(OOC: I take a break as well - Persepolis lies on my desk, waiting to be popped in the player and watched. I come back close to dinnertime. Munch munch.)
Joshua turned his head slightly, looking at Alice out of the corner of his eye. Whatever she was saying, the driver didn't seem to care much. Though, as strange as she seemed, Joshua wasn't even surprised that she could speak whatever language it was. Either way, that also made him suspicious. She immediately pole-vaulted up the list of "people on the bus who could kill me" for Joshua. Narrowing his eyes, he returned his gaze entirely to the front, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. As far as anyone else would care, he was asleep.
I knew it was Russian immediately. Gypsy, huh? I laughed at that one... although now it says "useless Roma," which doesn't quite have the same humor value to it.
edited 31st Jul '11 2:43:57 PM by USAF713
I am now known as Flyboy.Yay, they were going!
Daisuke snuggled up in a cushy seat with his backpack in his lap and took a Nintendo DS out of his bag, turning it on so he could play Okamiden. He didn't care if he was a ninja and had to be alert, nobody ever suspects the kid!
Taking a break, too.
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."I'm back! We played a pretty good show, if y'all were curious.
Yuki found a window seat and rested her head on the pane of glass. She desperately wanted to get in touch with Amaya, to let her know she was safe, that if she was successful, they'd never have to worry about money again.
I miss my Ferrari, she thought as she focused on the rumble of the bus engine.
No one believes me when I say angels can turn their panties into guns.Damn, thought Charlie. Can I not even call to say I can't make it to dinner?
He figured it probably wasn't wise to piss off a prince, least of all an immortal one. Still, at least he wasn't the guest of honor. Noah would probably keep everyone entertained, or at least talk their ears off about how great he was to defeat Virgil and safe the world and yadda yadda. When he is finished with this heist, Charlie knew that Christine would probably spend his money on something extravagant and, ultimately, useless.
Charlie rested his head against a window, and awaited the end of the journey.
I'm back.... stupid insomnia
Deinonychus managed to stay silent throughout most of what was happening before him, listening and not saying could actually get you far in life.
He rested his chin on his hand as he looked out the window, Bullock, he thought, I never stole a thing from anyone, but as long as I can get something to fund my research.
He watched the world go by, as they approached wherever they were headed. He took out a note pad from his labcoat and wrote a few notes, trying to entertain himself throughout the ride.
The Vegas lights swam just outside of Cain's limited vision. The people swarmed in and out of the bar in the blink of an eye, walking in and out, backwards forwards, tumbling in a mass of bodies with no sense of time or continuity. Jesus christ was he drunk.
"Yo, bartender, gimme some more Pyrat!" Cain slurred, waving his glass-hand to and fro in tune with a song only he could hear. The sweet song of alcohol, warmth, and blurred memories. It was a song of forgetting, and of celebration. It was a short piece though, one that demanded constant repeats. And many new musicians.
"Here's to the encore." The Pyrat slopped into his glass from the tired and weary hands of the bartender. He growled at Cain, and Cain growled back, before tipping back his head and downing the rum. He'd keep the bastard out 'till the morning sunrise if he felt like it. When it came to drinking, Cain could compete with the gods.
He set the glass on top of the photo of the old man he'd been given. Looking at him now, he looked a lot younger than most seniors, not to mention more dangerous. And it wasn't just the alcohol saying that. Then again, if drinking more made it worse, he may be able to tell. In the spirit of science, Cain grabbed the whole bottle of Pyrat and began to drink.
Who are you old man?
edited 31st Jul '11 6:09:07 PM by KSPAM
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serialGrimm had board the vehicle along with everyone else and before long they arrived at the safe house. It was a grey, nondescript building just off Vegas proper, a short distance from where the glitz and lights began. It was near dawn, and the rising sun lit the horizon alight with radiant oranges and warm reds. But none of them could see all that once they were inside. The safe house had no windows. In fact, the place resembled a bunker more than it did anything else. It had all the basics including its own living quarters, a well-stocked galley a firing range with earplugs and sound-proof padding, a small medical suite and an armory that was unfortunately empty. Come to examine the living space, the team would find each of their personal equipment in marked footlockers at the foot of the bed. The others had spread out around the safe house to go tend to each of their own personal objectives.
