The RP 2: The RP

Page 1 of 2 1, 2  Next

View previous topic View next topic Go down

The RP 2: The RP

Post  Lynkzero13 on Sun Jun 24, 2012 7:46 pm

Courtesy of Thunder:


"...Sorry, but I'm gonna have to say 'no' too." Raspberyl interjected at long last.

On the one hand, Ashur's plan did seem like it could turn out to be the most pragmatic solution; it seemed to be the most pragmatic one, if nothing else. At the same time, however, to have that much blood on her hands...to simply tell fifty-thousand people they needed to die when another solution had already presented itself just seemed so wrong to her. Maybe Sixes' plan wouldn't work. Maybe this really was the only way. Maybe she was just being selfish and overly-optimistic, but she had to try.

Some people wouldn't be able to be saved in time if Sixes' plan were put into action. She'd assumed that would be the case. No one could be everywhere at once; no one except a god, she supposed. But while the time Sixes' methods would take wasn't ideal, she knew she'd never be able to force herself to help someone kill fifty-thousand people; fifty-thousand people who might be able to help set things right.

There was more to it than that, though. May and Lucas were both downright enraged by Ashur's words, particularly when it came to him admitting to have framed Sixes for his own crimes. She couldn't really blame them. After all, Lucas had made it sound as though he had been reduced to the Troper's plaything, and May had just realized she'd been manipulated into sabotaging the solution of an innocent woman. Maybe she was being selfish. Maybe she wasn't looking at the big picture. Maybe Ashur's way really was their best option. But for the time being, she wasn't willing to go along with it.

"I'm not going to help you kill all those people without trying something else first." Raspberyl continued, her eyes narrowing sternly as May implored the others to rethink their decision. "If there really isn't any other way, then fine; but until I know for sure, I won't be part of this. I trust May, and I at least trust Sixes more than I trust you; and if they say you're bad news, then I believe them." she concluded sharply, briefly pausing to give Jenny a shocked glance as the latter showed a somewhat-unexpected stance on 'organics'. Was that how she saw all of them, too? As 'organics' who simply weren't made to rule like a robot was? Who did she think she had to thank for being built?

After a moment's pause, Ashur sighed once more, casting his eyes toward the sea of rooftops above him for what may have seemed like quite a while before addressing the group once more.

"In that case, to those of you who have agreed to help restore balance and order to the Multiverse, I appreciate your assistance. I'm sending you to where I'll be arriving in just a few minutes. See you soon." Ashur said, and with a wave of his hand, those who had pledged themselves to his cause vanished into thin air, leaving only the dissenters floating with him above the enormous expanse of city.

"To answer your question..." he continued, now turning his head to address Vezon. "I'm not going to do anything about your 'rebellion'. Frankly, I'm astounded at your allies' patience if they still count you among their number after just these last few minutes. You should be more worried about them leaving you by the side of a road than about me doing anything to you. Frankly, Vezon, you're a problem below my chair's pay-grade. As for the rest of you...I understand your concerns, and have already accounted for them. I understand the reasons you don't see eye-to-eye with me, and I hope you'll understand that I can't allow that to deter me. You may be the gatekeepers to a new era of balance and prosperity, but I can just as easily smash down the gate if you won't open it for me."

Taking one more deep breath, his voice having never risen above a calm and even pitch, Ashurbanipal crossed one leg casually over the other, resting his hands on both of his chair's arm rests. As idly as if he'd just noticed a fly perched on one of the nonexistent walls, he spied Aki standing awkwardly at the back of the group, trying her best to blend into the small crowd. It occurred to him that she hadn't spoken her mind, but the nervous glances she continuously offered the pink-haired girl made it obvious which pile she'd uneasily place her chip in once they were down. A shame, really. Based on what #666's report had detailed, and assuming she was who he suspected she was, she had every reason to take his side over this Dr. Langley's.

"So I'm not going to stop you." Ashur chuckled, a confident smile playing at his lips for the first time.

"...Because my city will."

He drops them.




"Twenty-seven...twenty-eight...damn."

Within the confines of the Bloodhounds' enormous spacecraft, wedged between tons-upon-tons of steel and piping and cables connecting to who-knows-what, one small and crisply-tidy room had rearranged itself into what could only be described as a black hole of boredom. Trope-tan #666 had begun this delicate and highly-specialized conversion approximately twenty-four hours prior, during the second day of her return to incarceration, by feeding the habit she regrettably shared with her siblings: Record-keeping. Her memory was by no means perfect, obviously enough, but a quick scribing of what little of the ship’s layout she could remember might provide enough information for the makings of a mostly-reliable map should she manage to escape. If nothing else, it would make retracing her steps to the exit much more feasible in the event of an escape attempt.

The only problem with this plan was that, in addition to Sixes' memory being far from perfect, her notes seemed to have developed the uncanny habit of deleting themselves almost immediately after she’d finished typing them out; sometimes entire paragraphs at a time, while other times the individual letters occasionally evacuated their sentences altogether, bouncing about the document before simply vanishing like all the rest. It hadn’t taken Sixes long to realize that someone aboard the ship had wormed their way into her computer via remote access, though it was only after a rather heated and fruitless typing battle that a furious Sixes finally accepted that she had lost that battle, though what stung the most was the realization that it had taken her a good three hours to finally admit that there just wasn’t anything she could do about it.

The rest of her time had been largely spent attempting to sleep or secretly wishing she’d had something to read. Her room had clearly once been some sort of residential quarters, as evidenced by the desk and lamp, the adjoining bathroom, and the surprisingly-comfortable bed, upon which she currently reclined, sans-shoes. One entire wall of the main room was missing, though the ship’s owners had been kind enough to replace it with a set of sturdy steel bars, which Sixes found quite impossible to remove now that her weapons had been confiscated.

The walls were a sort of cheery off-white with twenty-eight places (in her boredom, she’d hoped for thirty) where the ceiling’s paint was chipped, complimenting the rich, chestnut floorboards in a way which conveyed warmth only slightly-diluted by the bars, the sign directly beyond her prison labeling the room as the 'brig', and the conspicuous and shameful stain on the carpet just outside; likely someone’s coffee, by the look of it. Coffee sounded like a fine plan, but it hadn’t been provided. Not that Sixes had expected it to be, of course, but one can’t help but yearn for life’s simple pleasures when separated from them.

She recalled Langley had always fancied one particular gourmet brand that had come with a machine she’d replaced an older, faultier one with in the lab, and from then on they’d always had some in the cupboard just above the machine and one to the right, just slightly higher than eye-level. It had been expensive enough that he’d never have bought normally, just on principle, but Sixes knew he liked it, and funding wasn’t enough of an issue that adding some extra coffee to the budget would break the bank.

That had been good coffee. Her sisters made terrible coffee; most did, anyway. Their taste in décor sucked, too. As plain as white-on-brown was, it was leagues better than ‘’everything’’ being a blinding orange-and-blue mishmash.

Speaking of a certain ex-confidante, Sixes' eyes darted over to the bars at the sound of echoing doors and approaching footsteps, giving her cause to quickly retake her footing and slip her shoes back on just before Langley appeared from beyond the adjoining hallway.

"How gracious of you to drop by, James." Sixes snapped irritably, crossing her arms scornfully over her chest. Being held against her will had been bad enough, but she’d known what was going on under her sisters' watchful supervision. Langley hadn't told her anything, and the few patrolling guards she saw walk by never responded to her demands for information. All she knew was that quite a few of her sisters were here in some shape or form, though what Langley's eventual plan entailed still eluded her.

"It is, isn't it? Almost as gracious as that time you tried to kill me. Twice. How's life?"

"Oh, ya know...Experiment went to shit, got thrown in prison for trying to save everyone, get to watch the Multiverse fall on its car keys a few thousand times a day while my sisters sit on their thumbs. All the good stuff. Real nice of you to stir things up by deciding to kill all of us. How's being alive again treating you? Wanna tell me what that's all about?"

"Taking out your sisters' thumbs. Maybe a little bit of payback, if I'm being completely honest, you didn't exactly make yourselves sympathetic. Mostly the thumbs. I could explain, but it's all very complicated. There are a lot of big science words in there. Are you sure you'll understand?"

Sixes smirked, recognizing James' sarcasm instantly. For a moment there, he'd almost sounded like himself again; no, not almost. He did. It was almost like he'd never changed; almost. "Gee whiz, I don't know, James. I think you'd better sound all those big words out so I can keep up."

"I'll try my best for you. Okay, we both know how good your sisters are at their jobs. We've both seen the kind of shit they let slide firsthand, and you just spent the last four years in prison for trying to make them stop. I've found a way to re-organize their power. Make it something that isnt going to just sit there and ignore everything that happens to the multiverse."

"And I take it the part of this you're about to tell me is the one that's going to make it all suddenly stop sounding like exactly what I want to hear."

"Something like that, yeah. To make it work we need get a full biodata sequence, and for that we need more or less all of you. Almost, but not quite. We could afford to make a few exceptions and still get a usable sequence, but not many. There's only enough wiggle room for a select few. A few of the ones who've at least tried. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

Langley saw Sixes' expression wither. Not sour; 'sour' would mean she was irritated, angered or disgusted. Even when you hate your family - despise them and want to throw their bullshit right back in their faces - you still love them.

"...I can't, James. Damn it, if it were anyone else, I'd...Just give me some time to see if my plan works, please. If I can put it into action - and with your help, I can - I know it's going to work. The change it brings might be long-term change, but I knew what I was doing, and I still do. We don't need to kill them. Maybe we could find a way to just take away their power without taking their full sequence, and see how my results go in the meantime. I'd give up my powers too, for what good it would do."

