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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Aug 24, 2017 19:18:36 GMT -8
Name: Margot Lenoir =[The Red Rocket]= /[Dr. Margot Lenoir]/ This was the beginning of the end. Such terrors did not dwell below the feet of the sane world without a cause. This well of evil in its purest form could not exist on the sane plane as the people and things she had come to know. There was the heavens above: the sweeping green of the fields of home to the fading city lights, the feeling of the wind out in the open. Indeed, if that were heaven, this was surely the Pit. It was almost a religious experience for the ex-doctor Lenoir, sat at her table. She was a small woman, barely an inch or so over five foot. Her dark hair, a velvet-red hue underneath the dim red hues of the lights in the Red Rocket, was pulled back into a loose bun atop her head, while her grey coat was buttoned up tight to the throat, as if the surface's winter chill could snake in through the depths of the earth. The thought of the miles of earth and stone between herself and the corporeal world was more than enough to make her shiver, as though pressed by a chilling wind. Needless to say, she was rather put off from the bowl of ramen before her. Lenoir sat in a stony silence, straight-backed, in her chair opposite a fellow that was more polar bear than man, what with his white hair and hulking form. And she stared into her plain noodles, hardly registering the other patrons that came and went, as if it could make her forget the sights she had seen, down there in the Dark. The hand of flesh shook, but the only betrayal of her mechanical left was the rapid, steady pulse of those green-glowing veins that ran through the palm, to the equally fluttery beat of her heart. Perhaps this was why she had not been tailed by one lawyer since she had arrived: this place was already a death sentence in its own right. == *Name: Goes by the alias “Pale-Wolf”, or “Folrvaladyr” for those who know of his exploits in Scandinavia. His true name is lost in gossip panels. *Age: Gauged to be in his mid 30’s *Gender: M *Class: Hotshot Skills: Deadly from hand-to-hand to long range combat||Fantastic cook, especially with noodles||An admirable musician and carver|| Fair leading capabilities, if but due to his sheer intimidation factor. Ethnicity: Northern-Germanic Accent: Somber, and humbled. With a clear but sharp accent; markedly on 't's and 's's Height: 6’8″, or 2.07m Weight: 175lbs, or 79kg Cybernetics : Biotek : Unbeknownst to Pale-Wolf himself, his body has been entirely reconstructed using synthetic muscle-tissues. While not amplifiying any existing capabilities he was born with, he does not suffer from age or other mortal degredations. His tissues are doubly more robust against Black-Blood from the Void-Spawn. Unfortunately, in his reconstruction, his brain and general cranial region had to be tampered with: a hardened casing makes the development of new emotions and skills difficult. Items: A signature and heavily modified Walther WA2000, in a mechanical sense: an underslung gyroscope is fitted where a bipod would be, and the entire model has seen repairs from synthetic materials. Most notably, however, is the conversion from 7.62mm rounds to 12.7mm bullets. An extended receiver, largened and lengthened barrel came respectively with the modification. Two bags usually carry the bulk of his miscellaneous fetishes, one strapped securely to his back with synthetic nylon, and the other loosely held at his hip in leather. The synth pack holds a multitude of razor sharp pieces of metal, which he lordes over whenever he is alone. The leather sack contains more regular commodities; besides the several carved figures of castles and dragons, wolves and knights, he also has a simple first aid kit: complete with a dog-decal bandaid and blue string with a needle. A carving knife is also set inside, along with a whetstone and weapon cleaning supplies. A modernized C96 Mauser pistol is usually holstered at his hip; as well as a long seax just infront of it. Appearance: A quiet giant, Pale-Wolf is the typical northerner: his sharp, chiseled and somber features are irrefutably wolf-like in the way his high cheekbones are pronounced, but shallow as it comes to his flat-line lips. Four scars on his face mark a particularly close encounter, that left him none too pretty; all going diagonal over his face, most notably tugging his eyes into an ever sleepier expression. His eyes burn a silent golden-orange hue; either by some cosmetic modification or some biological mishap… or perhaps of a more… otherworldly designation. Regardless, the pupils are unnaturally slitted, though the distinction is hardly notable to the passerby. His hair, however, is most notably a pale white shade, falling