Over a Round of Beers
Re: Over a Round of Beers
((So does this mean that with a dojo, a mess, and a martial arts expert, upgrades to unarmed combat are 75% cheaper???))
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( Whoah, I didn't notice how those upgrades stacked. Nick, can you confirm that it's a 50%+20%+5% reduction? Because that's what it looks like to me too.
BTW, Tom, you can post in the Gangland thread before you've upgraded your character, in case you were waiting to do the upgrades first. ))
BTW, Tom, you can post in the Gangland thread before you've upgraded your character, in case you were waiting to do the upgrades first. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( Purchasing the requested upgrades and yes--the unarmed combat upgrade applies. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
As the crew files in, exhausted and desperately in need of a shower, a middle-aged man in a lab-coat meets them in the main hallway. He's wearing a pair of safety goggles and a sarcastic smirk.
"Hey, looks like the parents are home. How was your trip? Wait. Hold that thought. Don't care. Let me show what I was working on while you were away. Name's Zodiac by the way, Doctor Kaplan Zodiac. My parents were drug addicts, before you ask. Now watch this. Seriously, watch. This thing is a pain to reset."
Zodiac is holding a small plastic cube, not much larger than the palm of his hand.
"Let's say you're storming an enemy facility or whatever the frag it is you guys do and suddenly--whole battalion of armed goons and you're fish in a barrel. Well, should this unfortunate situation arise, just give this little gizmo a toss, like so."
He hurls the cube down the hallway where it rolls to a stop.
"Hey, looks like the parents are home. How was your trip? Wait. Hold that thought. Don't care. Let me show what I was working on while you were away. Name's Zodiac by the way, Doctor Kaplan Zodiac. My parents were drug addicts, before you ask. Now watch this. Seriously, watch. This thing is a pain to reset."
Zodiac is holding a small plastic cube, not much larger than the palm of his hand.
"Let's say you're storming an enemy facility or whatever the frag it is you guys do and suddenly--whole battalion of armed goons and you're fish in a barrel. Well, should this unfortunate situation arise, just give this little gizmo a toss, like so."
He hurls the cube down the hallway where it rolls to a stop.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
The cube explodes outwards, suddenly a sprawling mass of tiny poles.
"The whole shebang is a spring-loaded assortment of carbon-nanotube poles. It erects in 2.7 seconds to a width of about 3 meters and a depth of 4 inches."
A tiny nozzle in the center of the device begins spinning in a 360 degree arc, moving outwards as it goes. A gooey blue substance sprays from its tip.
"Stuff you see there is called exo-foam. I invented it. It's patented, naturally. Foam hardens into a rigid substance that has roughly the same ballistic characteristics as concrete. Not ferro-crete, mind you, I'm not God. Just plain, good old fashioned concrete. Should stop anything short of a rocket. It's pretty much instantly hardening, but it takes a moment to fill up, so you'll want to make sure you have the drop on your enemy before you deploy it."
"The whole shebang is a spring-loaded assortment of carbon-nanotube poles. It erects in 2.7 seconds to a width of about 3 meters and a depth of 4 inches."
A tiny nozzle in the center of the device begins spinning in a 360 degree arc, moving outwards as it goes. A gooey blue substance sprays from its tip.
"Stuff you see there is called exo-foam. I invented it. It's patented, naturally. Foam hardens into a rigid substance that has roughly the same ballistic characteristics as concrete. Not ferro-crete, mind you, I'm not God. Just plain, good old fashioned concrete. Should stop anything short of a rocket. It's pretty much instantly hardening, but it takes a moment to fill up, so you'll want to make sure you have the drop on your enemy before you deploy it."
Re: Over a Round of Beers
"I call it InstaCover."
Zodiac thrusts one of the cubes into Doc's arms. "Use it wisely, it represents your entirely monthly research budget."
Zodiac thrusts one of the cubes into Doc's arms. "Use it wisely, it represents your entirely monthly research budget."
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Doc blinks, and tries to get his hammering pulse under control after the momentary panic brought on by a madman throwing a small object down an enclosed hallway and saying "watch this."
"I, uh, that... will actually be pretty handy," he says, taking the cube.
"I, uh, that... will actually be pretty handy," he says, taking the cube.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Zodiac is already half way down the hallway. He shouts, without turning, "Oh, and it turns into styrofoam after 30 seconds, so don't stand behind it for too long."
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max looks doubtfully down the hallway as Zodiac turns a corner and whisks out of sight-- his white laboratory coattails fluttering dramatically behind him like a brief and material vapor trail-- and the cube in Doc's hand. Finally breaking the dazed silence, he asks,
"Did you hire that guy?"
But it's nothing Max can deal with right now. The elf needs a shower, a smoke, a drink, a hit, and about thirty hours of sleep. Who knows the order.