"You know there's no way it can work like that, Sixes. We're not the Houses. We just don't have that kind of technology, and we don't have the resources to convince enough of your sisters to help us. Not enough to make any difference on a sane timescale. This is a final solution, both long term and immediate, but there have to be sacrifices. I know it's a huge one, just... please."

A long, almost suffocating silence. Neither knew quite what to say. Finally, Sixes just sadly shook her head.

"Okay." Langley murmured glumly. "I'm not going to pretend I don't understand. We've both seen what happens when races start falling apart, I'll make sure we take you before things get like that. I want to try and keep the pain to a minimum. Both kinds. I dont know if that helps."

As he turned to awkwardly shuffle his way out, Sixes suddenly spoke up again, her voice even lower than before.

"...I wasn't all there back in the City; near the end. Merging with the Troper made me it tough to even process what was going on around me, and when I found out about Aki, I just...I barely even remember any of it."
James stared at his old friend once again, obviously not enjoying the prospect of mulling this over.

"I can't really blame you for that. I think I would have done the same thing, it's just...Urgh. I wasn't all there either. I know that's a shitty excuse, but I just wasn't."

With little else either felt they could say about the matter, Langley offered one more piece of bad news. He must have figured she deserved to know everything, Sixes decided.

"I went to talk with your group today, tell them what they deserved to know. Aki was there. You noticed her too, right? She's grown up, but...y'know. It's the eyes. I dont think anyone else in the world has eyes like those. She couldn't make herself look at me, and when things went wrong she couldn't shoot me. You could see her trying to make herself. You never really got to know her, but she does this thing when she's trying to do something like that, where she kind of tries to bite her bottom lip and then gives up. It's adorable in the worst way.

Nathan's daughter's in the infirmary because of what happened, and all I can think about is Aki's lip. I don't want to think about what kind of person that makes me."

"What'd you tell them? And Nathan's...sorry, who was that again? Was his daughter the one you were getting cozy with before? What'd she do to end up in the infirmary?"

"Oh, right. I figured you'd have hacked your way into knowing everything like that. Nathan's this detachment's CO. His daughter's... not his real daughter. She's not who I was with before, either. That was someone else. Anyway, all I told them was what I told you, they just weren't as understanding. I had to explain all the big science words. They think I'm going to blow up the multiverse, or make everyone into nazis, or something. We ended up getting shot at, Ghe- one of the other commandos had to kill someone. Nathan's daughter got hit all up her arm. She's nineteen. You travel with some very rash people, Sixes."

Sixes swallowed hard, the news that their negotiation had erupted into violence taking her by surprise. She supposed it wasn't that hard to believe, considering some of the people she'd been traveling with, but even so. She'd hoped they could have at least held onto the shaky truce they'd had before.

"Son of a...who died? Nineteen, though? What was she doing out there, James?"

"She was doing her job, Sixes, she volunteered. She always volunteers. This kind of thing isn't new to her. Nathan let me have a look at her file a while back. She's from Warsaw, originally, but her last name spells it German. I'll let you work that one out. I don't know who it was they killed, incidentally. This sort of demon-ish guy, with a trenchcoat. You know the type. He was charging at us with a claymore, they had no choice."

"Dante..." Sixes growled, clenching her fists at her sides. Why'd it have to be him? Dante might have had a reckless streak the size of a football field, but he'd actually been an alright guy; and one of the best chances the group had of getting out of Extremus alive, for that matter. Of all the people who had to be killed, why Dante?

After another, equally-awkward silence, Langley apparently decided there wasn't anything more he felt comfortable discussing with his old friend. Sixes had to admit, it was hard watching him like this. She couldn't even say he wasn't the James she'd once considered her most trusted friend and confidante, because for the most part, he hadn't changed a bit. The only thing she couldn't remember seeing back then was this mood. She'd never seen him this low before; this listless. It was as if he barely even cared anymore.

"...I'm sorry, Sixes." James murmured on his way out. "It was...good to see you again, though. I'll...yeah."




And that brings us to what's going on right now. It's taken us a while to get here, but the stage needed to be set. At least we're here now, right? Anyway...

Raspberyl lets out a panicked scream as she plummets, lazy clouds embracing her as she tumbles closer and closer to the sea of rooftops. Just about her, she sees May and Aki, the only two friends she managed to make in Extremus. I have to do something, she realizes, her mind grasping for a spark of inspiration. It doesn't come. She thinks she might be able to fly herself over to her friends; maybe at least catch the two of them. But her wings refuse to lift her, as if gravity itself is laughing at her.

She can see Ashur and the Trope-tans vanish into thin air, leaving no trace of their meeting ground whatsoever. All around her, all she sees besides the others is a twisting cluster of buildings, neon signs, and street corners. It's like the air is turning to concrete, she thinks idly, suddenly finding herself slowly calming down. But this wasn't the time to be calm, she realizes. She needed to act fast. She needs to save May and Aki and...and all those others. What are there names again? There's May and Aki and...

No, no, it doesn't matter what their names are. Raspberyl knows she needs to- 'Raspberyl'? No, no, just 'Beryl'. Her parents wouldn't name her something like that. She's Beryl. Beryl...Beryl what? Just 'Beryl' is fine.

Beryl blinks, finding herself in her room at home, beneath the blankets of her own bed; exactly where she was the night before. She finds it's tough just to keep her eyes open anymore. It's late, after all. Why was she so worried before? It wasn't as though she was in any danger. Must have been a dream. May was perfectly safe in her own bed, she told herself. She must just have her on her mind, she decides. She has plans to meet with her tomorrow.

Just outside Extremus, nestled into a bed that's not hers, in a city she's pretty sure she's lived in her whole life, Beryl Giancana resumes her good night's sleep, ready to continue the life she doesn't even know she's just starting.

The others are starting theirs, too; the ones who were dropped in are, anyway. Ashur's sent them there to keep them out of the way; to make sure they don't stop him from doing what he thinks is right. Funny thing about Ashur's cities, though: They never manage to hold everyone in for very long. And two of the ones he dropped in...have broken out before...

It's only a matter of time...only a matter of time before they get out. Wherever he is...they'll be there...before long...

TO BE CONTINUED...

_________________
The difference between genius and insanity is that a genius has someone to check their work.


afro
avatar
Lynkzero13
Admin

Posts : 53
Join date : 2012-06-21
Location : Florida...ish

View user profile http://thearistocrats.forumotion.com

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  The Bountiful Cock Tree on Thu Jun 28, 2012 10:03 pm

There’s an unconscious misconception about alternate universes, and it’s largely floating around because of the media. The media needs to communicate, and to communicate effectively they need stories. Stories need to be stories, and for stories to be stories they need to have heroes to revolve around, and when you you start structuring the world around heroes a few of the details always going get missed. None of them noble or exciting, none of them even particularly interesting or elegant, but all true details nonetheless.

Because the truth , the real honest to god truth, is that there’s nothing intrinsically special about anyone.

If the entire history of the universe is different, if the circumstances of the last god-knows-how-many years of history have shifted, if the Nazis won the second world war and Pax Americana never happened, then being known to the audience gives you no greater right to exist than any of the other poor bastards that have been denied a place in the timeline. In the grand scheme of things, you’re no more likely to find an alternate universe counterpart to Bruce Willis than you are of his milk man. When history changes, everything changes. By definition.

And let’s be honest here, even if by some fluke the gigantic string of million-to-one chances needed to support Bruce Willis managed to remain intact, would it really be the same Bruce Willis? Every man is a product of circumstance, and his circumstances would be unrecognizable. He’d have been raised in a culture altered in a billion different ways, surrounded from birth by media output and social expectation a million miles removed the ones that made screaming motherfucker at Alan Rickman a profitable career move. He’d have been robbed of all the myriad little experiences that shaped him into whatever sort of man he became in his other form, guided down a path completely unpredictable to anyone outside his new society. If a single human life could be seen as intrinsically worthless, something as nebulous as personality must barely even qualify as a concept.

So goes the rationalist theory. The Hollywood theory dictates that, seeing as Bruce Willis has immediate fan recognition and a contract that qualifies a massive investment for the studio on luxury expense alone, his character can exist basically unchanged in every single alternate goddamn reality the plot needs it to. So there.

Fortunately for his opposition, the Troper is a great fan of Hollywood.




________________________

August 17th, 1987

12.08 PM

One
There’s a city, somewhere in the American Midwest. Like all cities, it grew from a sparse collection of wooden huts and then gradually grew out over landscape, devouring other smaller settlements as it went, until it could be the apex predator of its own special area. Like all cities in this part of the country, it finds itself continually overshadowed by Chicago, the apex predator of a much larger area. Like all cities that aren’t capital cities, it spends the majority of its time hovering between brief notability and a quiet drift back into the background.

Which is to say, the city is entirely normal. Not even notably un-notable, just sort of there. It has no especially famous monuments, no especially famous denizens who didn’t move away, and no especially famous political policies. Its populace go about their lives, eat their food, drive their cars, all without ever considering they might live somewhere notable. Its name appears on television just often enough to rob the occasion of any special notability, but just infrequently enough to avoid it forming a reputation.

