it, and forced the thing in. She'd be fine with it if it didn't make her so dizzy, surely placebo effect for no drug could take a hold so quickly. The next hour, however, was as usual spent huddled over a toilet, shaking and vomiting. And supposedly these were the best drugs their civilisation had.
By the time the rest of the world was beginning to awaken, Zera was stoic and grim as ever, if not more so. The past few days had brought in troublesome reports. The Shadow District supplied rumours of an attack upcoming on the agency, an attack upcoming on the palace, an attack up coming on the markets. Forces had been obliged to spread themselves thin to manage all the threats, and with the Imperial Fleet and the au Augustus private army half way across deep space, backup was no longer an option.
More over, Anthony au Defrel had been killed, and it had taken Hera nearly two days to realize it was Jamie au Olver responsible. The Hera situation was not improving, despite Zera's orders to remove all but the bare necessities of energy expenditure from maintaining the Shadow District systems. Was she to tell the Counsel this? At present, she was undecided. Likely not. She'd wait until she'd named her heir, and then inform them; no need to cause panic, especially among the Empire's best investors.
The first to arrive at the meeting for the morning, Zera took her seat and tried not to look tired. She felt it, felt it to the extend of experiencing a strange, dull ache in her bones, and a constant fog now clouded her head like an oppressive weight. Her face, for the most part, showed none of it. As the first few dregs of her Counselors slipped in, she said nothing, not even acknowledging them as she worked on her holopad. She sent the morning's due confirmation of orders to the upper chain of command of the Imperial Fleet, and showed not once any sign that she was ordering the mass destruction of the armies of those around her. It was their long due payment for having the audacity not to donate them to the Imperial Fleet by their own volition.
When all were gathered - and the unusual somber mood made no room for playful banter like that of their first - Zera stood. The motion sent the room into a spin, but she merely stood and endured until the dizziness had passed. Her time alone, not demanded by a family or grieving loved ones, had been dedicated to the sole occupation of teaching herself how to mask her body's betrayals to perfection. "I trust," she began. "I shall see you all tomorrow evening, despite the nonsensical rumors that a terror attack is planned for us all?"
Circling the long table, she ran her hand along the backs of every member's seat, slow and purposeful as she made the loop. "I confess, I find myself surprised." At the opposite end of the table, she turned to look at them all. "I never knew you were all quite so incompetent. Not only have you failed to suppress this idiocy in the Shadow District - where I know you all hold sway - but you have all failed to do anything even mildly impressive, aside from ruin your bad looks. Although, I suppose it is owed to one among us that an effort has at least been made. But, there's value in ideas as well as action. Tell me: How do you all propose we should solve this issue of unrest in the Empire? How should be quash the rebellion of mere androids that has now devastated Juno?"
Squared
What even is gender
Character Profile | Lore
Location: Juno, Afterlife
Tagging: Boy
Bang Bang
Mentions: -
OOC: HAVEYOUSEENMYSON
Location: Juno, Afterlife
Tagging: Boy
Bang Bang
Mentions: -
OOC: HAVEYOUSEENMYSON
Richard
Two hours, seven minutes, and fifteen seconds. That was how long Nathaniel had been gone for. Richard paced about, so much that he was sure he’d soon start digging a hole on the floor. Over two hours without contact was not unusual for the boy —Richard was aware that Nathaniel was a grown man but to him he would always be that boy he helped raise— but two hours without any camera feed? When he was supposed to be filming his show’s new season? Something simply had to be wrong.
Unless of course, he tried to reassure himself, he just decided to abandon the regular cameras, and record using his other method. Which he doesn’t prefer but perhaps if he ran into people who were not so fond of cameras…
That thought did little to calm Richard’s nerves. And the worst thing was, he could not get a read on Nathaniel’s vitals. He always monitored them on his holo-pad, but for some reason connection was currently lost. He didn’t even know if the boy’s heart was still beating. What if he had overdone it again with his magic and passed out? He was all alone down there, and had no way of contacting the ship. What if he got ambushed? What if anti-Noblus extremists attacked him? The possibilities were endless; if Richard could sweat, he’d be wiping droplets off his brow.
“Don’t you dare come get me if I don’t ask you to, if Stella has even a dent on her when I return I will literally scream.” Those had been the boy’s words; reckless as always. Richard was not quite sure why he had agreed to that. Come to think of it, he hadn’t, but it was not as if he had a choice in the matter. Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli owned him after all.
“To hell with orders and instructions,” Richard muttered to himself and grabbed his jacket.
“Uh, what are you doing?” Jean looked over her shoulder, pausing her video game.
“I am going to go and check that Nath— Mr. Bernoulli, has not yet managed to get himself killed.”
“Dude, chill, he probably saw someone hot and got sidetracked, as always. Stop being such a dad,” she said, turning away and resuming her game, shooting two aliens right in the head simultaneously.