His boots ringing heavily on the ferrocrete floors, Max clomps down the hallway toward the barracks in long, shuffling strides. Is his gear getting heavier, or is he just getting older? Or is it both? These missions increasingly take their toll. One day he's going to have to step away from this life that he's found himself in, but who knows when or how? If Max ever stopped and really introspected, he might find his preference to fall on simply dying in combat-- at least that way he'd never have to make up his fraggin' mind.
Reaching the barracks and his bunk, Max dumps his gear haphazardly at the foot and sits to take his boots off. The old-style spring mattress creaks as it takes on his weight, and the rough, olive drab bedspread ruffles beneath his carriage. You know you're tired when a blanket half a step removed from burlap looks inviting.
The boots smell and look like death. Dropping them to the side, Max brings his right foot toward his face with amusement; this pair of socks had been brand new not twenty four hours ago and now bore a hole that didn't open to his big toe-- it revealed his big toe. The hole was torn all the way down to the toe's knuckle. The toe itself was bleeding. Max inspected the foot through the sock and discovered a myriad of places which had blistered and burst in the course of the previous day's running, jumping, crouching, and shooting. And getting shot too. Max was getting good at that.
He drops his head and considers that for a moment. He had been getting reckless for a little while now, and the amount of lead he'd been catching as of late was a perfect indicator of it. He was getting cocky. He was running into combat before weighing the options. He had escaped so may certain-death situations that he seemed to be losing touch with the cold, hard reality of his world: at any moment, he could catch a bullet that would end his life. He didn't exactly want to live, but he didn't want to die either. He was going to have to be more careful. Being shot twice in a single day is a wake up call to anybody who dons a bullet proof vest as part of standard issue work attire.
Max reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of bliss. Maybe this had something to do with it? No. Couldn't be. it was just over-confidence-- that was all. Gingerly and without any real interest, Max unscrews the child-safety top that his daughter would have been able to get past at the age of three and drops a pill into his hand. The elf begins to put the cap back on the bottle and thinks better of it; Max drops two more pills into his hand and ramrods them down the chute. Letting his weight go, Max falls backward onto the bed and stares momentarily up at the industrial ceiling. He isn't even aware of it when he closes his eyes.
"Did you hire that guy?"
But it's nothing Max can deal with right now. The elf needs a shower, a smoke, a drink, a hit, and about thirty hours of sleep. Who knows the order.
His boots ringing heavily on the ferrocrete floors, Max clomps down the hallway toward the barracks in long, shuffling strides. Is his gear getting heavier, or is he just getting older? Or is it both? These missions increasingly take their toll. One day he's going to have to step away from this life that he's found himself in, but who knows when or how? If Max ever stopped and really introspected, he might find his preference to fall on simply dying in combat-- at least that way he'd never have to make up his fraggin' mind.
Reaching the barracks and his bunk, Max dumps his gear haphazardly at the foot and sits to take his boots off. The old-style spring mattress creaks as it takes on his weight, and the rough, olive drab bedspread ruffles beneath his carriage. You know you're tired when a blanket half a step removed from burlap looks inviting.
The boots smell and look like death. Dropping them to the side, Max brings his right foot toward his face with amusement; this pair of socks had been brand new not twenty four hours ago and now bore a hole that didn't open to his big toe-- it revealed his big toe. The hole was torn all the way down to the toe's knuckle. The toe itself was bleeding. Max inspected the foot through the sock and discovered a myriad of places which had blistered and burst in the course of the previous day's running, jumping, crouching, and shooting. And getting shot too. Max was getting good at that.
He drops his head and considers that for a moment. He had been getting reckless for a little while now, and the amount of lead he'd been catching as of late was a perfect indicator of it. He was getting cocky. He was running into combat before weighing the options. He had escaped so may certain-death situations that he seemed to be losing touch with the cold, hard reality of his world: at any moment, he could catch a bullet that would end his life. He didn't exactly want to live, but he didn't want to die either. He was going to have to be more careful. Being shot twice in a single day is a wake up call to anybody who dons a bullet proof vest as part of standard issue work attire.
Max reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of bliss. Maybe this had something to do with it? No. Couldn't be. it was just over-confidence-- that was all. Gingerly and without any real interest, Max unscrews the child-safety top that his daughter would have been able to get past at the age of three and drops a pill into his hand. The elf begins to put the cap back on the bottle and thinks better of it; Max drops two more pills into his hand and ramrods them down the chute. Letting his weight go, Max falls backward onto the bed and stares momentarily up at the industrial ceiling. He isn't even aware of it when he closes his eyes.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
In his dream Max is a leper. His flesh is covered in sores as he runs naked through deserted back alleys in The Barrens. He over fields of broken glass and road grit, and the tiny particulate matter cuts at the soles of his feet and works its way under the skin. He doesn't look, but he knows that he is down several fingernails. His hair is falling out. He is naked.