Being an entirely normal city, it behaves in an entirely normal way. The population segregate themselves along the borders of their wealth, their race, their political allegiance. The minorities clump themselves together, to avoid the feeling of minority; the majorities just want to live with them comfortably out of sight. And so like all cities – all worthwhile cities – this city eventually found itself with a Chinatown, a streak of foreign culture neatly stretched over a sizeable selection of the ghettoes. Quite a lot of it lacks the common courtesy to be Chinese, but the rest of the city never looks closely enough to care.

In the middle of it all, between the graffiti and the hair salons, between the Asian markets and the fast food outlets, between vandalized fire hydrants and broken glass, there’s a girl picking her way through the streets. A teenager, sporting a subdued style of punk that went out of style almost ten years ago.

As a result of particularly unimaginative parents, her name is Aki. She is not Chinese. As is the case with the majority of teenagers, she doesn't particularly think of herself as anything.

The girl rounds a corner, and almost jumps when she sees a cat glaring at her from behind a cluster of burnt shapes in somebody’s garden. Some poor asshole had tried to plant cherry blossoms here a few months ago, maybe out of the idea that the sight of a great cultural heirloom would bring the community together, but probably because they wanted to show off their fancy trees. It took less than a week for a set of different assholes to set them on fire, and then less than half an hour for the fire department to hose them into nothing but a few very expensive pieces of damp charcoal. As she walks by, quietly transitioning from back-alley to cul-de-sac, her jacket brushes the fencing; the cat runs behind a bush on principle, tail twitching in general distaste.

Fuck you too, cat.
avatar
The Bountiful Cock Tree
Admin

Posts : 30
Join date : 2012-06-22

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Gaunt88 on Fri Jun 29, 2012 10:14 pm

Agatha fell, letting out a scream that was just as much outrage as it was fear. Her long hair flapping behind her like a banner in a gale, she tried to turn, to catch a glimpse of the others. She could see the loose formation of falling bodies, tumbling like leaves, but their own shouted reactions were whipped away by the roaring air. A few seconds later, all she could see was a blur as the slipstream snagged her glasses and ripped them off her face, sending them spinning up and away despite her panicked attempts to catch them.

Breathing hard, the spark forced herself to calm down, desperately forcing panic and vertigo aside to think rationally while there was still time. An icy calm enveloped her, the Spark spinning her mind into high gear... only it was different, not so much icy as warm and comfortable. Like a blanket. It was surprisingly easy to calm down, which should have been worrying in and of itself. Instead, she found herself calmly looking down at the approaching streets. Chances were they weren't about to meet a messy end on the odd black-paved roads - if Ashur had wanted to kill them he could have used a much easier method...

She blinked, confused. Ashur? That was an odd name, where'd she hear that? Wasn't it... no, no, she was sure she'd never met an Ashur. What an odd dream. She sighed and rolled over under her blankets, drifting back to sleep. She had a big day tomorrow, she'd need the rest. Only... no, wait... She frowned as a tiny thrill of alarm shot through her, one hand fumbled at her bedside table. Her fingers found the edge of her glasses, and she smiled in relief. Ah, there they were.




In the early morning gloom, the darkened building seemed to loom over the street, the effect diluted somewhat by the fact that pretty much every building in the district did that. There was just enough light filtering over the horizon to make out the big wooden sign that adorned it upper walls.

Heterodyne Automotives. Family owned and run for 10 years.

It was a re-purposed warehouse. Three big garage doors leading into the main workshop floor, an echoing space filled with the mix of organisation and oily clutter that such places tend to gravitate towards. Wall-racks lined with precise rows of tools, benches with disembowled engines spread across their surface. A bright orange hydrolic lift sat in the centre of the workspace, the bolt-holes on the floor where its two companions had once sat beside it visible on the concrete floor. They'd been sold months ago - the way things were going these days, the shop could only work on one, maybe two jobs at a time.

Things hadn't always been that way, though. The unassuming garage had once been a thriving establishment - it was just a shame that only about half of that business actually involved fixing cars. The storage sheds sitting behind the main building were a silent testament to the garage's heyday. They would have been where the Heterodyne's other family-owned and family-run business was run - the city's biggest cop-shop, with a little gun-running on the side. Those days were long gone, however. The current proprietor had other priorities (Not being arrested every 2 weeks for a start), and had made every effort to make this abundantly clear. Those sheds were long empty now, and hadn't been unlocked in years.

Breaking the cold silence of the empty street, a dull orange sedan pulled into the cracked concrete yard, parking in front of faded "staff only" sign. Breath steaming slightly in the early-morning air, Agatha Heterodyne stepped out and made her way across the yard, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. The heir to the Heterodyne family legacy unlocked the garage office, glancing back out at the quiet street. It was going to be another long day.




Some hours later, the warehouse echoed with a comforting metallic rattle and clang. Now dressed in a set of dark green overalls, Agatha could be seen bent over the engine compartment of a run-down looking Ford. A wisp of hair escaped her ponytail, and the mechanic reached up to brush it aside, adding to the small collection of oily smears smudging her cheeks.


Last edited by Gaunt88 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 11:10 pm; edited 3 times in total (Reason for editing : Timeline shenanigans ho!)
avatar
Gaunt88
User

Posts : 35
Join date : 2012-06-22
Location : Australia

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  lightdarkhero250 on Fri Jun 29, 2012 10:41 pm


Lucas felt slightly strengthened in his resolve as others followed suit, also declining the Troper's offer. He also knew there was more to ask and tell those who'd also had encounters with him, though now was obviously not the time. All he knew was that the girl was right. He shouldn't be apologizing to this man. If he toyed with so many besides him and his friends, he deserved no forgiveness.

This was only futher proven by the Troper's next action. He was going to get rid of those that opposed, as was easily guessible. The young boy was about to respond with a rage he'd never experienced before, even the stronger than what he felt with the man who ruined his world.

"I HATE-"

He never got finish of course, he and the others who resisted were now being dropped into the city below them. He continued to look up as he fell, feeling deep, burning fury at the man who had so much power over them, thinking only of ending the man instead of going splat on the pavement below.

But, that never came. In fact, this was all starting to feel like one big dream. One of those lucid ones. In fact, he couldn't tell why he was angry with the floating man up there to begin with, and then started to worry about more important things. Like, for one, If he was dreaming for this long, it could only mean one thing...

---------------------------

He’d overslept.

That’s the first thing that came to his mind as he quickly darted into the bathroom. After a quick scrub of water, he started to comb out his rough, blonde hair into a suitable puff. While he did this, his eyes scanned an old, grimy newspaper clipping, taped to the edge of a slightly-fractured mirror.

It was the age-old tale, the pulp fiction of his time. A young, country boy moving to the big, bad city to strike it out on his own. Surely a classic story of comedy, drama and slight romance, possibly with a heartfelt moral at the end of it all.

Yeah, he sure wished it was that simple.

But the young teenager, through a year’s time, found it not to be. Living on your own, for one thing, sucked. Especially when your only place of residence is a dirty apartment just a bit bigger than a cheap motel room. Not that he could really complain. If the homely couple never gave it to him for such a small amount of rent, he’d still be on the streets every night, waking up to see what little he had gone before his eyes. And, if not for the same homely couple, he would never have the job he’d have now, which seemed to help him get by, while still being able to save up and enjoy the small things in life.

Due to his job, he didn’t go to school, of course. In fact, he was not even a real citizen of the state. Not that it mattered. While he liked to be told what’s what, he didn’t aspire to be some, smarty-type doctor or businessman or whatever those people who flicked a single nickel or penny in his savings jar were. Not that he didn’t have dreams to be something, of course. You don’t move to the city unless you had something big in mind.

His dream, though a bit childish, was the only thing going slightly above ‘alright’ for him. He wouldn’t call it “big”, like movie star or comedian or whatever was on that broadcasting box every day(He never really owned a television, and in honesty never wanted one. He didn’t know why, TV just never sat right with him.), but it certainly was a big deal to him. The main reason he moved up from the South.

You see, the young boy wanted to become a magician.

Not just a street one either. He wanted to be the kind that would perform those big shows, that sometimes played at the local theater. Real breathtaking stuff, like disappearing in boxes and levitating. Maybe even the more out-there tricks like mind-reading, hypnosis, all that kind of stuff. A real performer.

This all definitely clashed with the sheep herding family business his dad had in mind. So, one night, he wrote a note, picked up his rucksack, put in a couple loaves of bread and his favorite story his mother used to read him and his brother before bed time.

The only problem was he didn’t know where to go. He’d barely ever even looked at a map before. All he knew was that there was some, hot desert place close by, where the sky filled with lights at night, and where people played games and entertained others for big money.

Somehow, he ended up here.

It took him a few days to fully comprehend that no, this was not a desert and no, the entertainment here did not involve magic tricks, but a very different kind of tricks. So different that he would rather much like to forget ever seeing them in the slightest.

In truth, he guessed he should of thought up something better than “Hitchhike up-west.” He really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But still, at least he got somewhere. Which was a lot better than nowhere.

But, enough of that, as he finished grooming himself, placing on his only pair of clothes; a worn-out, striped orange-yellow striped shirt, and a pair of jeans.

Now was not the time to recount mistakes of the past, or fantasies of the future. Now was the time for work. He needed to at least scrounge up enough for supper, after all.

And so, the young boy grabbed his rucksack, exited the apartment and bid adieu to his pseudo-parents, promising to be back before too late, though they already knew he wouldn’t be.