Grimm settled in and retrieved his stuff. After a quick shower and a change, he emerged from the bathroom wearing plainclothes with a blue United Nations do-rag over his balaclava, proudly sporting its colors. Both of them. He wasn’t in the service anymore, but wore his patriotism- if indeed it could be called that- openly. On that point- what would you call patriotism that is in no way affiliated with a nation? Nationalism was an even less appropriate word. It’s a part of the definition in both cases. He decided to shelve that issue and mull it over at a later date.
Technically what he was wearing was a violation of the United Nations Flag Code and Regulations, (specifically Section 4 clause C) which prohibits the use of the flag on an item of clothing, but Grimm had never really been one for sticking to regulations anyway. Memorizing them? Certainly. Actually following their instruction? Not so much.
He thought it somewhat ironic that he invested so much time and effort acquainting himself with UN code just so he could know how regularly and in what ways he was breaking it. He had originally conceived this effort in the hopes of finding some loop holes in all the obfuscating legalese, specifically with regards to Peacekeeper conduct under fire. As it stood, the UN had an incredibly hands-off approach to a Peacekeeper’s Rules of Engagement, as directed by their operational mandates. In a lot of situations PK units actually needed to call in for permission to return fire if first engaged by hostile forces. It was not hard to see why this didn’t go over well with the “blueberries”, especially since the people that are shooting at them are so often militia with a record of ethnic cleansing.
Come to think of it, Grim realized that actually wasn’t violating the flag code because the do-rag on his head wasn’t a piece of clothing with the United Nations flag printed on it like the code prohibits, it was in fact an actual United Nations flag done up like a bandana. Though, with hindsight, that probably only made it more offensive. At least to sticklers who obsessed over this sort of thing, but fuck them. It was a bit of a nitpick, all this obsessing over a flag, but he was at the same time sort of glad for it. He didn’t really like the idea of putting the flag on everything like the Americans had an awful habit of doing.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, flipping it open. He knew some contacts that could help them get all the necessary equipment that they’d need for the heist. That armory was looking a little bare, maybe he could fix that. Perhaps it spoke to something in him that that was the first place he checked. He shrugged.
yeyAlice snooped around the safehouse until she found a very familiar suitcase. Ah, yes. They'd already made that arrangement. Carefully undoing the latch, she opened it up just a crack, then peeked inside. They'd disabled the toxic gas grenade that had been set to blow if anybody opened it too quickly. Clever. She opened it further, then checked to see if everything was accounted for. Vials of poisons, a dart gun with darts aplenty, a Type 2 gas mask fitted to her head, and a brassy rune-covered sphere. All accounted for. Plus a note: "we've already planned for the King. Don't bother." She grimaced. Well, so much for that old trick. Must have figured out what he'd done to the Acquati place.
She took out the sphere and, seeing nobody watching, fiddled with it until a portal opened into one of Western Amalgamated's off-world storehouses. She didn't dare reveal the coordinates of their central one, so she chose a smaller one instead. The firearms were laughable: the Mauros Empire's knockoff of the Chinese Type 56, itself a knockoff of the AK-47. Not a worthwhile firearm unless your enemy was still wielding muskets.
But then there were the gas masks — Western Amalgamated didn't outsource their gas mask production, and didn't spare any expense either. Type 2s bore an intentionally industrial, inhuman appearance, designed to terrify enemies. (Not that this was officially admitted — ostensibly the design was something about being more resistant to damage in dangerous locations.) Despite this, they were incredibly light, comfortable, easy to see in, and reliable.