straight to his shoulders, if his bangs weren’t pulled back to a bun behind his head. His ears are cut rather viciously, as bandages wrap curiously about the tips of his ears, finishing off with an almost uncharacteristic bow. His body is akin to that of a statue; fit with the defined anatomy, as well as the plethora of darkened burn scars, and the rivers of claw marks. All his scars, in their unnatural shapes and whorls, are made from his fights in The Deep. == Covering this battlefield of a body, is a plethora of layered clothes and armor. Basely, he wears simple black straight trousers made of tightly woven silk; dirtied to a grey shade, with ageless blood stains and mud scuffs. A simple sleeveless tunic of pale-green covers his torso and hangs loose at the mid point of his thighs, with a belt keeping it tight about his waist. Ontop of this is a kevlar-weave long sleeve shirt, undyed, it remains its natural blue-grey hue. His legs are doubly covered by more kevlar trousers, with ceramic plates set along the front; scarred, and patched. His feet are covered by some rather simple boots that hug tightly to his calves, ending at his kneecaps. A waistcoat for flair, held tight by a belt, again, covers his hips; though this time composed of synthetic nylon, and pouches containing bullets for his WA2000, and a sling for his pistol and seax. In finality, is his most signature leather long jacket; half the collar replaced by a higher and thicker gambeson-style padded green cloth, with further padding of pale fur just below it. His sleeves start off with the same pattern of pale-green gambeson, before turning back to simple leather for the forearm. A respective rope of blue, dark blue, and red of about a foot’s length is wrapped about his shoulder. Its reason is largely unidentifiable. Biography: The Pale-Wolf made a name for himself in the Dungeons near Seattle, and Japan. Though he worked initially as a Dungeon-Watcher in his homeland of Germany, where he earned the bulk of his scars. He became notable when he fended off a particularly large swarm of beastlings by his lonesome off the coast of the Iwate province of Japan. Contact with Pale-Wolf was lost within minutes, after the signatures of the swarm became manageable by local militas, they found him amidst a pile of bodies: Black-Blood from the Depthspawn burning through his flesh and bone. The wounds and infections were supposedly terminal, and survival was only viable through cybernetic work; his last conscious act was refusing cybernetic augmentation, he was presumed dead by all outlets of media following him as he was put on Life Support for a mysteriously erased period of time when he entered a coma soo nafter his denouncement of cybernetics. He was last registered in a hospital near Iwate, Japan. Where he was taken after the forces were pushed back to the Kitakumi River An annonymous benefactor supported Pale-Wolf's medical bill, and moved him to an unspecified location in Germany. However, he quietly resurfaced here on the Crawler; unbeknownst to most of the world. [REFERENCE IMAGE: orig12.deviantart.net/933f/f/2017/236/f/8/palewolfprofile_by_bloodtrailkiller-dbl7poc.png ] =[The Red Rocket]= Sitting at a table to the North-most edge of the eating space, overlooking Hakimi's E.R. == /[Pale-Wolf]/ There was something... Admirable, in the stoicism of the Doctor that sat infront of him; though he supposed it could just be an emotional lockdown after the rather... gruesome introduction to The Crawler's venture. Still, he wasted no time in ogling her, as he cupped his hands about the base of the ramen-bowl before him and brought it to his lips; opening up his maw and letting the quick meal effectively slide in its entirety, down his gullet. Gone and done with in a few moments, he stiffled a belch with a heavyset 'harumph', as he bowed his head and covered his lips, wiping away some residual broth on the back of his hand only to eyeball the remaining noodles in the bowl, before glancing up to Lenoir once again. "Eat when, and while you can. The Dark is unrelenting." He informed gravely, and reached over; pushing the bowl closer to his ward. He paused, staring at the noodles, then her, patiently. He thought little on her nature and stature; he had an objective now, besides some primordial urge to return to the Deep, and he was satisfied with that. Pale's eyes were wide, and alight with expectation as he watched her; his brows rose a touch as he reached out again and moved the fork closer to her as well. In the end, he sat doggedly diligently, his hands in his lap, slightly hunched over and watching. |
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Post by Kidney on Aug 24, 2017 22:18:30 GMT -8
Log 504: Model A-Unit 1
Alias: Chigger
Location: The Red Rocket, table towards the middle of the room.