After all, his name was Lucas, and he was a courier. He delivered mail, packages, and all other kinds of parcels. From Chinatown to the boroughs. Of course, the most “discrete” mailing done in this era was at night. But, like a nightlight, he had hope. Even while engulfed in more than a bit of shady dealings. Whether he was in danger or not, or if he ever even realized in the first place. He didn’t know where to go or how to get there, but things always ended up 'alright', even in a place like this.
avatar
lightdarkhero250
User

Posts : 12
Join date : 2012-06-28

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Lynkzero13 on Fri Jun 29, 2012 10:59 pm

And then there was nothin'. Well, that ain't entirely true. There was a whole lot of something, but exactly what it was... well, he sure as hell didn't know. There was a falling sensation, that kind you get sometimes when you go over the top of a hill too fast in a car. Or maybe it was just fast enough. Not that it mattered any. Point was the feeling was there, all around him. Along with a whole heapin' load of nothin' where there used to be somethin'. As the man fell, he thought he saw lights. Before it all went dark, he could've sworn the scene reminded him of Niihama. Except, y'know, without all the water. Before it all went dark, he could've sworn he'd been here before....

Walking the beat, in the early-morning fog, in a city that never sleeps....

He lit up a cigarette and headed off to his first stop of the morning, taking in the atmosphere of the city that made him feel so very much alive.




A man sporting a leather jacket over his light-blue uniform shirt leaned up against a railing, smoking a cigarette. "So where is the boss-man?" He asked, staring into the small fountain on the edge of the park. "I thought he told us to be here at eight? It's ten after already."

"Yeah, he did." Another man, this one wearing a police-issued jacket instead of his associate's generic leather, stood leaned up against a light pole. "Mentioned something about having to make a stop before he got here, though. Probably that doctor of his."

"Again? Shit, man, don't you think it's a little weird that he sees her so frequently? Doesn't he have a girl already?" The man said, flicking his cigarette butt towards a nearby trash can, missing by nearly a foot.

"Lazy..." the other man said, shaking his head. "They're good friends, old war buddies from Vietnam. And you should already know about that knee injury of his; He's still on painkillers thanks to that, and he's gotta get it all somewhere." He pulled a lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

"Just sounds pretty suspicious to me is all I'm say-"

A taller man wearing a tan trench coat rounded the corner of a tall hedge and cut him off, a lit cigar nestled firmly in the corner of his mouth. "Probie, is there a reason you're running your mouth when you should be casing the park?"

"Sir!" The man said, standing upright at attention following a brief flailing jump away from the railing he'd been leaning against, before rushing off around the fountain into the park.

Batou chuckled and grinned. "He doesn't know she's gay, does he?" he said as he walked over to the man leaning up against the light pole. "What've you got for me, Jack?"

"Apparently not," Jack said with a smirk, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen from a pocket inside his jacket and quickly circling a few parts of the notes. "Here's what the other boys have got so far, Chief," he added, handing the pad over for his superior to look at.

"Looks like a murder after a botched robbery attempt," the police chief said after briefly reading over the man's notes. He sighed. It was a wonderful start to a Saturday morning. Even on the weekend they couldn't catch a break. "And your notes say one of the victims survived? Witnesses, suspects?"

Jack started heading down the path around the fountain and waved his hand. "He was taken to the hospital with stab wounds after being left for dead. Come on, I'll show you the scene. And how long were you waiting there, exactly?"

"Twenty minutes," the Chief responded with a smirk, causing Jack to shake his head. "Some of them never catch on."




The large, somewhat-worn-looking blue pickup rounded the last corner, and she could finally see the familiar shop a short distance down the cramped road. The lights were on already, which wasn't at all surprising given the owner of the shop. Just as restless as herself on a good day, that one. She smiled faintly, bringing the truck to a stop next to her friend's sedan. The engine's low roar suddenly died out, and, after pocketing the keys, the driver hopped out, shut the door, and headed on in to the shop. She grabbed her tool belt out of the truck's bed and clipped it on, before swinging open the door.

"Started early again, Agatha?" The orange-haired woman questioned with a grin, rolling up her sleeves to reveal tattoos running the length of her arms. "What do you need help with today?"


Last edited by Lynkzero13 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 4:16 pm; edited 4 times in total

_________________
The difference between genius and insanity is that a genius has someone to check their work.


afro
avatar
Lynkzero13
Admin

Posts : 53
Join date : 2012-06-21
Location : Florida...ish

View user profile http://thearistocrats.forumotion.com

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Cojiro on Fri Jun 29, 2012 11:16 pm

In spite of her exotic name, Hiiragi Natori is very much an American woman.

She retains little from her childhood in Japan. Vague memories of landscapes and faces, an ear for the language, and something her family had brought with them from the country: martial arts. She also has an antique katana, hanging in her bedroom, and a one-eyed mask she keeps tucked away. She'd displayed the mask once, but visitors--almost exclusively her landlord and the plumber--find it unsettling.

Hiiragi unsettles many people, even without the mask.

She is very much an American woman in that she is independent and working in a position traditionally held by men. She carries herself much like a man, her body does not overemphasize its curves, and her sand-colored hair, which doesn't quite touch her shoulders, enforces an appearance of androgyny. Even so, few mistake her for the wrong gender, if given a moment to look and decide.

As on a typical morning, today she dresses in grey pants, a white button-up shirt, a grey tie, and a grey suit-jacket. Sometimes she wears black, but grey helps her to fade into the background where she belongs. The suit is neither cheap nor expensive. Much like the city, Hiiragi is neither notable nor obsucre, but unlike the city she makes a concentrated effort to keep it that way.

The collar of her shirt covers a rough scar which circles her neck. She pulls on a pair of white gloves, and the right one covers a more vividly scarred (but functional) right hand. The scars unsettle people too, when she leaves them exposed. They don't usually notice the neck one right away, but when they do that one seems to disturb them much more.

Methodically, she places her wallet, keys, a pager, and several other items in various pockets the same way she has done for years. The final addition to her arsenal goes on her hip: a pistol, in its holster. Perfectly legal, perfectly necessary, perfectly maintained, and perfectly innocent of harming anyone since... how long has it been, again?

Brushing her bangs aside, Hiiragi turns to her bedroom mirror, making sure that everything is in place. Her grey eyes seem lighter that they really are, in contrast to the suit.

She leaves her apartment without hurry, and, as always, arrives five minutes early to her employer's residence.

She stands outside the door and waits patiently, well-accustomed to her role as bodyguard.
avatar
Cojiro
User

Posts : 21
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : Washington State, United States

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Gaunt88 on Fri Jun 29, 2012 11:36 pm

Agatha had hardly glanced up from the ford as the sound of an engine echoed in from the yard. She chuckled as she recognised the rumble of this particular engine. Ah, she must have a day off today. When her guest appeared at the office door, the mechanic stood and waved, breaking into a friendly grin and making her way over to a nearby counter.

"You know me, Val." She said, smiling wryly as she wiped her hands on rag. "I'd work in my sleep of I could."

As she talked, she grabbed some hanging chains from where they were tethered to a steel beam. Up in the roof, a pulley system rattled. "The transmission's shot on this thing, so I need to get the engine out." She handed the other woman a chain and went around the other side of the Ford's nose. "I could use the extra muscle."

avatar
Gaunt88
User

Posts : 35
Join date : 2012-06-22
Location : Australia

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Ud the Imp on Sat Jun 30, 2012 12:19 am

He silently listened the radio as he drove his Buick through the streets of this city. The current song was American Pie by Don McLean. The song brought him back.....back to his childhood back out West.....his parents and grandparents also hated his taste of music at the time. He was a child of the 60's and 70's, enjoying the songs of the that era. He detested the music of today, either random grunts that sounds sorta like lyrics or talentless wailings about broken hearts, all drowned out by electronic noise. He now felt like his parents did about his own tastes. At least this odd group called Oingo Boingo and this "rap" music showed promise.

He soon parked his car a good distance away from the crime scene. The door opened, and out emerged Detective John Kusagari. Before walking towards the crime scene though, he double checked the back seat, finding the sacred sword of his ancestors, the Sora katana, safely sheathed and sitting safely on the backseat. Not the most glamorous of places for such a weapon, and he almost never used it of course, but it was somehow deterred carjackers, and nice to have around in emergencies. Plus it made him look intimidating the times he did carry it outside the car, if his Clint Eastwood stare was not effective enough. It was also the only thing from his old life he wished to have.......

John walked on, soon meeting up with Batou and two other officers. "Hey there Chief," he greeted his superior. "Anything important about this murder?"


Last edited by Ud the Imp on Sat Jun 30, 2012 1:05 pm; edited 1 time in total
avatar
Ud the Imp
User

Posts : 88
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : Stamford, CT

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Kiri Ame on Sat Jun 30, 2012 12:49 am

As Beryl refused the Troper’s offer, a tiny spark of relief flared inside May, hurling itself outside of the furnace of her emotions for just long enough to make itself noticeable as Ashurbarnipal began to speak again.

Those who had agreed to help him vanished into thin air as he turned to everyone who was left, telling them that he wasn’t about to let their dissent affect him – that his plan would proceed with or without their approval, and with or without their help.

He was smiling.
May only had a moment to wonder just what could have happened to make the Troper smile like that as he chuckled quietly, opening his mouth to speak again as May’s hand automatically drifted towards the Pokeballs at her belt, a mixture of rage and fear beginning to get the better of her as she found herself wishing more than anything that she could stop that horrible, horrible smile-

“I’m not going to stop you… because my City will.”