Max isn't entirely certain why he is running-- whether his bare elfin form streaks toward or away from some driving force. He feels both. There is at once something which he is trying to escape and something that he is trying to reach. He feels an irrepressible urge to destroy. His eyes scan his surroundings and see nobody, but his skin feels them. He's not alone in this place, and the sickly, fallout purple hue of the twilight sky does nothing to placate his nerves. Sweat beads on his skin and trickles down his face. His back and shoulders are sheathed in chemical perspiration, and his hair flops heavy and damp with each of his swift, agonizing strides. The sores are beginning to burst and weep.
Max comes to a T-junction in the maze of alleyways and stops at the corner, supporting himself against the wall as his chest heaves and throat burns. An hurricane of paper garbage and plastic bags seems to whip its way down the alley across his face. He chases the wind. As he runs, he opens his hand and looks at his palm and can see infection spreading through his veins; the spiderweb of red, poisoned veins radiates out from his lower arm clear down to his fingertips and as far up as his shoulder. The infection is moving with a life and will of its own. The veins themselves seem to move under Max's skin like the tendrils of a wispy apparition coiling just before it strikes. He doesn't have long before the infection reaches his heart. He has to press on. He has to find what's at the end of the alley.
Max hears the dawn of a low rumble coming from behind him. First a dim suggestion against the howl of the wind through the dilapidated corridor between buildings, but growing in size and severity as Max's flight continues. His pace quickens and then redoubles again. Max bangs a toe on debris lining the alley walls and hardly notices as the toe breaks off, adding fresh blood and pain to the already gory, excruciating sprint. The roar is growing louder, but Max's destination is nearer. He doesn't know what his destination is, and he doesn't know how he knows its proximity, but it's not far now. His legs throb and his veins pump toxic waste; his breathes fire as he comes screaming around a final corner in the alley. Max comes to the left turn so quickly that his feet slide on the alley floor and leave trails of blood behind him as his right shoulder slams into the wall ahead of him. He hears something crack, but registers little more than the pain of the infection in his side being met with blunt force trauma.
It's just down there-- in the darkness. The alley ends in blackness a mere twenty yards in front of him, but hidden in that shadow is his goal. The roar behind him is deafening. All Max can hear is the rumble and the blood crashing through his arteries and into his brain. The elf staggers and presses on as the sound at his back takes a physical form of rolling, electric gray smoke that bubbles at his heels as he takes the final few steps toward the end of the line. Ten meters now. The smoke burns his skin and radiates heat and light. The light behind him doesn't penetrate the darkness before him. Five meters now. The infection is creeping across his chest. Two meters. His veins rear like a hand opening into a ravening claw. The smoke creeps into his periphery. His entire back is aflame.
Max plunges into the darkness and world goes cold. He runs full force into an alley wall not three meters beyond what was the pitch black terminus of his vision and crumples to the ground. On his hands and knees, Max gasps for air as he feels his hair fall out. All of his toenails are gone-- left somewhere between here and... where had he begun. Rolling his weight to his side, Max lands on his rear with his back against the alley wall. Looking out from the darkness, the alley is clear. The smoke is gone, and the debris is cleared from his path; all he sees are his bloody foot prints leading to his current location. The darkness at the end of the alley is gone too. Instead, Max now sits practically under spot light. The elf looks down at his chest but doesn't have to-- he can feel the infection furling around his heart. Defeated, he looks up again to the empty alley and could swear that he makes out the suggestion of his daughter at the other end-- to far away to be seen but there nonetheless. She is walking toward him, but his eyes are failing. The fire in his blood spreads through his entire being in waves and the world fades. He can just make out his daughter's auburn curls as his eyes close at last.
-----
Max wakes in a fevered sweat on his bed, gasping for air and clutching at his chest.
Max isn't entirely certain why he is running-- whether his bare elfin form streaks toward or away from some driving force. He feels both. There is at once something which he is trying to escape and something that he is trying to reach. He feels an irrepressible urge to destroy. His eyes scan his surroundings and see nobody, but his skin feels them. He's not alone in this place, and the sickly, fallout purple hue of the twilight sky does nothing to placate his nerves. Sweat beads on his skin and trickles down his face. His back and shoulders are sheathed in chemical perspiration, and his hair flops heavy and damp with each of his swift, agonizing strides. The sores are beginning to burst and weep.
Max comes to a T-junction in the maze of alleyways and stops at the corner, supporting himself against the wall as his chest heaves and throat burns. An hurricane of paper garbage and plastic bags seems to whip its way down the alley across his face. He chases the wind. As he runs, he opens his hand and looks at his palm and can see infection spreading through his veins; the spiderweb of red, poisoned veins radiates out from his lower arm clear down to his fingertips and as far up as his shoulder. The infection is moving with a life and will of its own. The veins themselves seem to move under Max's skin like the tendrils of a wispy apparition coiling just before it strikes. He doesn't have long before the infection reaches his heart. He has to press on. He has to find what's at the end of the alley.