“I am most certainly not being a ‘dad.’ And anyway, what would you rather have me do? Join you on that… that useless thing you are playing? What is even the point? You are just pressing buttons! I swear, kids these days—”
Jean waved a hand at him, killing an alien with the other, without even looking at the screen. “I rest my case. Oh but, since you are determined to do this, don’t even think about taking Stella anywhere near Juno, take a pod or something. Seriously boss is gonna freak if we as much as scratch his precious ship. Remember that one time when Val accidentally spilt wine on the carpet? I can literally still hear the high pitched yell when he saw it and then the whining, god, the whining. So yeah. Spare us.”
“No, that memory is no longer stored in my data banks, I make sure to delete traumatic experiences. I particularly do not remember the part where he had me fly to another planet and back to replace the carpet within the same day, because he wanted a specific shade of a specific colour that was not available in the Citadel, all because he had guests over that very evening.” Richard replied, deadpan expression.
That got a loud, snorting laugh out of Jean. She pointed to a bag hanging from a chair. “Oh yeah you should probably take that with you, he forgot his glitter again. And his outfit cleaner, I imagine he’ll be needing that since I don’t think he actually brought any other outfits down there with him. Shocking, really.” She gave Richard a wave, without looking away from the screen. “Have fun, dad.”
And so, mumbling “I am not a dad” under his breath, Richard took the pod, the smaller craft attached to the side of Stella, and set off to land on Juno and find Nathaniel.
Well, the whole landing on Juno did not go as smoothly as planned, but Richard did end up on the station, so all in all it was not a complete failure. He’d had to go through a meteor storm to get there, and the pod was not exactly built to withstand something like that, so he ended up sustaining a great deal of damage, and before he knew it, down he’d gone. Not that Richard had been hurt by the crash, but he was not looking forward to the conversation he’d need to have with Nathaniel, explaining that they would need a new pod for Stella.
The situation on Juno looked worse than he’d imagined. There was the sound of gunfire in the streets, as well as distant screams. He coughed, out of habit, since his lungs did not actually require air, and pushed the wreckage of his ship off him. Thankfully, though dusted, his suit had not gotten torn —the airbags had done their job. His poor suit did however get soaked; the sprinklers were working in —was this some sort of bar? The breathing conditions in there were less than ideal too, though again, not a problem to him.
Richard scanned the area, trying to determine where the exit lay. Not hard to find, considering that was where the sound of gunfire came from. He grabbed a piece of his pod, a large one, far too large and heavy for any human to lift, and held it up as a shield, before making his way out.
“Greetings gentlemen,” he spoke to the group of strangers taking cover behind some fast-depleting shields. “I am searching for someone, perhaps you have seen him? Maybe we can help each other.”
Unless of course, he tried to reassure himself, he just decided to abandon the regular cameras, and record using his other method. Which he doesn’t prefer but perhaps if he ran into people who were not so fond of cameras…
That thought did little to calm Richard’s nerves. And the worst thing was, he could not get a read on Nathaniel’s vitals. He always monitored them on his holo-pad, but for some reason connection was currently lost. He didn’t even know if the boy’s heart was still beating. What if he had overdone it again with his magic and passed out? He was all alone down there, and had no way of contacting the ship. What if he got ambushed? What if anti-Noblus extremists attacked him? The possibilities were endless; if Richard could sweat, he’d be wiping droplets off his brow.
“Don’t you dare come get me if I don’t ask you to, if Stella has even a dent on her when I return I will literally scream.” Those had been the boy’s words; reckless as always. Richard was not quite sure why he had agreed to that. Come to think of it, he hadn’t, but it was not as if he had a choice in the matter. Nathaniel Prescott Bernoulli owned him after all.
“To hell with orders and instructions,” Richard muttered to himself and grabbed his jacket.
“Uh, what are you doing?” Jean looked over her shoulder, pausing her video game.
“I am going to go and check that Nath— Mr. Bernoulli, has not yet managed to get himself killed.”
“Dude, chill, he probably saw someone hot and got sidetracked, as always. Stop being such a dad,” she said, turning away and resuming her game, shooting two aliens right in the head simultaneously.
“I am most certainly not being a ‘dad.’ And anyway, what would you rather have me do? Join you on that… that useless thing you are playing? What is even the point? You are just pressing buttons! I swear, kids these days—”
Jean waved a hand at him, killing an alien with the other, without even looking at the screen. “I rest my case. Oh but, since you are determined to do this, don’t even think about taking Stella anywhere near Juno, take a pod or something. Seriously boss is gonna freak if we as much as scratch his precious ship. Remember that one time when Val accidentally spilt wine on the carpet? I can literally still hear the high pitched yell when he saw it and then the whining, god, the whining. So yeah. Spare us.”
“No, that memory is no longer stored in my data banks, I make sure to delete traumatic experiences. I particularly do not remember the part where he had me fly to another planet and back to replace the carpet within the same day, because he wanted a specific shade of a specific colour that was not available in the Citadel, all because he had guests over that very evening.” Richard replied, deadpan expression.