No no no no NO-

The Pokeball spun into the air just as the floor gave out beneath May’s feet, a strangled cry halfway between terror and fury leaping from her throat as she began to tumble through the sky, eyes focused on the red light as Tessen burst into being a few metres above her Trainer, steely wings unfurling as she tried to gain her bearings. But the steel feathers were locked together, and she couldn’t fly, and oh god she was going to land on top of May, her and her sharp, sharp talons, and the ground was so far away, and she was falling, falling, falling-

May found her eyes squeezing shut as the sky rushed past her face, tearing straight through her as she told herself that she had to do something, anything, because a real Champion wouldn’t die this way… a real Champion wouldn’t let her friends die this way…

But there was a little voice inside May’s head telling her to go to sleep, and her mind obediently began to cloud as she tumbled towards the ground, a breeze gently blowing into her room as she rolled over in her bed, one arm sprawling out across the covers…

What had she been dreaming about? Champion… she’d dreamt that she was a tennis champion, hadn’t she? And that she was falling… falling as she missed her opponent’s winning serve, racket slicing just past the tennis ball as she threw everything she had into one desperate dive, like her life depended on winning the tournament… No wonder her heart was beating so fast.

As May opened her eyes to the dawn sunlight streaming through her window, it took her a good two seconds to notice the grey cockatiel sitting on the pillow.

Tessen ruffled her feathers as her owner looked at her perplexedly, forehead knitting slightly as she wondered just how the bird had gotten out where she was. May’s eyes travelled from the open door of the bird cage to her even more open bedroom window, and with a horrified yelp, she pushed the covers off her bed, springing to her feet. It was dawn, and if both the window and the cage were open, then Saffron might have flown away-

But a closer look at the inside of the cage revealed the orange canary safe and sound, raising her head from beneath one wing as the sunlight slowly reached towards her feathers. With a relieved sigh, May put her hand down on the pillow, turning it into a makeshift perch for Tessen as she transferred the cockatiel back to her cage.

“There you go,” she said, smiling at the two birds as she shut the cage door. They peered at her good-naturedly, Tessen beginning to peck at some grain as May took a look around her room.

Her homework was sitting exactly where she had left it the previous night; half-finished on her small, battered desk, beside a notebook sporting a rather long list titled “Ask Beryl about this.” May’s attempts at studying the previous night had not gone well; frustrated with her lack of progress, she had elected to give up and go to bed early, and had apparently forgotten to lock or cover the bird cage in her eagerness to sleep off her academic deficiencies.

With a quick glance at the alarm clock next to her bed, May sighed. It was early, but she had homework to finish and animals to feed before she could even think of going out, and she wanted to meet up with Beryl and Aki later…

A few minutes later, the reluctant student once again found herself sitting at her desk, pondering the nature of quadratic equations as she tried to ignore the infinitely more interesting world beckoning from outside her window.




Somewhere in one of the city's more uneventful middle-class suburbs, sandwiched between a boutique and a soccer field, there was an animal shelter. It was a comforting place, as most animal shelters make an effort to be, with spacious, comfortable cages for its residents, cheerfully-painted walls and large windows that threw it open to the world outside. There was an apartment nestled on top of the shelter, clean and tasteful enough to be deemed respectable by the discerning residents of the area, while small and simple enough to be affordable on a shelter worker's budget.

May had lived above the shelter ever since she had started elementary school, foisted off on her grandmother - the manager of the shelter - by her parents, both businesspeople who had discovered that caring for a school-aged child while flying around the world on company money was not at all as easy as they had imagined. So, with a good amount of money and apologetic expressions, they had handed their daughter into the care of the elderly Mrs. Summers, who had, for her part, continued her life virtually unchanged. Mrs. Summers was far past the age of retirement, but she still continued working at the animal shelter. She was remarkably healthy for a woman of seventy, and she used what remained of her vigour to keep what she firmly believed was the most orderly animal shelter in the city. She didn't know about anything outside of the city, and she didn't want to know. That was her son's business; she herself was perfectly content doing the same thing she had done for the past fifty years, and grooming her granddaughter to take over when she finally became old enough to reluctantly admit that she really couldn't keep up working forever. She was a creature of habit, Mrs. Summers was, and she couldn't quite trust anyone else - anyone who wasn't family - with the management of her animal shelter.

Right now - just around noon on a clear August day - the shelter was almost empty. Mrs. Summers had disappeared into one of the cages to begin teaching a puppy the joys of sitting on command, leaving her granddaughter to enjoy her weekend. With a wide, sunny smile that seemed to be naturally attached to her face, May found herself throwing open the front door of the shelter, earning a puzzled look from her cat, Rall, as he sat perched on top of the mailbox. Without pausing, the teenager waved to the sleek, white-furred feline, who stared back at her in mild interest as she made her way down the road.

Today was going to be a wonderful day.

_________________
I just feel so confused!
avatar
Kiri Ame
User

Posts : 62
Join date : 2012-06-21
Location : I... I don't know...

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  GameGuru on Sat Jun 30, 2012 2:00 am

It had been easy to shoot down the three gunmen. After all, he was a crack shot at this. He owned a Nintendo after all. He had Hogan's Alley, Wild Gunman, and of course, Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt back at home. So of course, the three 8-bit cowboys in Vs. Wild Gunman didn't stand a chance. He twirled the plastic light gun made to look like an old revolver, satisfied at his score on the machine.

MSM

He entered his initials in the machine. Got the high score, too. However, he got bored of wasting his time at the 7-11. He picked up his skateboard and left. Putting the skateboard on the ground, he began skating down the sidewalk. He had a vehicle of his own like any good-blooded '80s teenager, of course. It was a nice black Toyota Hilux 4X4. He just liked skateboarding from place to place. It's not like he didn't have time to kill.

After all, it was rare for time to be so kind to Marty McFly. His parents had been out of town for the week. His mom was visiting her parents out in California and his dad was on a book tour for his new novel about an eccentric inventor of a time machine, so he had the freedom any 17 year old had with his parents away. He had been able to practice with the band and with school being out, he had time to practice. He had true skill with the guitar, enough that his dad encouraged him trying to become a musician. His father followed his dream to become a science fiction writer and now lives a comfortable life off of his stories, and felt Marty should follow his dream of becoming a rockstar.
avatar
GameGuru
User

Posts : 46
Join date : 2012-06-27

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  lightdarkhero250 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 2:24 am

It had been an hour since he had woken up. He made a few short hand deliveries- a note, cake(Which he would obviously never just keep and eat for himself; he wasn't that kind of guy.) and a small present(which, again he didn't dare tamper with; he had a moral and reputation to uphold y'know.). He usually delivered for businesses and the like, as the boy was sharp on his feet, and blended into the background enough to not stir up trouble. In exchange, he got at least 3-5 bucks an item, all depending on it's size, weight, value, or whatever.

Now there was a big one. Auto parts. He could easily guess where to take these before he even asked for the recipient: Heterodyne Automotives. They were one of the only well-established auto-shops in this area. The biggest problem with these kind of deliveries was carrying them though; it depends on what doo-dad is inside, but a package of parts could either be wide, light and fragile, small, light and fragile, small, heavy and fragile or big, heavy and fragile. The big ones were usually left to other, more able guys though. They usually didn't give him something they knew he couldn't carry or didn't trust him to deliver carefully enough. Even if he was too cautious of things for his own good.

Nevertheless, he took the package, which he was told not to shake or run with, and went off. The warehouse wasn't too far away, obviously. Another reason why they didn't just get someone to deliver by truck or something unless it was really big. He guessed he could call his delivery company a little...old-timey?

He finally reached the garage after some fine, good ol' fashioned American walking. One of the big garage doors was luckily open, so he knew someone must be inside. Luckily because the package was kind of taking up both of his hands. It was the in-between of heavy, small, and fragile, and he could only guess what was inside. He wasn't that big on the know-how of auto parts. In fact, he was practically backwards with any machine they had out here. Except arcades. He was awesome when it came to games.

"M-Miss Heterodyne! Delivery!" The young boy called out as he entered the garage.


Last edited by lightdarkhero250 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 2:51 pm; edited 1 time in total
avatar
lightdarkhero250
User

Posts : 12
Join date : 2012-06-28

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Oni-Lord on Sat Jun 30, 2012 2:52 am

Zidane blinked in confusion as he watched the members of the group that sided with Ashur simply vanish into thin air and leaving the rest of them behind. He was a bit confused why the man left the rest of them there for a few moments. His eyes widened when he realized what was going on a second too late. Suddenly the surface they were standing on stopped existing, causing the group to plummet. The thief found himself falling through the air, facing upwards and watching as Ashur and the Trope-tans quickly got farther and farther away. He slowly turned to look down, watching as the ground grew closer and closer.

He found himself wondering if Ashur was being figurative or literal when he said his city would stop them. This was one of the first times he really wished someone was being figurative. It was starting to look like it was going to be very literal. This couldn't be how things were going to end for him. He went through too much for it to end this pathetically. He had to get back to Garnet. Wait, whose Garnet? He was just thinking about something big he did, but for the life of him he couldn't remember. Zidane rubbed his forehead as he sat up in bed. That was the last time he listened to one of Cinna's stories before heading to bed.




The blond grabbed a slice of bread from above the fridge for his breakfast. He ate it as is as he walked out of the door, still peeved at his old man for somehow breaking the toaster. He pulled his light blue vest jacket over his white T-shirt, shoved the bread in his face, and slammed the door shut behind him as he headed out to the usual place. The familiar sites of run down houses and apartments greeted him as he kept his head down and weaved through the crowd on the sidewalk. The crowds started to thin as he made his way along the streets. At this point Zidane was familiar enough with the roads to know the quickest way there while avoiding the places people warn you to avoid, with good reason.