H.I.C.: N/A
Date: N/A
Eyes survey room. Colors dull, chair not soft.Chigger's eyes move independently, taking in Infomation at a rate he could allow. Many others in the room, some look dangerous. Face contorts, contemplation mode. Chigger's face contorts to a contemplative look, but the position seemed hollow, as he sits in this position for about 30 minutes. No one seems to notice me, will mostly attract attention from law enforcement agents, perhaps a mechanic. Chigger assumes a straight face, sitting to his full height, back straight. He reaches over, a skeletal metallic hand touching and investigating the packs of sugar substitutes in their paper casings. Uses: None. Perhaps chemical reaction can kick start rates. Heat? No. Not nearly sugary enough for transformation. Cold? Perhaps. Freezing could reveal data relevant to the production of medicine. Or to the enjoyment of a patient.
He slips his hand over it, rubbing it before pushing it into a pocket on his lab coat. These possibilities made his brain work a higher speed, pushing the limits of what he could process as he ran simulation after simulation in his skull. Before long, he was lost in thought, his body releasing pent up gasses from his neck and legs, air slipping out of his pant legs as his eyes dimmed.
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Post by porkylabrador on Aug 24, 2017 23:07:29 GMT -8
Bee-Bee frowned in confusion as the fellow chuckled and seemingly looked through her dirge of warning. She was however used to people laughing at inappropriate moments. Her head tilted until it had loped to one side and the long-side of her hair ran lazily over her eye like a bubblegum waterfall. "Yer'a cheeky robbit." The candy-head said with a smirk, legs swinging backwards and forwards due to an inability to sit still.
Suddenly a tightness entered her jaw and her lips pursed while her teeth clenched shut. The White-Coat and the Pale-Puppy were sat in the corner... Bee-Bee had written them off as dog-chow when she'd last seen them. Them being there was what the pink-headed-punk considered a statistical and biological impossibility. Slipping from her stool, she crept in plain sight towards their table, gingerly rubbing her flesh-and-steel fists together. The movement resembled a frightened child creeping across the landing to tell her parents she'd suffered a nightmare. She had none of the politeness Miles had previously demonstrated upon his approach, the candy-head simply slid right up into Lenoir's personal space and shakily opened her mouth to force out some concerned whispers.
"'ow are you alive? You an' pupper, that is. I thought I'd the nails to hammer your coffins shut, yeah? Are you... are... you..." Bee-Bee's head snapped in several directions as if looking for wired or concealed microphones. "G-g-g-ghosts?" There was a genuine lilt of fear to Bee-Bee's voice as she couldn't quite muster the courage to extend her index finger and touch Lenoir to test the theory, it result in the candy head standing, hunched over with her arm and finger extended to Lenoir's cheek.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Aug 25, 2017 13:54:20 GMT -8
Lenoir stifled a scowl as others made to join, and she pushed the wayward strands of dark hair away from her face. The man that approached was well-meaning, she reasoned, if but terribly emaciated. His accent, too, and his chewed 'R's, made it all the more strange; she had expected the U.S. to, at least, kept its citizens fed. She idly wondered if the Eloy-Magdelena cave-in was still posing to be an issue for its Southwesternly citizens almost a full century later...
"Come sit, Miles." She agreed, albeit dispiritedly, as she pulled the bowl of noodles closer to her own person in some half-hearted commitment to eat them. Although, it was hard to work up an appetite with her stomach already in knots.
She wondered if that was the direction she was headed, what with her lack of hunger, but the thought was rather dramatic.
She listened as Pale spoke his admittedly few words, but it was nothing new; it took only one glimpse for her to make that realization, the pervasiveness of the Dark.
Lenoir plucked up the fork with the metal-hand, pulsing it green light to the beat of her heart, flickering in and then out. The prosthetic was surprisingly dexterous, holding the fork delicately without so much as a 'clink' as the metal of the hand kissed the metal of the utensil. It twirled with the fork a mound of noodles as if it were spaghetti, but she made no move to plop the ball of noodle into her mouth.
Instead, she gave a more displeased glance to her side as a candy-haired punk neared and unceremoniously entered her own personal bubble.
She batted her finger away with her corporeal and not-ghostly hands and told Bee-Bee curtly,
"Don't touch me."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Aug 25, 2017 15:50:58 GMT -8
/Pale-Wolf/
His attention shifted now, as Lenoir addressed a haggardly looking fellow; bedecked in dower attire and sporting an uncomfortable air about him... Though, he supposed his ilk were something he should get used to in this Expedition. There were more desperate and delinquent souls than any stalwart and veteran ones; only the mad would run into The Dark; the desperate crawl into it.
With a heavy breath, he rose a brow and looked knowingly to Miles, and squared his shoulders; imposing a threat with a glance as he set his hands on the table.
Next was a sprite that spat all sorts of fire; lyrics, bullets, and... fire, literally. All using the curious cybernetic that looked like it was attached in a back alley with Elmer and a blowtorch; and she'd had the gall to reach out to prod at Lenoir.
Pale's thickly haired brows furrowed, pulling his scars to the center of his face as he noted Lenoir's capacity to pat off the offense, he was grateful for that much.
Still, he raised his hand to garner the Punk's attention;
"Keep your hands to yourself. I am her--" The fingers dipped to motion to Lenoir, as he bowed his brow to her in kind,
"-- Guard, and Guide. Offensive motions are grounds for me to act."
He intoned softly, kindly, though the sharpness of his tone was ever-present as he reclined and he let his hands rest back on the table.
Pale's amber gaze looked to Lenoir, then Bee-Bee and Miles, bringing his fingers to quietly interlock patiently, before shifting his gaze to watch Miles.
Bee-Bee was pugnacious, obnoxious, for certain; but she seemed to have a mind for being nice. Miles looked the sort who never heard the word, in contrast; polite, disciplined, but his attire and appearance didn't match. The blood on the bandages, that seemed to wind up past his wrist, and into his sleeves, hid something, or he was a brawler.
For such a youth, in such a life, damage wasn't skin-deep.
He was still, outwardly, at ease; though he knew he should prepare for things to escalate at the slightest moment.
Granted, his nature was always a little intense, so he supposed nothing was really hidden at all...
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Post by rumsztyk on Aug 26, 2017 10:01:20 GMT -8
"Thanks." Gladly accepting the invitation, Miles slid into place right next to Lenoir, without disturbing her personal space... which was currently being assaulted by a pink tornado. Nodding briefly to Pale-Wolf, he did notice the warrior's inquisitive gaze and intimidating posture. He did not let it scare him, as Miles had no ill intentions.
He was so captivated by the exchange between the women, listening intently to the words, he soon forgot he had a meal to eat. The subject was very interesting, BeeBee made it seem so. Miles had so many questions, ready to jump off the tip of his tongue - but he feared the timing was wrong for his injection. In the back of his mind, a somewhat sinister idea sprouted... one that could allow him to ask questions sooner, rather than later.
This was as good of an opportunity as ever to test his limits.
His eyes, previously wandering from Lenoir to BeeBee, taking in their body language, attire and mechanical augmentations, now fixed on the pink punk's face unblinking. It was not a mere stare. Using his recently acquired powers, one he was testing on himself daily, he attempted to calm the hot-headed woman, cooling her blood by a smidge. Miles did so, trying to be as subtle as possible, not exerting his power too long - it could have dire consequences.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 26, 2017 11:59:49 GMT -8
=Red Rocket- middle of the room=
/Eden Condor/
The man was at the table across from Chigger, he carried a bag of supplies that was left on the floor by his feet. He wore his death mask and all of his gear. He hadn't the time once he arrived with others to get a room and unwind. He had his arms crossed across his chest and he was facing right at Chigger. The mask insinuated he was staring at the robot, but in reality he was actually trying to get a small bit of shut eye.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 26, 2017 12:20:17 GMT -8
Log 504: Model A-Unit 1
Alias: Chigger
Eyes pointed at me, not seen through the mask. This is unfortunate, eye color can be an indicator of future decisions.
Chigger's eyes lock onto the man, then move down, eyeing the crumbs on the tray in front of him. Aluminium alloy, mass produced. Hands are shaking lightly, breathing is slowed. Audio sensors not able to pick up a heartbeat, the room is too loud, 63 decibels. Patrons eat on similar trays, video processors pick up sneers. Some of these people are young, others old. With the sound of small mechanisms in the face, Chigger wrinkles his flaky nose, a face of disgust appearing on his gray face. Alcohol based hairspray. Over applied.