That got a loud, snorting laugh out of Jean. She pointed to a bag hanging from a chair. “Oh yeah you should probably take that with you, he forgot his glitter again. And his outfit cleaner, I imagine he’ll be needing that since I don’t think he actually brought any other outfits down there with him. Shocking, really.” She gave Richard a wave, without looking away from the screen. “Have fun, dad.”
And so, mumbling “I am not a dad” under his breath, Richard took the pod, the smaller craft attached to the side of Stella, and set off to land on Juno and find Nathaniel.
__________
Well, the whole landing on Juno did not go as smoothly as planned, but Richard did end up on the station, so all in all it was not a complete failure. He’d had to go through a meteor storm to get there, and the pod was not exactly built to withstand something like that, so he ended up sustaining a great deal of damage, and before he knew it, down he’d gone. Not that Richard had been hurt by the crash, but he was not looking forward to the conversation he’d need to have with Nathaniel, explaining that they would need a new pod for Stella.
The situation on Juno looked worse than he’d imagined. There was the sound of gunfire in the streets, as well as distant screams. He coughed, out of habit, since his lungs did not actually require air, and pushed the wreckage of his ship off him. Thankfully, though dusted, his suit had not gotten torn —the airbags had done their job. His poor suit did however get soaked; the sprinklers were working in —was this some sort of bar? The breathing conditions in there were less than ideal too, though again, not a problem to him.
Richard scanned the area, trying to determine where the exit lay. Not hard to find, considering that was where the sound of gunfire came from. He grabbed a piece of his pod, a large one, far too large and heavy for any human to lift, and held it up as a shield, before making his way out.
“Greetings gentlemen,” he spoke to the group of strangers taking cover behind some fast-depleting shields. “I am searching for someone, perhaps you have seen him? Maybe we can help each other.”
ReverseTex
Old Timer
Tagging: Overlord
Bang Bang
| Mentions: -
OOC: Satan being less Satan
J A M I E O L V E R
Council meetings rarely intrigued the man, the constant strained formality made his innards irk... But, today had a new perspective upon itself. With the new realization that in fact, he wasn't as smart as he had once thought he was, paying attention seemed more fitting. If he wanted to truly thrive in this world, information was key. And he knew that, but now it was as if he finally understood his capabilities. Staying silent was always the best option...
Jamie sat eerily still, one arm on the armrest, the other in his lap. The newly damaged side of his face stood still, his now glassy white eye scanning the Council blindly, while his pristine side stayed chillingly still. This new version of himself held more danger than ever before... He wasn't going to show his hand, or even tease it. That would be a bad investment, and the man hated bad investments.
After Zera finished her dump of disappointment upon the Council, as she usually did these days, she sauntered to her seat. That woman always found satisfaction battering her advisers, which was, a bad investment. Straightening his back, he waited momentarily for anyone to speak up, and nobody stepping to the job. For years he had been the first, and his desire to be last most likely wouldn't happen today. So, he cleared his throat, and placed both hands cupped upon the table.
"Your Excellence, I must be frank at this time, it is both my job and my duty to this empire... As you upbraid us for our incompetence, you have utterly ignored your own. Nobody is perfect i'm afraid." Flashing the mutilated side of his face to her, he continued. "Juno is a valued aspect to our empire, it holds a good section of ports, as well as many lucrative establishments... But, there is a high crime rate, as well as the uprising of gang rebellion, as well as a plethora of infamous criminals. Boy, Nigel, and Lancelot to name a few, if you have forgotten. With the framework established; here is my suggestion to you. Let Juno destroy itself. By allowing the station to erupt in utter chaos, we as a government can climb the ladder, and patiently wait it out. We have more manpower, resources, and weaponry to eliminate the surviving threats upon the station. It is more cost effective, as well as strategically a better maneuver to wait, and pick the ashes of civil unrest."
Jamie paused, allowing his words to mull over with everyone in the room, before continuing. "Your fault your Excellence, is that you were so preoccupied with the matters upon the Citadel, that you didn't even think to ask or even try to analyse Juno."
Removing a small holographic display pad from his breast pocket, he quickly tapped a few buttons. Immediately a feed from a camera, most likely resembling one of a eye modification began to play. The scene unfolding was quite odd, a tall bearded man in a suit stood alongside a oddity of others. One was ginormous with tailored suit, another was skinny and suited, a darker female, and a man missing a leg. A robot was hovering above them all, audibly relaying the rebels plan to disband The Blinders, as well as insisting it was Boy... Like he said, information was never a bad investment... Jamie faced the Council, no smug like before, instead his face stayed as cold as ever. "I have many sources of intel spread across the empire, and this one clip supports my claim. Now members, please suggest your opinions, but we all know our three motives sitting in this chair. What will give us power, what will save us time and money, and what will be most effective. My framework accomplishes all three, like me or not, I catered to every member's desires... A business I have experience in."
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