He made his way to an old, abandoned theater. The old kind of theater, with a stage and all that. It was called the Prima Vista Theater and rumor was the old owner just sort of gave up on it when he noticed that it wasn't exactly in the best location. Now hes moved on to a chain of theaters named after his wife or something. Now, Zidane and his friends used it as a meeting place for when they wanted to hang out or plot some scheme that rarely work. He opened the door and stepped inside, waiting for a couple of seconds as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the building. The power was cut off a long time ago, so usually they just sat in the dark or got some candles if they needed them. He walked inside once he was able to see and made his way to the stage. "Hey guys!" He shouted as he reached the stage and climbed up it. He got no response.

It wasn't unusual for Zidane to get here before the others. He sat and waited for a while, resting his chin in his hand impatiently. After about five or ten minutes he sighed and stood back up. It seemed like no one was showing up today. Something must have come up. With a grumble of annoyance, he hopped down off of the stage and walked through the isles towards the door. He stepped back out into the morning light, squinting and covering his eyes. He raised up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked around. He was going to have to find his own entertainment today. Maybe make a profit while he was at it. The young pick-pocket shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the sidewalk towards the busier parts of the city.

_________________
Hot Stuff Come Get Some!
avatar
Oni-Lord
User

Posts : 24
Join date : 2012-06-21

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Lizard Of Aus on Sat Jun 30, 2012 4:50 am

Vezon awoke to the sound of his own nostrils.

Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, dimly aware of the sounds of the world outside. He saw before him a dingy little room, with cracks and damp spots across the ceiling and walls and a colour scheme that made black-and-white movies look like rainbows. A cabinet sat to the side, with draws that seemed to have unsuccessfully wriggled free in the night, overflowing with discoloured clothes and broken paraphernalia. In the corner, proud and resolute, stood the wardrobe, half open to let the darkness out. Next to that lay the most-likely mildewed wash basin, the fractured mirror above it, and finally, the door, with its' peeling white paint and shining brass doorknob.

None of this seemed any more familiar to Vezon, but then it was hard to tell these days. For instance, just now he had a most bewildering dream. There was something about a familiar name...something-or-other city... something about falling, and of thinking 'Really? Punishment by proxy? Responsibility dodging git. At least it'll be nice to see...' Now that seemed familiar, but it also seemed bizarre. If the rehab clinic had done nothing else, it was teach him that bizarre things are usually not real, and usually down to the blotters. But no more thoughts about them. All those quacks did was waste his time with their stupid conversations and stupid tests and stupidness. He'd heard some folks say the only reason he got out was because of some kind of 'revolving door policy', which was doubly stupid since none of their doors were revolving. It's not like they managed to fix the dreams, and thank goodness they didn't. But it would've been nice if they at least stopped the occasional delusion. Like right now, when he's hallucinating he's covered in some rubbery pale stuff.

Oh, wait, that's his skin. Frikking perception of reality.

With some effort, Vezon forced himself out of bed. His head bobbed about as he cast aside his duvet, and lurched towards the door. Beside the door, he found his little pet project. A long stick of sharpened wood, with some metal scrap wrapped around the top. A few more pieces, and he could have himself a magical spear of power. Hey, can't blame a guy for trying. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand, and looked at the top of his cabinet. On it lay a tissue box, some crumbly nicknacks, and a photo frame of a number of people, including a brawny man with spiky blue hair. Vezon raised the spear above his head, took careful aim, and knocked it clear off the surface. "And the crowd roars!" Vezon chuckled as he set the spear back. Then he was out the door to find the milk...and pray he didn't run into the landlord.

____________________________________________________________________________

An hour or so later, Vezon was strolling down the sidewalk, with a tune in his whistle and a spring in his step that contrasted his somewhat bleak neighbourhood, and his own grim appearance. The young man was an albino, with pale skin, ruffled white hair, but possibly not red eyes, though he'd have to check. His nails were made into imitations of claws by means of a nail clipper, and he was sure he had pointier teeth than most. Today, as with most days, he wore a light grey polo shirt, black trousers, black and grey trainers, and an all black longcoat. A longcoat wasn't exactly a cape, but really, where could you find a half decent cape these days? Vezon rounded a corner, swinging on the streetlamp as he went, and proceeded along to busier, warmer looking streets.
avatar
Lizard Of Aus
User

Posts : 11
Join date : 2012-06-28
Location : An Island Kingdom

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Lynkzero13 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 6:10 am

Batou looked up from surveying the crime scene to see Kusagari had finally arrived. "Kusagari," he said, glancing back down towards the victim. "Took your sweet time getting here, didn't you? Come on. Homicide, from the looks of things. Attempted robbery at knife-point. Led to a struggle, and this bastard got the stiff end of the deal. Scuff marks on his suit, stab wound in his chest. Looks like right through his heart. Jack, I want a details from the other victim if they survive, and an autopsy report if they don't. Probie, keep searching. Kusagari, once they're done with the body, take it to the morgue. We need a report on our man here, since his attacker was ever-so-kind enough to steal his wallet. Once we've got the ID's on both vics, see what you can find out about them. I'm heading back to my office, got some reports I need to file."

As he walked away from the crime scene and towards his Jeep, he added "And Probie, don't smoke while you're collecting samples this time."




Valara grinned as Agatha stood up and greeted her, saying "Never enough hours in the day, are there?" She nodded when Agatha mentioned needing muscle to pull the engine out of the system she was working on, and took firm hold of the pulley chain she was given. "Ready when you are," she said, waiting on Agatha's signal.

_________________
The difference between genius and insanity is that a genius has someone to check their work.


afro
avatar
Lynkzero13
Admin

Posts : 53
Join date : 2012-06-21
Location : Florida...ish

View user profile http://thearistocrats.forumotion.com

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Gaunt88 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 7:30 am

Agatha tugged at the chain looped around the engine block, making sure it was secure, before taking ahold of her chain and nodding to her friend.

"Alright - one, two, three, heave!"

The pulleys rattled as the engine slowly lifted out of its compartment. Once it had cleared the lip, the two women guided the engine away from the car, the pulleys sliding along rails set into the roofing beams. "Alright now, hold it there!" Agatha called out, looping her chain around a hook and quickly moving to push a trolley underneath. Agatha was just returning to her chain when a small voice echoed through the warehouse.

"Oh! Just a minute!" Agatha called out, looking over her shoulder to spot the young courier. Turning back to Val, she signalled to start lowering the engine, only going over to meet the boy at the warehouse door once it was safety settled.

"Ah, excellent. Thank you." She said, taking the package and examining the label - a box of a particular type of headlamp bulbs that she hadn't had in her stocks. She glanced down at the delivery boy, a young blonde kid. He'd delivered a few packages before, she remembered. "Lucas, right? Here." She pulled a battered wallet out of her back pocket and pulled out a few notes, holding them out with a smile. "For your trouble."
avatar
Gaunt88
User

Posts : 35
Join date : 2012-06-22
Location : Australia

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Megafire on Sat Jun 30, 2012 10:45 am

Kanaya had braced herself already. Something was going to happen to her and her companions, she knew. She was a troll, after all, and stabbing one another in the back was part of their society. However, the method Ashur used to get rid of them, she wasn't prepared for.

She was falling, now, and she really didn't want to. That was a curious sensation, because she had had some trouble feeling fear recently, but she could objectively say that falling to the ground from that high up was not going to end well for her. What she felt instead was the familiar feeling of despair. She remembered that sensation clearly ever since he killed her and destroyed the one thing she promised to take care of.

Killed her? Who would have killed her? She wasn't dead, right? She was alive. What else would she be?

Kanaya's eyes widened. Her memories were slipping. She had died! She knew she had died! And then she had returned as a vampire. Rainbow drinker! Vampire was a human term. Human term? What other kind of term would it be? She was human, wasn't she?

No. No! Something was wrong! Something was very wrong. She couldn't... This couldn't be happening. She had an important job to do! Rose had told her... Rose had told her she had a chance. She had a chance.

Rose.




She bolted upright, her eyes wide and panicky. She looked around desperately, before letting out a long sigh and falling back into her bed. A nightmare. How peculiar. She hadn't had one of those in a long while. Her face scrunched up in thought. What had it been about again? Something about dying, a symbol with wings and a particular flower. There had also been something about having an important job to do. Ugh. She preferred it when her dreams made sense. She could remember most of those, too. A few minutes later, her alarm went off, and she got out of bed.

She had a large room, befitting of her family's wealth, and most of the furniture was made out of particularly nice sorts of wood. That would have given her room a very brown look, but she didn't like that very much, so, over the years, she had set to improving it. She had a good taste for colours, and took a particular liking to dark-green and red and sometimes a little violet. As such, the walls and curtains really enriched her room, and it was a pleasure to wake up in every single day.

She stood before her wardrobe, filled mostly with dresses, some of which she had made herself. She picked a nice black and red one and put it on, taking a good look at herself in the full-length mirror. Kanaya had dark skin and even darker hair. Her eyes were a deep jade green and the dress looked very good on her indeed. She liked looking pretty, not so much for anyone else as for herself. After all, if you only pursued style for someone else's sake, then you didn't have it at all.