He returns to normal, the sounds of small mechanic devices sounding off as each movement is its own action, small pauses between.
His movement was a to-do list, for others it was a rolling wave.
He eyed the man before him, eyes clicking into place, locked on the holes in the mask where his should be.
"An adult man should receive at least eight hours of Non-Rapid Eye Movement sleep. My recommendation is that you do not perform those hours in a chair. If you can enter it at all with the way your pressure points are being handled without a mattress."
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 26, 2017 13:38:09 GMT -8
His eyes opened slowly at the sound of the robot addressing him, that thing was the first thing his eyes latched onto and a feeling of fear had washed over him. He never trusted robots, never trusted AI, an accident waiting to happen he thought.
"And my recommendation is for you to shut your processor before I rip it out." Eden threatened, tired and his hate were not a good combination.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 26, 2017 13:47:46 GMT -8
Log 505
Alias: Chigger
Location: Red Rocket
Voice analyzation reveals anger, possibly brought on by the presence of me. Humans do not like me.
Chigger looked down, his hands clasping together in his lap as his eyes stuck to them. Perhaps I can mend this, he was sleeping, but cannot be sure. Mask obstructs eyelids and eyebrow movements.
"My processor does not produce my speech, it is actually two speakers at the place human tonsils would be placed."
Informing of proper information should calm him, some humans find that humorous as well, perhaps he is one of them. Question filed for future answering.
Hands no longer trembling, cannot see eyes but I can feel them staring. This is strange. Will find clarity for this conundrum at a later time. Question filed for future answering.
He looked up, eyes like a chameleon, separately analyzing his body language and lip movements. Tonguetip moves quickly, blade and tip of tongue press against the bottom of the mouth when articulating "s" sounds. Perhaps a Brooklyn native? Will have to gather linguistics data from other countries at a future time to analyze and ask.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 26, 2017 14:13:52 GMT -8
Eden humphed, too much thought, too specific, typical for machines, clearly this wasn't advanced AI which he was glad so that did calm him down.
"You should keep that info to yourself, some people would be very glad to torture you bot." Eden warned, his voice having been slightly muffled, but the mask being made so his speech would be heard still.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 26, 2017 14:21:10 GMT -8
Torture? Why would they torture me?
Chigger's eyes and face showed confusion as best they could, but he still looked down and nodded horizontally. He suddenly looked up, eyes coming into focus again.
Voice muffled, can't seem to identify the dialect. Perhaps it's an idiolect? Defined by a certain lifestyle? Will analyze vocal qualities when able to understand voice better.
"I would consider that exercise to be useless. I no longer have pain sensors."
His hands shifted, returning to the table as he fiddled with the sugar packets again.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 26, 2017 14:41:27 GMT -8
"Tell them that, and maybe they'll end you quickly. Some people though wouldn't care if you weren't able to feel pain, and would find it a good thing as they tear you limb from limb. Watch yourself bot, cause I won't." Eden declared, now finally taking his mask off and setting it on the table. He let the bot take a good look at it, cause it might not live long enough to see it again.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 26, 2017 15:04:40 GMT -8
Face revealed, white. Male. Voice doesn't match the face.
"I have done nothing to anger anyone else in my running. Perhaps you are thinking of another AI?"
His hands clasped together, and his eyes worked in his sockets to analyze his face. According to the Las Vegas modeling industry, this man is ugly.
He reached for the mask, but hovered it about a centimeter precisely over it, looking up at the man to make sure it was ok.
Sweat permeates his clothing, perhaps humans should be naked? Clothing isn't allowing the sweat to reduce heat effectively.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 26, 2017 15:12:09 GMT -8
"It doesn't matter what AI I'm thinking of, people don't like AI, they catch even the tiniest whiff of you going haywire and your gonna be turned into trash. And go ahead, pick up the mask, you somehow break it and I'll break you got it?" Eden said sternly, having sadly to deal with the robot now before having to possibly go on a mission with it.
This things going to be a danger for everyone I just know it. I'm not gonna let that happen. He thought, making sure this robot knew it's place.
When Chigger would pick up the mask he would find it malleable, yet sturdy at the same time. Bullet proof alloy with steel and traces of titanium, it was as defensive as it was terrifying if the bot could feel fear at all.
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