Max hears the dawn of a low rumble coming from behind him. First a dim suggestion against the howl of the wind through the dilapidated corridor between buildings, but growing in size and severity as Max's flight continues. His pace quickens and then redoubles again. Max bangs a toe on debris lining the alley walls and hardly notices as the toe breaks off, adding fresh blood and pain to the already gory, excruciating sprint. The roar is growing louder, but Max's destination is nearer. He doesn't know what his destination is, and he doesn't know how he knows its proximity, but it's not far now. His legs throb and his veins pump toxic waste; his breathes fire as he comes screaming around a final corner in the alley. Max comes to the left turn so quickly that his feet slide on the alley floor and leave trails of blood behind him as his right shoulder slams into the wall ahead of him. He hears something crack, but registers little more than the pain of the infection in his side being met with blunt force trauma.
It's just down there-- in the darkness. The alley ends in blackness a mere twenty yards in front of him, but hidden in that shadow is his goal. The roar behind him is deafening. All Max can hear is the rumble and the blood crashing through his arteries and into his brain. The elf staggers and presses on as the sound at his back takes a physical form of rolling, electric gray smoke that bubbles at his heels as he takes the final few steps toward the end of the line. Ten meters now. The smoke burns his skin and radiates heat and light. The light behind him doesn't penetrate the darkness before him. Five meters now. The infection is creeping across his chest. Two meters. His veins rear like a hand opening into a ravening claw. The smoke creeps into his periphery. His entire back is aflame.
Max plunges into the darkness and world goes cold. He runs full force into an alley wall not three meters beyond what was the pitch black terminus of his vision and crumples to the ground. On his hands and knees, Max gasps for air as he feels his hair fall out. All of his toenails are gone-- left somewhere between here and... where had he begun. Rolling his weight to his side, Max lands on his rear with his back against the alley wall. Looking out from the darkness, the alley is clear. The smoke is gone, and the debris is cleared from his path; all he sees are his bloody foot prints leading to his current location. The darkness at the end of the alley is gone too. Instead, Max now sits practically under spot light. The elf looks down at his chest but doesn't have to-- he can feel the infection furling around his heart. Defeated, he looks up again to the empty alley and could swear that he makes out the suggestion of his daughter at the other end-- to far away to be seen but there nonetheless. She is walking toward him, but his eyes are failing. The fire in his blood spreads through his entire being in waves and the world fades. He can just make out his daughter's auburn curls as his eyes close at last.
-----
Max wakes in a fevered sweat on his bed, gasping for air and clutching at his chest.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Kato is behind the bar when Max enters the make-shift lounge. The eccentric oriental wears a pair of mirror-shades to compliment his impossibly messy hair-do. A cigarette taunts gravity at the end of his lip, nearly burnt to the filter.
"Hey buddy, you don't look so hot. You wanna drink?"
"Hey buddy, you don't look so hot. You wanna drink?"
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Doc walks into the lounge, tapping away at his commlink. He looks up at the sound of Kato's voice.
"Hell, I'll take that drink," he says.
He settles onto a stool, attention still focused on the tiny screen.
"So I've been looking at the figures for a combat simulator, and maybe a shooting range. We have the funds, and I think those things will help keep us sharp in our downtime."
((
Shooting Range - 30,000¥ (Refunds karma purchases for firearms skills by 20% rounded down)
Combat Simulator - 100,000¥ (Refunds karma purchases for REA by 20% rounded down)
))
He finally looks up, "drek, Max, you allright?"
"Hell, I'll take that drink," he says.
He settles onto a stool, attention still focused on the tiny screen.
"So I've been looking at the figures for a combat simulator, and maybe a shooting range. We have the funds, and I think those things will help keep us sharp in our downtime."
((
Shooting Range - 30,000¥ (Refunds karma purchases for firearms skills by 20% rounded down)
Combat Simulator - 100,000¥ (Refunds karma purchases for REA by 20% rounded down)
))
He finally looks up, "drek, Max, you allright?"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( The combat simulator is a good call, but I'm pretty sure the only person who stands to benefit from the shooting range is Val-- Max and Doc are both maxed out, aren't they? That's not to say that we shouldn't do it anyway. ))
Max looks up at Doc and sleepily says with a considerable frog in his throat,
"I've got to be honest with you, amigo, I've never felt better in my entire life."
Max sits down at the bar and looks at Kato. At any other time, he would be as amused as he usually is with the eccentric Japanese man's appearance.
"I'll take whatever you're pourin', Kato. Three of 'em."
Max takes the first drink in hand and knocks it back. Taking out a smoke, Max places it between his lips and lights it. Max takes a long drag, followed by a grimace inducing pull of liquor.
Max looks up at Doc and sleepily says with a considerable frog in his throat,
"I've got to be honest with you, amigo, I've never felt better in my entire life."
Max sits down at the bar and looks at Kato. At any other time, he would be as amused as he usually is with the eccentric Japanese man's appearance.
"I'll take whatever you're pourin', Kato. Three of 'em."
Max takes the first drink in hand and knocks it back. Taking out a smoke, Max places it between his lips and lights it. Max takes a long drag, followed by a grimace inducing pull of liquor.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Tyros arrives at the conference room, or bar, as it serves both purposes. He lowers himself into one of the specially designed, troll sized chairs he had installed to accommodate the girth of his kind.
Grunting and not speaking to anyone in particular, "narcotic addiction an raging racism tend to have these effects."
((I agree on the combat simulator. I also think we should get the upgrade the reduces agility upgrades. I think we should hire about 10 elite soldiers too, I'd for no other reason than to have some guards for the base.))
Grunting and not speaking to anyone in particular, "narcotic addiction an raging racism tend to have these effects."
((I agree on the combat simulator. I also think we should get the upgrade the reduces agility upgrades. I think we should hire about 10 elite soldiers too, I'd for no other reason than to have some guards for the base.))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max doesn't look up at Tyros as he grumbles,
"Not today, trog. Back the frag off."
The hostility is radiating off of Max.
"Not today, trog. Back the frag off."
The hostility is radiating off of Max.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( Are you guys good with Max's character back-story? I think we'd all like to quell the tension between Tyros and Max. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Tyros shrugs, looking at Max, "Aren't many good days for you chummed. Have you considered rehab yet? I hear they have programs for your drug and anger management problems." There is a tinge of legitimate concern in the troll's voice, but it is buried under a large helping of disdain.
((yes, John and I are setting up for it now))
((yes, John and I are setting up for it now))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( That's part of what we're building toward right now. DO NOT INTERFERE, LET MY CANE MEETS YOUR BACKSIDE. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max suddenly pushes back from the bar and the stool goes rattling across the floor behind him. Max takes several large steps in Tyros's direction. Pushing an accusatory index finger into the troll's chest, Max commands,
"I DON'T SEE WHERE THAT'S ANY OF YOUR FRAGGIN' BUSINESS, YOU WORTHLESS SON OF A SLITCH. GET LOST."
There's something no right about the elf versus his normal self. In addition to his level of agitation, he's somewhat off kilter; Max is intoxicated.
"I DON'T SEE WHERE THAT'S ANY OF YOUR FRAGGIN' BUSINESS, YOU WORTHLESS SON OF A SLITCH. GET LOST."
There's something no right about the elf versus his normal self. In addition to his level of agitation, he's somewhat off kilter; Max is intoxicated.
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Over a Round of Beers
The commotion is finally enough to snap Doc out of his reverie. He looks up from the fuzzy photograph of a cybernetic dog glowing on his commlink.
He's been down this road with the elf before, and he knows that there is little chance of defusing this degree of belligerence in his compatriot.
Hey, at least I'm not on the wrong end of it this time, he thinks, before pushing the thought down.
Maybe he should step in and stop things before they get out of control. But then again, when had Max truly ever been IN control? And this encounter has been simmering for months; it was only a matter of time. Better that it all come out in the open here, in their safe haven, than on a job.
Doc discreetly places two slender syringes of Slab under the bar napkin in front of him.
Just in case things really get out of hand, he reasons.
He's been down this road with the elf before, and he knows that there is little chance of defusing this degree of belligerence in his compatriot.
Hey, at least I'm not on the wrong end of it this time, he thinks, before pushing the thought down.
Maybe he should step in and stop things before they get out of control. But then again, when had Max truly ever been IN control? And this encounter has been simmering for months; it was only a matter of time. Better that it all come out in the open here, in their safe haven, than on a job.
Doc discreetly places two slender syringes of Slab under the bar napkin in front of him.
Just in case things really get out of hand, he reasons.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Kato watches Max's outburst. He stares at the bottle of Johnny Walker Orange in his hand. He stares at the empty glasses where Max had been sitting. He takes a delicate sniff from the top of the bottle, shrugs, and turns around to wash dishes.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
((Im waaay into the combat simulator. Might as well get the shooting range too. For Val right now....but at some point...someone is going to die... and Im assuming the Company will transcend several characters lifetimes/retirments?))
Grinning widely and stepping carefully, Sinjin enters the commons carrying his third refill of noodles. The pressures of the day seem to have slipped from him, replaced now by an almost boyish enthusiasm for his dinner. And the orc can eat. From his attire and the towel thrown over one shoulder, its apparent that the exertions of the day were merely a warm-up for Sinjin, who has been busy making use of the team's gym and dojo. For the Adept, his body is his weapon, his lifestyle, his profession, and his discipline. To continue his conditioning after the day's exertion is calming and methodical. The equivalent of another man cleaning his guns after a day of combat.