And of course, the grenades. Western Amalgamated had taken to turning its failed pesticides into weapons of war for interstellar arms dealing. She dragged out a crate full of unmarked, but particularly agonizing gas grenades — though usually non-lethal, the use of them would probably qualify as a war crime if any organization other than Western Amalgamated and the Sol III Foundation knew they existed. Then she quietly closed the portal, and pocketed the sphere. Finally, she yelled, "hey, guys, they've left us more gifts! Wanna give me a hand with these things?"
edited 31st Jul '11 8:39:38 PM by KillerClowns
(OOC: Takes place before the safehouse arrival.)
Prisha found no answer from Kobayashi. The messenger was miles away in his own Cooper, delivering a package. M. Kobayashi wasn't omniscient – although he'd very much like to convey this impression.
During the entire drive, the Driver had blared a songmix of Serbian dance and Spanish tango to offend everyone's ears. Shion tossed and turned, the nightmares about the targets she'd killed risen back to life singing horrendous alien language, and none of her bullets killed them. These living dead had overwhelmed her and she opened her eyes in a cold sweat, instinctually grasping for the holster which isn't there.
Badly music, which wasn't to her tastes. She tenderly massaged her temples. Overhead, KLAS-8 telled news of the royal crown missing from Princess (of Britannia) Clare's upcoming wedding. It was a calamity which loyalists had their mouths agape for; the crown jewel's been the subject of tradition for over two centuries, and no royal wedding should be without it.
Who would care about that? The subject switched to preparations for the Trinidad Casino's grand opening – the unity of Victorian and Trinity franchises. The renovators were just adding the finishing touches, the neon glowbulbs and machine testing.
Mr Roy Bakersfield commented he expects an attendence rate of 10,000+ gamblers for the reeling, and that he'd have a robust banquet of BBQ meat and Chinese takeout at the ready – it's a buffet. The odds will be fudged in favour for the patrons, but only for the night. Mr Patterson added, he is very pleased to have worked with Bakersfield, and he shall be toasting the start of a very beautiful friendship.
The remainder of the journey, Shion had her hands over her ears. At the very back of her mind, she could hear her mother's nursery hums, soothing in its homely way – and she'd hoped to mentally drown out the Mexican La Cucaracha music with her own.
Bianca finds her customary two cleavers and an assortment of knives in the foot locker, as well as a handbook on modern security equipment and a pistol. Oh dear, she'll have to practice with it. Or ask someone for help. Inside the small closet are silk evening gowns, long cotton summer dresses, satin slippers, and clean undergarments.
The eerie thing is that Bianca was sure that these dresses were hanging in her wardrobe in the palace or folded in the trunk at the Ritter's. How were they acquired? She sinks on the bed and tries to breathe more freely.
"Hey, guys, they've left us more gifts! Wanna give me a hand with these things?"
She might as well take this chance to explore modern technology, but the sour little girl might be reluctant to teach her. Bianca follows the sound of her voice anyway, carrying the pistol with her, should someone be kind enough to tell her how to use it.
"This is probably going to sound silly," Bianca says, holding out the pistol to Alice, "but assuming you have the time and patience, can you teach me how to use this effectively? We don't have these in my world."
edited 31st Jul '11 8:32:44 PM by snowfoxofdeath
Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey BitchfestJonathan approved of the safe house, for the most part: strong, sturdy, and secret. Perfect for planning to rob a casino.
His stuff was neatly arranged in his footlocker: his pistols, his SMG's, his shotgun and its holster, with extra magazines and shells for all, several wads of C4, rolls of duct tape, and a change of clothes. Relieved to finally be out of his tattered suit, he pulled on a khaki T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. The spines in his right arm gleamed dully in the light.
A bit of poking around yielded other good results, including a firing range and, when he tested it on a borrowed laptop, high-speed wireless Internet everywhere. This place had evidently been built to last for quite a while and not sacrifice basic luxuries.
Jonathan figured he might as well get acquainted with the people he'd be working with for the next couple of weeks, so when a young girl asked for some help, he dropped by to see what he could do.