After she was satisfied with her appearance, Kanaya skipped downstairs to have breakfast with her parents. It would be untrue to say her parents were extremely rich, but they were both rather succesful in their own right. They ran a high-class coffeeshop for the weatlhy part of the city and her mother was a fashion designer on the side. Needless to say, Kanaya took more of an interest in the latter. Then again, 'taking an interest' was what Kanaya did best. She took an interest in people, and in activities, and in subjects.

Kanaya spent most of her saturdays helping her mother in her store, but she liked to go for a walk in the morning. A walk she never really undertook alone. "Hello Hiiragi," she greeted the woman outside. "How are you today?"


Last edited by Megafire on Sat Jun 30, 2012 3:02 pm; edited 1 time in total
avatar
Megafire
User

Posts : 18
Join date : 2012-06-28
Location : Maastricht, Limburg, the Netherlands

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  lightdarkhero250 on Sat Jun 30, 2012 1:33 pm

"Thanks mam!" The young boy glowed, somewhat for the money being handed but mostly for being recognized. He liked it when he wasn't just called "kid" or "blondie" or whatever some of the people called him...They were usually the guys with the big, long packages too, which he had to deliver at night...

But, he didn't want to think further about that. They always told him not to.

"Um, Well, unless you need anything else..." He politely asked, looking towards the hoisted-up engine. He seemed slightly interested in whatever they were doing, even if he really didn't know much about cars. They seemed fun to drive around in, at least.

"See you!" He finally gave a self-confirming nod that he had to get back to doing some work. he made enough for a cheap dinner so far, but if he wanted to eat or drink somewhere like in the higher-grade parts of town, he'd have to do more. At least until his break.

So he made one final wave goodbye and started to walk back.
avatar
lightdarkhero250
User

Posts : 12
Join date : 2012-06-28

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Ud the Imp on Sat Jun 30, 2012 7:07 pm

"Got it chief," Kusagari said to Batou as him and the other officers went to their assignments. In truth, John hated these dead body deliveries. He thought them to be rather dull actually. He was more at home with trying to catch the son of a bitch that killed a random innocent off the streets......not that he actually cares about the victim. In fact during his years on the force, not once did he ever truly give a damn about any victim. To the detective, the victims were all just excuses for him to catch any badguys who did the crime. That was why he became a cop in the first place: To catch the badguys. And besides, he sucked at consoling victims anyway.

He never deluded himself into thinking otherwise. Anyone who said otherwise, he would just nod and pretend to listen. He had figured out long ago that sometimes the only way to do things was to do it yourself.........especially with bringing criminals to justice........

Kusagari focused back on the body, shaking himself back into reality. He put on a pair of rubber gloves as he started to examine the body.

Pretty standard botched robbery. Still, no have in checking further. He checked the stiff's pockets until he found a small bunch of papers inside the man's inner jacket pockets. He looked through them, all of them receipts for various stores, including Heterodyne Automotives, one for some animal shelter, and a few others, including a motel. He'll follow up on these later. "Hey Probie, I found some receipts on this guy!" Kusagari called out. "Pass my an evidence bag, wouldya?"


Last edited by Ud the Imp on Sat Jun 30, 2012 11:13 pm; edited 1 time in total
avatar
Ud the Imp
User

Posts : 88
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : Stamford, CT

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Aken Jizo on Sat Jun 30, 2012 8:11 pm

When the ground left Guan Yu's feet, the first thing he did was look at his fellow free-fallers. He couldn't help them now, of course; even if he shielded them, the speed at which they were falling would render the action useless. If they survived this, he wondered how many of the others were going to take this personally.

If only he could remember what they were supposed to take personally. They had been...they? Who was he thinking about? Oh well.

As a fog crossed Guan Yu's mind and the ground rushed ever closer, the general closed his eyes and...




He woke up. Guan Yu looked around his bedroom and sighed. What a strange dream that had been. But he couldn't devote more time to thinking about it. He had to get up now or he would be late.

Guan Yu was a police officer, and had served on the force for most of his adult life. At 57, he was one of the three oldest people still wearing the badge in this city. He was also one of the few people who remembered a time before Batou was a policeman at all, let alone the Chief. As such, for most of his co-workers, Guan Yu was one of those things that had always been there, but only really stood out (despite his size and beard) when he was gone (mostly because the others suddenly didn't have anyone to foist the "tell the Chief" duties onto).

It hadn't been easy getting to this point, but he had learned that few things in life were ever easy. Guan Yu had had the misfortune of being a Chinese-American and living in the U.S.A during the Cold War. While it certainly could have been worse, he had still had to suffer from racism, bigotry, and anti-communist sentiment (even though he was an American and proud to be so). Even so, he had also lived through the Civil Rights movement, and few had celebrated in this town as much as Guan Yu had when race equality became a federal law.

And so, Guan Yu spent his life doing his job (which wasn't as glamorous as the Pictures would have you believe, something Guan Yu was grateful for; exciting things like that were only exciting when they weren't happening to you). Crime was still around, but crime was always around, and so his biggest concern was the looming threat of retirement. By Guan Yu's guess, he had maybe a decade (if fate was generous) before the joking jabs became serious advice.

Currently, Guan Yu had just arrived at the murder site, wearing the standard uniform. He said "Sorry I'm late, Chief." He looked around at the crime scene before saying "It seems like you all have this well in hand. Is there anything I can do to help, sir, or should I just continue my rounds?"
avatar
Aken Jizo
User

Posts : 59
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : The place with the guy and the thing doing the stuff.

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Cojiro on Sun Jul 01, 2012 12:45 am

Hiiragi smiled and inclined her head slightly as Kanaya came out to greet her. "Good morning, Lady Kanaya. I am well, as I hope you are. Shall we take the usual route, or do you have a particular destination in mind?"

In fact, "the usual route" was not all that regular, and seemed to change slightly every few months. Sometimes they had to circumnavigate construction, sometimes new shops went up that Kanaya wanted to pass by (or wanted to avoid), and sometimes general traffic through an area changed. Depending on the type of traffic, Hiiragi would steer them onto sidewalks where they were less likely to encounter foul-mouthed teenagers and petty crime. There were some constants along the usual route, though: they stuck to the cleaner, wealthier parts of town, and usually passed through the city's biggest and most well-kept park.

Today, however, the weather was exceptionally nice for a walk. "It might be a good time to visit that boutique you were curious about."

As far as she knew, there had always been a boutique next to that animal shelter, but it had been a run-down place until recently changing hands. In spite of the odd location, word about its success under new ownership was starting to spread, and Hiiragi had even seen a small article on it in the local paper.

When Kanaya had made her decision, they struck off at a casual pace onto the well-frequented sidewalks. Hiiragi's biggest duty was avoiding potentially dangerous situations in the first place, which meant staying aware of their surroundings and staying especially aware of vehicles and people. Many of the people they passed she could discount as unlikely to be dangerous: families, most females, couples, and the elderly. She was especially wary of individual males or small groups of young males. Even fairly innocent-looking children could be pickpockets, so those who looked like they hadn't washed in several days also received her particular notice. Her eyes took in such individuals for particular warning signs: bulges in their clothing, shifty eyes, unnatural posture or tension. Anyone that seemed to take too much interest in Kanaya would find themselves at the wrong end of Hiiragi's glare (an effective deterrent in most situations).

What was more, all of these complex actions were almost natural for Hiiragi. She had been doing them for so long that it required about as much thought as driving a car. Being used the the job gave her sufficient freedom of concentration to pay attention to any conversation attempted by her employer and even allowed her to enjoy the sunshine.
avatar
Cojiro
User

Posts : 21
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : Washington State, United States

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Thanatologist on Sun Jul 01, 2012 3:31 am

Estel was sitting in her bed, tuning her lute.

Her family had been living in America for several generations now, but she had always acted and dressed like a typical Romanichal so much that most of the people who knew her were unaware that she was ethnically more American than gypsy.

Gypsy.

Personally, Estel liked the word and how it sounded. She just didn't like the way other people used it and attached certain meanings to it, like being a gypsy was something wrong. It had been even worse when she was younger. The other kids played with her and treated her just fine, but the parents were different. When they found out that she was one, they looked at her funny and talked to her like she dumb or couldn't understand English properly. Some of them even kept checking their pockets in her presence. It had been getting better while the years progressed. Especially since the "black" people had fought to be recognized a few years before she was born; some of the older folks said that their European cousins still had it pretty bad, though.

This is good inspiration, she thought. Finding a pencil and a piece of paper, she started to write, but was soon stuck after a couple lines. After a few more minutes of staring at the paper, she gave up. It's not like people liked her singing anyway, but she thought she was pretty good at it. She got up from the bed and headed out to the market after grabbing a few things. To help with the income, she had taken to running a small stall there, adapted from an extra vardo they had, specializing in herbal remedies and some handicraft. She still got the occasional customer who assumed she was a fortune teller or was selling magic items. Someone even once asked if she had a voodoo doll. Seriously.

Reaching the wagon, which was only moderately decorated by Roma standards, she set the place up properly and checked her what she had brought with her. "I'll have to visit Rebecca in a few days..." she muttered to herself. She settled behind the makeshift counter and brought out her lute and the paper she had written on. She absently strummed the strings as she waited for a customer. Or maybe some inspiration. Or both.