Smacking his lips loudly after slurping down a full third of the portion in his bowl, Sinjin's easy smile turns to Kato.
"Better set me up with one of those, chummer. Looks like Ive got some catching up to do..." he says, the tilt of his head taking in the team around him. From the expressions and tangible tension in the air, he might need a few.
Grinning widely and stepping carefully, Sinjin enters the commons carrying his third refill of noodles. The pressures of the day seem to have slipped from him, replaced now by an almost boyish enthusiasm for his dinner. And the orc can eat. From his attire and the towel thrown over one shoulder, its apparent that the exertions of the day were merely a warm-up for Sinjin, who has been busy making use of the team's gym and dojo. For the Adept, his body is his weapon, his lifestyle, his profession, and his discipline. To continue his conditioning after the day's exertion is calming and methodical. The equivalent of another man cleaning his guns after a day of combat.
Smacking his lips loudly after slurping down a full third of the portion in his bowl, Sinjin's easy smile turns to Kato.
"Better set me up with one of those, chummer. Looks like Ive got some catching up to do..." he says, the tilt of his head taking in the team around him. From the expressions and tangible tension in the air, he might need a few.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max's drek is maddening, why can't he let the past go? This whole venture is verging on disaster because of the habits and hate of one little elf.
Tyros stands abruptly, his oversized chair skittering backwards before falling over. Taking a few quick steps forward he grabs Max by the front of his shirt. Gesturing around the room with his free hand, "THIS IS MY BUSINESS, ELF! YOU ARE RUINING IT! GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF OR GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Tyros stands abruptly, his oversized chair skittering backwards before falling over. Taking a few quick steps forward he grabs Max by the front of his shirt. Gesturing around the room with his free hand, "THIS IS MY BUSINESS, ELF! YOU ARE RUINING IT! GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF OR GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max chops downward at the troll's hand on his shirt, breaking the grip of the massive fist restraining him. All of the tension between the two that has been simmering for months finally spills over as Max lunges for Tyros. What Max lacks in size in the bout, he makes up for in speed and agility-- even in his altered state. The move is unexpected and clearly catches Tyros off full guard, as the two go rolling to the floor. Kneeing the troll in the side of his ribs, Max shouts,
"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE NEXT TIME YOU LAID HANDS ON ME?!"
"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE NEXT TIME YOU LAID HANDS ON ME?!"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Tyros grunts hard as Max's knee knocks the breath from him. Tyros isn't a boxer or wrestler, and the elf is way faster than the big troll, but he does have that going for him: he is probably four times the size of Max. Using his girth to prevent the elf from slipping away, Tyros wraps Max in a bear hug, standing both of them up and leaving Max's feet dangling a few feet from the floor.
Shouting an inch away from the elf's face, "MAYBE I CAN SQUEEZE THE IDIOT OUT OF YOU!!"
Shouting an inch away from the elf's face, "MAYBE I CAN SQUEEZE THE IDIOT OUT OF YOU!!"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max wriggles and squirms in the troll's arms, kneeing him over and over again. It takes some restraint, but Max elects not to knee Tyros in the testicles-- some things just aren't done. Max flexes his core muscles; his abdominal muscles and solar plexus constrict and give him a baseline from which to draw force. Rearing his neck back, Max brings his forehead crashing down on Tyros's ample Fomori nose. Tyros loosens his grip on Max enough for the elf to slip free and staggers back several large, metahuman steps. Max falls to the ground and wheezes for a moment. Gathering himself to his feet, Max's misplaced rage focuses itself into a right uppercut which the elf practically has to jump to place on the troll's jaw.
There is a slew of incomprehensible profanity flowing from Max.
There is a slew of incomprehensible profanity flowing from Max.
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Drew Buddy
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Re: Over a Round of Beers
Doc briefly glances down at the napkin concealing the syringes.
He cracks another peanut, and pops in in his mouth.
He cracks another peanut, and pops in in his mouth.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
The troll reels backwards and spins around with a wild tornado swing, which doesn't come anywhere close to the elf, hoping to clear some space. Tyros eyes Max with a rage that simmers close to the elf's own. He can feel the blood pouring from his nose and the dull throbbing from his jaw where the elf's surprisingly poweful punch connected. His nose is probably broken, but no matter, he can fix that later. Max needs to have some anger beat out of him.
Tyros advances, left and right hooks flying, each swing meeting air as Max nimbly weaves out of the way and counters with body shots that would probably fell a normal sized person but don't seem to phase the troll. Manuevering Max close to the wall, Tryos lunges for a takedown, arms wide. Jumping to the side, Max is almost quick enough to escape the oncoming bullrush, but the troll's reach is just too wide, one hand clamping on the elf's leg and stopping the dive in mid air. Before Max has time to wriggle free, Tyros whirls 180 degrees, and lunches the elf through the air. The flight is almost graceful until the elf collides abruptly with the bar, knocking food and drink everywhere.
Heaving deep breaths, Tyros doubles over slightly to suck oxygen, glaring at where he has thrown the elf. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?! DOES IT FEEL GOOD TO HIT TEAMMATES THAT HAVE SAVED YOUR LIFE!!?"
Tyros advances, left and right hooks flying, each swing meeting air as Max nimbly weaves out of the way and counters with body shots that would probably fell a normal sized person but don't seem to phase the troll. Manuevering Max close to the wall, Tryos lunges for a takedown, arms wide. Jumping to the side, Max is almost quick enough to escape the oncoming bullrush, but the troll's reach is just too wide, one hand clamping on the elf's leg and stopping the dive in mid air. Before Max has time to wriggle free, Tyros whirls 180 degrees, and lunches the elf through the air. The flight is almost graceful until the elf collides abruptly with the bar, knocking food and drink everywhere.
Heaving deep breaths, Tyros doubles over slightly to suck oxygen, glaring at where he has thrown the elf. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?! DOES IT FEEL GOOD TO HIT TEAMMATES THAT HAVE SAVED YOUR LIFE!!?"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
The commotion having drawn him to the commons, Val rounds the corner and stops dead in the doorway. His eyes widen at the primal hostility on display between the elf and the troll. Val takes a quick half-step into the room intending to intervene, but his eyes then find Doc and Sinjin. Both are obviously concerned, but seem intent on letting the situation play itself out. Taking their lead, Val assumes the role of a reluctant observer. He's not really sure what he could do to stop this anyway. In truth, he always knew this was coming, even if he didn't want to admit that the team could suffer such outright dissension in the ranks. As much as it pains him to watch, he understands the need for resolution, and fervently hopes that the outcome of this most recent (and most serious) confrontation will leave the team intact.
Re: Over a Round of Beers
Max is exhausted, but still not in control. It's obvious to all who look on that this fight isn't really about Tyros. Sweat and blood drips off the elf's face and for a moment he realizes that reality has come to imitate his dream. Max stares Tyros in the eye but doesn't respond to the question just asked of him. Max can't comprehend the question, in truth. In the elf's mind Tyros may as well be the troll that murdered his wife and daughter, and the suggestion that he may alternately be a person who once saved Max's life is too confusing for him to handle. The thought is expelled outright. All Max can do right now is move violently forward and let the dust settle afterward.
With blood and sweat in his eyes, Max rushes forward in near-exhaustion. The emotion still burns in his eyes, but it has largely left his muscles. Max lowers his shoulder and rams it into Tyros's stomach as the troll leans against the bar. There's a sickly creak from the wood of the structure as the combination of Tyros's weight and Max's force push into it, but it holds for now. Several bottles topple off the bar and to the floor at Kato's feet. Kato-- having clearly seen his fair share of bar fights-- is more annoyed than anything else; picking glass out of the holes in rubber bar mats is always a hoot.
Tyros doesn't fall. Max remains for a confusing moment leaning into the troll's girth after the blow. Both of the two are tired, but neither looks quite done. Reaching out a massive hand, Tyros again grabs Max's shirt and pulls the small elf's face close to his own. His eyes slitted, Tyros brings his second hand to Max's sweaty, bloody shirt and takes him firmly in his clutches. Max beats at Tyros's hands, but this time it's to no avail. The troll pushes the elf backward with all his might-- sending Max careening backward into a series of crates that bend Max backward and elicit from him an agonized yelp.
Max regains his composure on the ground but is clearly still in pain. The elf glares up at the troll from across the room and grumbles raggedly,
"That all you got?"
Max spits a wad of blood on the floor.
With blood and sweat in his eyes, Max rushes forward in near-exhaustion. The emotion still burns in his eyes, but it has largely left his muscles. Max lowers his shoulder and rams it into Tyros's stomach as the troll leans against the bar. There's a sickly creak from the wood of the structure as the combination of Tyros's weight and Max's force push into it, but it holds for now. Several bottles topple off the bar and to the floor at Kato's feet. Kato-- having clearly seen his fair share of bar fights-- is more annoyed than anything else; picking glass out of the holes in rubber bar mats is always a hoot.
Tyros doesn't fall. Max remains for a confusing moment leaning into the troll's girth after the blow. Both of the two are tired, but neither looks quite done. Reaching out a massive hand, Tyros again grabs Max's shirt and pulls the small elf's face close to his own. His eyes slitted, Tyros brings his second hand to Max's sweaty, bloody shirt and takes him firmly in his clutches. Max beats at Tyros's hands, but this time it's to no avail. The troll pushes the elf backward with all his might-- sending Max careening backward into a series of crates that bend Max backward and elicit from him an agonized yelp.
Max regains his composure on the ground but is clearly still in pain. The elf glares up at the troll from across the room and grumbles raggedly,
"That all you got?"
Max spits a wad of blood on the floor.
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Drew Buddy
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Re: Over a Round of Beers
Doc picks up his drink, and downs the remaining dregs in a swallow before sliding off his stool.
'Bout that time, I guess.
"Max, Max, it's over, buddy. Look at me," he snaps his fingers, "over here, buddy."
"What the frag are you trying to achieve at this point? Look at yourself. What are you even doing, man?"
'Bout that time, I guess.
"Max, Max, it's over, buddy. Look at me," he snaps his fingers, "over here, buddy."
"What the frag are you trying to achieve at this point? Look at yourself. What are you even doing, man?"
Re: Over a Round of Beers
One of the low-level security guards hired by Firestarter to man the gate, steps into the bar. The remnants of a broken bottle break under his feet. His gaze meanders from the debris he just stepped on to his elf and troll employers who were clearly just locked in combat. A mixture of confusion, concern and trepidation seem to vie for supremacy on his face. None of them emerge a clear victor.
"I... uh... sorry to interrupt this, whatever this is, but Lone Star is out front and they're demanding to speak to..."
The guard raises his hand and points a finger at Max.
"Him."
(( Switching to a new thread in the CapNow! forum. ))
"I... uh... sorry to interrupt this, whatever this is, but Lone Star is out front and they're demanding to speak to..."
The guard raises his hand and points a finger at Max.
"Him."
(( Switching to a new thread in the CapNow! forum. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
((So while we are doing Max's side quest, I think we should finalize the base upgrades and selection of the next primary run. Nick, how much company cash do we have? I don't think you've added the last mission's profits to the treasury yet.
As far as building upgrades, I'm for the Combat Simulator, which benefits everyone. The shooting range is cheap, so I'd be willing to get that too. I guess there isnt an upgrade that reduces Agility karma (maybe an obstacle course?), so scratch that idea. I also think we need to come up with some flying transportation, so I think we should invest in a helipad, although that is subject to Doc calculating the cost for a good chopper.
Defensively, I think the next thing we need is a radar array, because we are vulnerable from the air right now. We also need to get those two turrets installed.
For personelle, I think all we really need right now are maybe 10 elite security guards to defend the building in our absence. Apparently Nick just gave us a gate guard, but I think we should actually have them on the payroll.))
As far as building upgrades, I'm for the Combat Simulator, which benefits everyone. The shooting range is cheap, so I'd be willing to get that too. I guess there isnt an upgrade that reduces Agility karma (maybe an obstacle course?), so scratch that idea. I also think we need to come up with some flying transportation, so I think we should invest in a helipad, although that is subject to Doc calculating the cost for a good chopper.
Defensively, I think the next thing we need is a radar array, because we are vulnerable from the air right now. We also need to get those two turrets installed.
For personelle, I think all we really need right now are maybe 10 elite security guards to defend the building in our absence. Apparently Nick just gave us a gate guard, but I think we should actually have them on the payroll.))
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Over a Round of Beers
(( Actually, the Gym that we already have provides a discount to AGI.
I can work on building us a chopper (and I think we should get one as soon as we are able), but we'll have to save up for it. They usually start at a few hundred grand. We should get some guards, but do remember that their payroll is deducted from the company's income after every run (I think), so we should go too overboard.
When I finalize my character upgrades, I'm probably going to kick some cash into the company coffers, as well. ))
I can work on building us a chopper (and I think we should get one as soon as we are able), but we'll have to save up for it. They usually start at a few hundred grand. We should get some guards, but do remember that their payroll is deducted from the company's income after every run (I think), so we should go too overboard.
When I finalize my character upgrades, I'm probably going to kick some cash into the company coffers, as well. ))
Re: Over a Round of Beers
((Haha, didn't see the gym, excellent.
Why don't you build up the helicopter and we'll see what we need to save. I don't think we can do with much less than 10 security guards given the size of our fortress and the fact that you have to have shifts of guards...$11k per run for guards doesn't seem too bad. We could get cheaper ones, but I prefer quality over quantity. I think the 30 dead gangers the 5 of us just left behind on our last run is testament to that!))
Why don't you build up the helicopter and we'll see what we need to save. I don't think we can do with much less than 10 security guards given the size of our fortress and the fact that you have to have shifts of guards...$11k per run for guards doesn't seem too bad. We could get cheaper ones, but I prefer quality over quantity. I think the 30 dead gangers the 5 of us just left behind on our last run is testament to that!))