Edited previous post instead
edited 31st Jul '11 8:32:31 PM by snowfoxofdeath
Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey BitchfestAlice saw Bianca and Jonathan and said, "you'll do. OK, listen up. The gas masks there are my own company's Type 2s. Way more comfortable than they look. I'm guessing there for use with those... things." She then pointed at the grenade crate, and expertly spun her lie. "North Korean gas grenades. Brutal. I don't really want to know how our employer got 'em. If you're squeamish about killing, they'll buy you some time, but they hurt like Hell if you breathe 'em in. So, please, please be careful. I don't want Kim Jong-il's favorite toys in my lungs." Finally, she said, "alright, let's get these things to the central armory."
Then, in response to Bianca's request, she said, "nope. I mean, if I could teach you, I would — I don't want you putting a bullet in my ass by mistake. But aside from my buddy here," she patted her dart gun, "I don't do guns. Too noisy. Not enough fun."
edited 31st Jul '11 8:35:00 PM by KillerClowns
Deinonychus walked into the bunker like safehouse, Lovely, he thought, Might as well see if it has a lab. He walked toward a modest laboratory and examined it, This'll have to do.
He removed both of his gloves as he approached his quarters, revealing pieces of mechanical armor as he entered his room, while removing his labcoat, which revealed more armor. Removing it revealed to adjust it, one would notice some scars along his body, all from those years of fighting his enemy. He pushed that thought away as he reattached the armor, making sure it fit properly.
He walked toward lockers where their things were being held. Opening it reveal an assortment of chemicals, canisters, bomb making devices, and some mobile computers, as well as other equipment he used. He took some of the equipment and moved it to the laboratory and began to set things up, this was going to be fun at least.
I'm on an iPod, forgive me if I don't match your epic posts with one of my own. I'll do my best, though
Yuki climbed off the bus into the garage, spotting a familiar black vehicle with a red stripe down the car, off-center over the driver's side. Her black Ferrari 512 Testarossa, in pristine condition, not even a scratch from a tow truck.
As she slid into the driver's seat, she pulled the release for the bonnet. She retrieved her priceless heirloom, a sword given to her by her grandfather before he died. She closed the hood and locked the car, making sure her keys were safe and secure in her pocket before she entered the main area of the safehouse.
"So this is where we plan our big job, huh?" she asked. "Don't suppose it has a phone somewhere, does it?"
Not really expecting an answer, she cinched the sword to one of her belt loops and set about exploring their new base.
No one believes me when I say angels can turn their panties into guns.Ian opened his locker. As requested, there was a butterfly knife and a Colt revolver. Simple but effective weapons for one who doesn't need much. However, there was also some blood bags, which were labeled by blood type. There was enough for two weeks. How the employer managed to get these was certainly shady. It would be tragic if someone died because a few bags went missing, but that was a risk that needed to be taken.
But there was also some other items. More weapons, a laptop, a cell phone, chemicals, fake ids...all the necessary tools for a heist.
Ian knew he was going to have fun.
He took one of the blood bags and bite down right away. He exhaled as he savored the refreshing taste, as if he was drinking icy water after a day of being hydrated in the desert. He felt his powers coming back to him.
edited 31st Jul '11 8:40:06 PM by chihuahua0
The personal quarters reminds her of military boot camp films, in the utilitarian way which the furniture and beds are arranged. She prays the Drill Instructor barking doesn't come with the deal. When she finds the room which has her grey and green familiar suitcase, she takes it the room is meant for her. Huh, how'd they sneak her stuff here that fast? Everyone else's too?
(The same way they've taken her to the police station in another city.)
Exploring the neep and corners, she finds to her contentment her equipment used for carrying out hits – the USP .45 pistols with silencers beside, the Luger .44 marksman – clips and assorted bullets, knives.. oh hells yea, this is good. She won't be going in naked, that is sure.
They have TV, hung like a pictureframe on the wall – and a neato alarm clock beside the single-size mattress.
First things first. She starts gleaning the room for any traces of bugs (listening devices), she prefers having her privacy. When she's satisfied, she steps out to the larger chamber, stretching her arms and yawning. Huaaauuh.
"All right, then. I understand," Bianca says cheerfully. She sets down the pistol on a table, away from the other weapons, and lifts one of the crates in a smooth motion and heads for the armory. "I'll find someone else."
Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey BitchfestJoshua walked in and looked around. There was everything he needed there—a shower and a washer-dryer combo. He spotted his backpack next to one of the beds and made his way over. He immediately bent over, picking up the bag from the ground—and then he dumped it on his bed.
He sorted through the items. Most of it was medical supplies and ammo, but there was some food he didn't need anymore. He trashed it—there was a metal can next to the bed on the other side—and then refilled the gray hiking bag, replacing it at its spot just under the bed.
He dug some more under the bed and found his other things. His .357 was there, as was his M1911. He liked that gun in particular, as it was the first one he had found. He picked both up and set them on the bed, inspecting them for damage. The markings he used—a crudely-carved star—was on the handles, so he knew they were his. He picked each one up individually and made sure they were unloaded, then put them back on the bed.
Getting back on his haunches, he searched some more, and after a bit of looking came back up and produced a M1014 combat shotgun from under the bed. The star mark was on the butt of the gun, and it was unloaded, so he dropped it on the bed as well.
It was at that point he realized there was a pile of clothes at the end of the bed. He cocked his head for a moment, thinking on what to do, and then he picked them up. It was just a plain white T-shirt and a pair of white pants—sleeping clothes, obviously. He snorted—whoever their employer was, they had bland tastes—and then he made his way to the bathroom, as the serious man was finished.
The shower was immensely satisfying. Weeks of nasty grime washed away, and the memories of that time went with them. After he got out, he looked about in the cabinets until he found the shaving cream and a proper razor—electric was for bullshit sissies—and removed his stubble. He ran a hand through his hair—shorter than most people liked it, but it suited him just fine—until it was just that right level of messy-but-not-too-much, and then he walked out, wearing his new sleeping clothes.
He made his way over to the washing machine and threw his other clothes in along with some soap. Setting it to automatic, he meandered back over to the bed, clearing it and carefully putting each item back under the bed, neatly. He then laid down, placing the crook of his right knee perpendicularly on top of his right knee, so that his leg hanged in the air, and his hands behind his head. Then he dozed off, waiting for the washing machine to finish.
I am now known as Flyboy.Shion overhears Bianca asking about weapon's handling - and when Alice says something about her being too young, she decides to step in. "How'd you expect to learn if you're scaredy-cat about mistakes. All of us had to learn how to crawl, once. What're you looking to try, pistols? Machine-guns? What's your name, by the way?"
edited 31st Jul '11 8:43:08 PM by QQQQQ
"I can teach you about that, too," Jonathan said to Bianca, "as soon as we get these - oof - grenades into the armory." He hefted the crate. "Wow, this thing is heavy. Must have a lot of grenades."
He continued talking as he carried the crate to the armory. "Never really cared for nerve gas, myself; too random, too uncontrollable, and only useful in certain situations. Plus, more illegal than a Gatling gun in a national park. Government finds one of those on you, bam, in jail for life or something. Besides, if I want someone to suffer, I'll do it personally. I don't have many people I'd want to do that to, but there are some..."
Shion rushes to help the crate. "Lemme get that. Wait, our employer's giving out nerve gas? He think that's some candy to be used? We're robbing a deal, not massacuring populations! What's he expecting from us anyhow. Man.. this crate's loaded.."
After they heft the crate over, Shion heads back to attend with Bianca.
edited 31st Jul '11 8:51:12 PM by QQQQQ

Bianca picks a seat close to the others but far enough so that she has a little bubble to herself. Cool air blows from a vent over her head; she angles it to her face and leans back.
My dad bought a movie, so I'll be gone for three hours.
Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey Bitchfest