Last edited by Thanatologist on Sun Jul 01, 2012 9:30 pm; edited 1 time in total
avatar
Thanatologist
User

Posts : 50
Join date : 2012-06-28
Location : a deep, dark abyss

View user profile http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/Thanatologist

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Megafire on Sun Jul 01, 2012 6:12 pm

Kanaya smiled at her. "I am doing very well myself." It was a wonderful day, she noticed. The sun was shining brightly, which she very much enjoyed. It looked like it was going to be a very pleasent day. "That does sound like an excellent idea," she said in response to Hiiragi's idea. She had been interested in that boutique for a little while now. Granted, she was interested in every boutique in the city, but there weren't very many of them.

As the pair headed off towards their destination, Kanaya struck up a conversation. As with most of her conversations, it was mostly about the other person. "How have you been?" she asked Hiiragi with polite and genuine interest. "Have you been doing anything interesting recently?"

Kanaya sometimes liked to help Hiiragi in her job, just by paying attention to what was happening around her. She thought she was relatively good at it, as well, although it would be far too arrogant of her to say she didn't need her anymore. Besides, Kanaya liked the company.

She suggested the shortest route possible (within reason, of course, she wasn't fond of taking risks) to the boutique, so that she could spend as much time there as she wanted and then they could take their time on the way back, if they wanted to. Kanaya was nothing if not efficient, after all.
avatar
Megafire
User

Posts : 18
Join date : 2012-06-28
Location : Maastricht, Limburg, the Netherlands

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Cojiro on Mon Jul 02, 2012 7:59 pm

"I've been helping my brother move," Hiiragi told Kanaya, after thinking for a moment. "He found a new apartment closer to work. We've been boxing up his things and cleaning.

"My father's taken up calligraphy; I've been helping him a little with that. He's getting too old for martial arts."

Hiiragi's life was quiet and routine, always moving at a leisurely pace (aside from rare occasions on bodyguard duty). Fortunately the city was busy, so she usually had something vaguely interesting to tell Kanaya about.

She agreed to the path Kanaya suggested, though it meant cutting through the busy market. She would have preferred to go around, but they were just crossing market street, not going down it, so she wasn't too worried. Rather, she wasn't worried in the first place, but in her line of work it always paid to be cautious.

It also paid to avoid questionably pale individuals in longcoats, she thought as she saw such an individual down the street. She steered Kanaya around a corner for a slight detour.

Soon enough, they would be able to hear the jingle of pick-pocket bait, the plucking of lute-strings, and the shouted advertisements of vendors as they came upon the city's main outdoor market (which was not and never to be confused with the smattering of dirty shops and stalls in China Town).
avatar
Cojiro
User

Posts : 21
Join date : 2012-06-27
Location : Washington State, United States

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Locoman on Mon Jul 02, 2012 10:40 pm

"...Because my city will."

And then- the ground opened up like the maw of some malevolent alien beast, sending human and robot, troll and cartoon, demon and animal, all of them suddenly subject to that harsh mistress known as gravity.

And then- she fell.

Around her, Jenny watched frantically as the others tumbled towards the concrete chasms of the city. It was like a panoply of colour; like some Technicolor rainstorm pouring down towards the city streets. Red, blue, pink, green, black, silver; they all fell in unison. Hands, paws, claws; appendages all flailed wildly along with their owners.

Well, Jenny’s robotic strength would change that. It would be simple; extend her arms and hands wide enough to catch everyone, then rocket back up towards the Troper and confront him-or, at the very least, try and stop the group from splattering on the pavement.

DEPLOYING THRUSTERS

Any minute now, she would feel the reassuring kick of two liquid-burning rockets pushing her upwards towards safety. But there was nothing. Jenny’s arms, too, were stubbornly refusing to telescope themselves to their full capacity; in fact, they had done nothing. Auxiliary leg thrusters, back-mounted afterburner, aerodynamic stabilization system: all offline. And then, with a jolt of horror, Jenny realized that her legs, her arms, her body, too, were all shutting down, systems failing one after another.

“Thrusters, deploy!” she cried frantically, thrashing and flailing in mid-air in an attempt to buy time for the transformation she realized would never come. Once again, she had tried to save the day, and failed.

But… what difference did it make? She wondered dreamily to herself as a thick leaden cloud seemed to suddenly hang over her mind. Even the various flashing alarms and error messages that suddenly flooded her optics seemed distant, far away, their screeching cacophony fading away…

De-deet.

De-deet.

___________________________________________________________________________________

De-deet.

De-deet.

This is a house. As houses go, it’s not particularly notable; not even the large glass skylight separates it from its neighbors. It sits in that corner of the city where metropolis meets suburbia, notable mainly for its lack of anything particularly notable. A few blocks away, where the houses were less thick on the ground and the city had been able to grow more organically, there was a drugstore, a soccer field, a small pet shop. But this particular slice of suburbia could fit in any reasonably large and prosperous populatoin center. It was utterly- normal.

De-deet.

De-deet.

This is the inside of the house. The golden August sun twinkles off the myriads of dancing dust motes that waft through the house. Buttery light bathes the smooth, white, furniture in a pleasing aura.

De-deet.

There are only two people living in this house now. One of them has won great esteem as a computer scientist and roboticist. Her writing regularly adorns the covers of technology journals and scientific interest magazines. She is Nora Wakeman, technologist and futurist extraordinaire. But she is on a trip to Japan this week, leaving only one person in the house.

De-deet.

A hand emerges from the nest of pink bed covers and clumsily gropes for the alarm clock, eventually finding its target and slamming down on it with a resounding “thud” and a groggy groan. This is Jennifer “Jenny” Wakeman.

9:55 AM

The shrill alarm finally succeeded Had she overslept? Was she late for school? No, she blearily remembered; it was a Saturday, and school was out of session for the summer anyways.

The nightmare of falling through endless grey had already evaporated from Jenny’s mind. She rolled out of bed and sighed happily with the bliss that can only come from being a high school student on a midsummer’s morning, with a whole day of freedom stretching ahead of her. The mall might be a good place to go today, she mused with contented grogginess; maybe some of her friends would be hanging out there. Why not? School would start before she knew it, she reminded herself.

A quick breakfast: coffee, cereal, toast.

Getting ready for the day: get dressed, brush hair, find phone.

Out the door: down to the bus stop, present the driver with her pass, hop on the bus as it puttered towards the downtown shopping center.

Who knew what would happen today?
avatar
Locoman
User

Posts : 32
Join date : 2012-06-28
Location : Toronto

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Lynkzero13 on Mon Jul 02, 2012 11:19 pm

"My name is Alex," Alex the Probie mumbled in annoyance as Batou started to walk away and Kusagari asked him for an evidence collection kit. "I- oh, alright," he said, setting down the size marker he'd gotten out, and brought one of the bags over. Oh well. At least he wasn't being asked to get coffee. Again. For the tenth time that day. Just once he wished someone would offer to get him a cup of coffee.

Batou slowed down and came to a stop when he saw Guan Yu approaching the scene, asking if there was anything he should do. "Oh, Guan Yu, didn't see you there. Well, as you can see the boys have already pretty much got it covered, so you're set to go about your rounds. I'm heading back to my office to finish some paperwork before noon, and then I'll be taking the rest of the day off. You know where to call if anything important comes up after that."

Batou resumed his trek to his Jeep in order to continue his journey to fulfill his exciting duties of filing paperwork. And after roughly three-and-a-half hours of reading, writing, sorting, filing, and stamping, briefly punctuated by a confused intern bumbling into his office, Batou clocked out and headed on towards his next destination: lunch.




Agatha moved into position on the other side of the car, gripped the chain, and started the countdown. "One, two, three, heave!" And thus began the work. Not that it was particularly hard; Even though the engine weighed more than both of them put together, the pulleys made it more than manageable. Of course, it still weighed more than both of them combined. Agatha hooked her chain and moved a heavy trolley underneath the engine so they could safely lower it down. Valara scrunched her face in displeasure as someone arrived with some kind of delivery for Agatha, adding an addition level of haste to their current task. She always hated that. You didn't rush work like this, unless you were in a pit crew, and those guys were insane. Agatha rushed back over to help lower the engine down, and nonetheless the two quickly and carefully lowered the now-liberated engine to a safe resting position atop a trolley.

"Special delivery?" Val asked as her friend waved the young delivery boy away. "That for this current project, by chance?" She grabbed a rag off a nearby bench and stuffed it into a free pocket in her belt, then waited for Agatha to resume their work.

A few hours later, both women were looking quite a bit more like mechanics, now spotted with grease and oil. It was a good thing Agatha kept a few pairs of overalls around her shop, otherwise they'd probably have been far more dirty. Not that she minded much, it was just inconvenient having to either change clothes in the middle of the day or go the rest of the day looking like you just wrestled a pig. She got enough weird looks for being a female doctor who drove a big truck, among other things.

Wiping some sweat and grime off her face with a clean-ish rag, Valara looked at the clock hanging on the wall to see that it was nearly noon. "Time flies, huh?" she said to herself, before turning to Agatha. "You want to catch some lunch? I was going to meet Batou at the burger joint down the street once he got off work at noon, and you're more than welcome to join us. Just need to, you know," she said, looking herself and Agatha over briefly before grinning and speaking again, "Clean up a bit first."

_________________
The difference between genius and insanity is that a genius has someone to check their work.


afro
avatar
Lynkzero13
Admin

Posts : 53
Join date : 2012-06-21
Location : Florida...ish

View user profile http://thearistocrats.forumotion.com

Back to top Go down

Re: The RP 2: The RP

Post  Sponsored content


Sponsored content


Back to top Go down

Page 1 of 2 1, 2  Next

View previous topic View next topic Back to top


 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum