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| Pay Disrespect to the Dead | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 27 2017, 04:22 PM (1,923 Views) | |
| ♦ SoIo | Jan 27 2017, 04:22 PM Post #1 |
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Light Bender
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"It was then the child had taken outside to look at the new world. A world so fresh and different. A lifestyle that was not his. Amidst of people that operated differently and clothed differently. The horizon felt misplaced and the buildings that appeared more elegant. He was free...but he didn't feel free. Externally he was free, but internally his emotional complex was screaming to be freed. But he didn't know how to be free..." It was already sundown and Eileen had looked ahead to her next destination. She had been reading an interesting excerpt from a novel, taking the time to read to pass by the idle time on the ship. She took a deep sigh and closed the book, taking note of the last part she had just read. She placed both of her arms on top of the deck of the vessel. She bent down and placed her chin on top of her arms as she stared to what appeared to be the next island. Staring upon the huge cactuses that overshadowed the island, she wasn't sure how exactly she felt about the new adventures that awaited her. Was she more excited, or was she more nervous? She was travelling upon the path of the notorious Straw Hats pirates. And not to mention, the Pirate King before them. Those two historical facts alone were enough to make this pathing feel incredibly dangerous as it was infested of potential big shot pirates who were either game or no game. And the ones that were "game", they were the ones to look out for. It scared Eileen. It wasn't particularly a matter if she could succeed as a Marine; she was risking her life for this. A part of her wanted to return to the Blues where she was safe, but another part kept on pressing her to pursue her dreams. Dreams to become a Vice Admiral as a female. Beforehand, she took part in a conversation with another Captain after she had helped the Marine fight through a nasty storm (the Grand Line seas were not nice to the weary). This time, the Captain did not appear to know her father (who was also a Captain, but situated elsewhere). Well, she was only assuming that as the Captain didn't really point out any familiarity when she introduced herself. Anyways, from her conversation, she learned more about Cactus Island. She felt genuinely interested as she's now heard numerous stories of how abnormal the islands can be in the Grand Line. This island was certainly no exception. She turned her head back towards the captain as they were closely approaching the island. She crossed her arms and gently tapped her foot, not as a sign of impatience, but of inquisitiveness. "People just...mourn the dead here? Because there used to be a grand battle here a decade ago? They've been doing this the past 50 or so years?" The captain nodded as he heaved out orders to land. It didn't exactly add up. Based on her past studies, written records indicated the Strawhats passed here a decade ago. So were they a part of this grand battle? Their journeys on the beginning of the Grand Line weren't exactly detailed She kept silent as she didn't want other Marines know her studies on the Strawhats. Regardless, it sparked her curiosity to know more about the past of this island. Maybe she could learn more if she has any given free time. After she helped drop the anchor and moored on the dock of the island, Eileen continued to ponder and introspect. She did so even during her given instructions, to which she was to travel to a small Marine outpost at sunrise for her complete mission debrief. For now, she had to settle at a motel specifically designated for Marines. She checked in to her rather mediocre room and placed her belongings on top of her surprisingly comfy bed. She went out towards the small balcony and glanced out to the seemingly mopey town. The atmosphere was astonishingly depressing and it gave Eileen a very somber feeling. She quickly went inside her room, where she felt slightly better. She shook her head to try and come back into her senses. "This journey had better be worth it..." |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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| ♥ Bright | Jan 28 2017, 09:18 AM Post #2 |
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Wannabe Writer
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"Mr. Spinne, sir?" "Mhm?" A puff of smoke spread into existence, only to be caught on the evening breeze and disappear once more. "Why are you sunbathing at sundown? You won't get a very good tan that way." Lang pulled down his sun shades and looked up at the crewman nervously writihing his hands by the sunbed's side. Red was quietly dozing on Lang's chest. On the metal thing lodged there. She covered it up nicely. "Tan? The point isn't a tan. If I wanted a tan I would have taken ample opportunity while in Kyuka. No. This is mere relaxation. I may have done it earlier, but, as you may or may not know," Lang explained, all while a note of disgust crept into his tone, "I don't do heat and exposure all too well these days. I've had quite enough of the sunny spectrum; more than a lifetime's worth, I'd wager. So, for now at least, it's cool sunsets and snow baths for me." "Oh." "'Oh' indeed. How long until we land?" "Uh, we're just coming into port now. Velvet Tip, sir." Lang's brows flung themselves up to his scalp. He twisted in his seat to look across the deck of the Wind Rider and towards the encroaching cactus mountains. Red flew off his chest, writhed and hissed through the eye and plopped down onto the floorboards in an overturned mess of wriggling limbs. "So we are. I suppose I should get dressed. And tell Mortimer, if he doesn't already know." "On it, sir!" The man began to rush off. "Ah, Walter!" He froze and sheepishly turned his head. A single drop of sweat began to run down his forehead. "Y-Yes, sir?" "What are you telling Mortimer?" The writhing hands went into overdrive. For a moment they seemed to steam and brush the border of igniting. "Ah, that, um, you're... getting dressed? Is that... wrong?" Lang sighed the content sigh of a doting parent, long since given up any notions of normalcy or achievement, over their drooling idiot of a son. He stood, stretched and placed his hands on Walter's shoulders. There was some small flecks of cauliflower on them, which Lang gently brushed off. "Walter, Walter, Walter. By all standards of professionalism we should have fired you the moment you stepped aboard this ship. But try as I might, some strange, perhaps even divine force, stops me from doing so. Love? Pity? It really is quite the mystery. Either way, consider yourself a lucky individual." It was clear poor Walter hadn't understood much of what Lang had said. "Oh, yes! I do, sir, I most certainly do!" A crisp smile lit up Lang's face. "Like a puppy who ran too hard into a glass door. Delightful. Run along now, and tell Mortimer we're coming into port. Not that I'm getting dressed. That we're coming into port. Okay?" "Okay!" And off he trotted. "Lovable scamp," Lang wistfully breathed. But, much as he would love to enjoy the evening wind in nothing more than his boxers, there was business to attend to. Or, Lang hoped there would be, anyway. After Merrimont, and their subsequent recovery on Kyuka, there had been something of a shortage of action. Not that they explicitly needed it. The money from their work on aforementioned Merrimont would set some humble families up for life. But the Jacks of All Trades were not a humble family. They were a greedy family. A single fortune simply wasn't enough. They needed to make a Dragon's coffers pale in comparison. So they needed work. Trade, bounties; so long as it kept the beli raining and didn't lean too much on the pesky Government's agenda, all was well. But Lang wanted a rest from Yonko's and their allies. They could afford to dial it down a little, so what better place to go to then the most popular island for pirates entering the Grandline? And, even if it were a slow day for pirating, even mourning monks need food. Cactus shaped mountains did not make for very good agricultural land. The grain, fruit, vegetables and meat in the belly of their ship would see some decent profit if all else failed. Walter was, for once, correct in saying they were close to landing. Lang emerged from his quarters decked out in a smart and thick trench coat to ward off the coming night cold. "Let's find us some work, shall we?" |
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| Crispy | Jan 29 2017, 11:09 AM Post #3 |
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Packet of Crisp
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Vacations were funny things, Mortimer had always thought. You set your life on a course of your choosing, a purpose for which you get out of bed in the morning and fling yourself with zeal into the waters of. But then, just every now and then, instead of pursuing your one drive, your chosen reason for being, your function; you take a couple of weeks down time, drink too much, find other less fulfilling pursuits to bury your time in. More often than not doing so somewhere with a gratuity of sand in the company of people indulging in the same nonsense, in the heady hopes of finding some winsome flibbertigibbet to while away a few days trying out some of the more gymnastic drawings in the Alabasta Sutra. Then of course, you had to spend the requisite 10 years hoping the photographs of said trip don't surface amongst your friends, colleagues, or family member lest they never regain the ability to look you in the eye without blushing. Well Mortimer didn't have any family left as they had all rather thoughtfully died, leaving him an orphan of the state, and his only friends WERE his colleagues and were with him every waking moment of the day, crew secrets were something of a myth at sea, especially on the Grand Line; Where losing track of a comrade for a few hours could mean kidnapping, implied sexual assault, and a town's worth of grand arson. Rest in Peace, Carlos, wherever you may be... Mortimer Montgomery, coming off the tail end of a medically demanded vacation himself (on account of a pair of truly buggered legs, massive physical fatigue, and general wear and tear that comes with getting in the middle of a crime lord and the crew of a Yonko fighting over a WMD) was putting the finishing touches on his magnum opus when Walter burst through the door of the previously solacefully empty kitchen. "Chef!" Walter gasped as if he'd sprinted all the way from wherever he'd come. "Mr. Spinne says to tell you that we're coming into dock, sir! Not that's getting dressed sir, he was very specific that you not know that!" He was gulping in air like a landed guppy and Mortimer raised an eyebrow, putting down his monogrammed pen. He couldn't possible have ran further than 10 yards... Mortimer thought drily, the ship's not that long. I should really run the staff through some callisthenics or some such, they might embarrass the company. Thank God they don't have to climb stairs too often. "Could be nothing, sir. But I gotta think, why didn't he want you to know? Might be hiding something! Should I go through his wardrobe when you're off the ship, see what he's up to!?" Mortimer half smiled and stood, patting the shorter man on the shoulder as he pulled on his long tailcoat. "Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, Walter, my boy. But I'll keep an eye on Langsam, don't you fret, if any signs of sedition should arise I shall call for you immediately." Walter nodded seriously at him and Mortimer forced his face into a serious expression, suppressing his burgeoning grin. The man meant well, and for someone he personally had bellowed at and dangled off the side of the ship, more than once, he never stopped trying to impress. That's initiative right there. Walter's eyes caught the book then and his expression snapped from serious to curious, "What're you up to, sir? Reading?" Mortimer suddenly stood up straighter, pride oozing out of him like an old boil. "Writing, Walter! Writing! I have just finished my life's work!" Walter gasped like a schoolboy, quite the feat from a grown man employed as a Bounty Hunter, and Mortimer drank it up like jet fuel. He laughed a booming laugh and pushed his glasses to the top of his nose. "Yes, 'Mortimer, A Butler's Tale'!" He boomed, "1500 pages of rip roaring adventure, betrayal, gentlemanly tales of daring do, with some hot gypsies thrown in. A sizzling story of a young man, who overcomes a world set against him to become the greatest culinary mind of his age...who also fights super villains during the day." Walter looked as though he was going to wet himself from excitement and Mortimer decided then and there that the man deserved a raise. "Can I read it, sir!?" "Oh no, Walter, not yet." Mortimer tittered, "though I do have a very important job for you. You must take my manuscript and mail it to the Seaking Publishing house in Water 7, so they can print the tales of my adventures wholesale and make me a killi-err, inspire a new generation of heroes!" "I won't let you down, Mr Montgomery!" He squeaked and flew past Mortimer, snatching up the heavy manuscript and barrelling out of the kitchen. "I know you won-hmmm, well I hope you won't, Walter." It'll be his neck if he does, that's my only copy. With Walter gone Mortimer picked up his cane, checked his coat once for ruffles and creases, there were none, naturally, and strode out of the kitchen onto the deck, the cool night air washing over him. He sighed happily, he had a feeling today was going to be a good day. |
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Mortimer Montgomery • Crew Position: Quartermaster • Profession: Chef • Crew: The Jacks Of All Trades • Threat: 186 • SD Earned: 348 • Beli: 17,000,500 • L: Grand Line: Route Two Solomon Th'uul • Crew Position: N/A • Profession: Martial Artist • Crew: N/A • Bounty: 7,500,000 • SD Earned: 150 • Beli: 53,500,000 • L: Grand Line: Route Three | |
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| ♦ SoIo | Feb 1 2017, 12:28 AM Post #4 |
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Light Bender
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"Ok. Maybe I am regretting this." Spending free time to study more about the island wasn't exactly a great idea. She walked across the streets of Velvet Tip, and already Eileen was losing interest in acquiring more knowledge about the past of Cactus Island. There wasn't a single native who wasn't dedicating some part of their time mourning for whoever died. They typically mourned towards the cactus-shaped mountains, to which Eileen had horrifyingly discovered that the "spikes" were actual tombstones. These must have been the graves from the terrible battle that had taken place a decade ago. She tried earlier to start a conversation with a citizen, who wore clothing that was definitely outdated. It started off nicely on the introductions, but then it always redirected towards either the destruction caused by Leander or on how the dead should be peacefully mourned. Eileen's social mechanics just didn't mesh and she decided to sweetly nod in agreement about the mourning, and leave. If Velvet Tip was any given indication, this entire island was just straight up miserable and disheartening. It was already late in the night and just walking a few meters around the city had tightened Eileen's stomach. Speaking of which, she had an empty stomach. It was a long period since she last ate when the vessel had accidentally lost most of their provisions among the raging sea near their destination. With the goodness of her heart, Eileen let the other Marines eat a majority of what was left over. Still, couldn't deduce about the island or come to any conclusions with an empty stomach. Let alone even go to sleep. Her eyes pointed towards a bar, in which it was silent as the night. She could feel a magnet of lackluster covetousness towards it, but then reminded herself that the most inconvenient situations happen when she entered into bars. Not to mention, there was generally a lack of food as well, so turned away from what appeared to be mainstream. Though, something else did grab her attention. Opposite of the building, Eileen watched a group of men, women, and even children all stand peacefully around a man who wore clothing that distinguished himself from the rest. He was preaching with power and vigor. Curiously, Eileen tuned in, listening to words that formed persuasively about the meaning of respecting the deaths from this epic battle. This man had to be some sort of priest based on what appeared to be an authoritative tone. Tuning out the priest temporarily, she carefully analyzed the people. The adults seemed to be very absorbed as they bowed their heads and sulkily stared at the ground. However, the children were more fidgety and an expression of bewilderment painted their faces. At the corner of her eye, she saw what seemed to be a father force a child to mourn. Eileen raised her eyes in concern. The priest then concluded his preach and closed what appeared to be a small brown book. As soon as he did so, he raised his hand to the air and then advocated some sort of campaign. The group all chanted with a strong 'Yes' in response, and then dispersed. Eileen tried to hide an expression of confusion as the people passed by her. As if this place couldn't get any weirder...hell, maybe even more depressing. Eileen's stomach largely growled, much so that anyone within a few feet could hear. She briefly revealed an expression of self disgust and apologetically looked away to avoid any eye contact. She's stayed around alone enough, she needed to either be in company with someone or sleep. But...food...oh, she was hungry. She was making her way back, grumbling slightly. "I hope the motel has some degree of food...otherwise, this is going to be a long night for me in terms of going to sleep." She muttered to herself. |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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| ♥ Bright | Feb 4 2017, 08:05 AM Post #5 |
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Wannabe Writer
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Now, the question was where would be the best place to go for work. Cactus Island was a twin to Brick Blues in that both were almost insufferably miserable places. One expressed its despair through music, the other through non-stop funeral rites and absurd dedication to the dead. They really needed a kick in the backside to wake them up. Get them looking forward toward the future every now and then instead of drowning in the mire of the past. Lang sniffed and began to wander. They hadn't arrived at the best time, really, the sun was already descending. Most places would be closing up, most people would be going to bed. There were still plenty of mourners out, naturally, though it was a dubious matter as to whether they would actually provide paying work that didn't have the drawback of also being insane. No, Lang wanted something a bit more grounded. A bit more rational. There had to be a cubbyhole of normal minded, coherent individuals somewhere on the island. There always was, even in the backwards, culturally fanatic places like Cactus. "Grief guide you travelers!" Lang stiffened and looked to his right. A young man, spry and fresh with a dollop of offensively sparkly red hair spread over his skull was waving and approaching him. He wore an anchor shaped badge and carried a official looking fanny pack; the worst kind of pack, one that would always clash with any uniform and indicated the tasteless dress sense of tax collectors. "It's seven hundred beli per meter per day to dock here, though we have a discounted weekly pass or a premium super saver on funeral boats." Lang chuckled and reached into his coat. "Ah, did the News Coo not come through? All our docking fees have been covered in advance and filed under business expenses with the Velvet Tip Greenwater Distillery." The young man blinked. "Oh. But- Everyone who docks here has to pay-" A piece of neatly folded paper emerged from Lang's jacket. It unfolded into roughly five pages worth. "As you'll notice here, here, and here," he continued while pointing at 'relevant' parts of the legal jargon infused within the paper, "our business makes us exempt from these particular tax codes and tariffs, which includes any and all fees related with the transport and temporary storage of goods and vehicles, thus including our ship." Before the boy could even take a proper look at the paper, Lang snatched it back up, folded and stored it once more. He began to reach into another pocket. "I also have here a license specifically to-" "O-Okay, okay! I'm sorry mister, I don't want to cause a fuss. I- I, I'm still new to the job, thought for a moment you had to-" Lang smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder. "No harm done, my friend. Just put down in your records that our ship has been paid for and it'll save us both a world of fuss. It's a complicated system, I know, but I can see you're a smart lad; you'll have your head wrapped around it in no time. Now, I have a very important meeting to get to, so if you'll excuse me I must be off. Toodles!" The young dockmaster returned Lang's wave very weakly and walked away with a small dose of shell shock. With the docking fees sorted and a nice bit of pocket money saved, Lang needed to decide on a direction. A few members of the crew had cautiously walked down the plank to join him. "I'm thinking maybe we sleep in proper beds tonight. Much as I adore our little floating domicile, falling asleep at the mercy of the waves has gotten a bit old." Lucky then that the perfect opportunity struck; a Marine motel just a little ways down the street. Both a good source of information, work, and no doubt Lang could bargain their way to a night or two. "How can I help you?" a doury old Marine asked at the reception. "List your Marine code here, rank here, signatur-" "We're not Marines." Lang beamed. The man, identified as Petty Officer Jay by his name badge, wrinkled his nose and looked to Lang with an imposing glare. "Bounty hunters, rather. Professional bounty hunters. I was wondering, you wouldn't happen to have any local posters lying around? And while I have your attention, I'm going to have to ask for a few rooms." Again he reached into an inner pocket. "As declared here, here, and here..." |
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| Crispy | Feb 7 2017, 06:46 PM Post #6 |
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Packet of Crisp
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Mortimer stretched languidly as he strode across the deck to the gangplank and made his way onto the dock. He'd never been to Cactus island before but his first impressions weren't stellar, there was an acrid sort of stench hanging in the air. Formaldehyde and something heavier, though that second element might just have been the atmosphere itself; The weight of the island's inherent ennui manifesting itself physically as a stench to make his nose as morose as the rest of him. "Bah!" Mortimer snorted and stomped over the old dock in search of Lang. He wasn't too hard to find, Mortimer merely followed the trail of muddled looking functionaries and the odd peon from the ship to a small Marine motel, the reception of which seemed to be boasting the presence of one famed bounty hunter and a particularly revolting maroon and mustard pallete. Lang was as he ever was, dressed well, neatly groomed, and likely had a spider concealed somewhere on his person that was more reliable than any gun. Right that second he appeared to be intimidating people by flashing a sizable wad of paperwork at them. Seems I'm not the only one who penned a novel this week... he thought dryly, eyeing the hilariously thick stack of parchment Lang was waving over the poor receptionist's head like the sword of Damocles himself. Poor chap, he had no idea what he was in for, Langsam could sell you the shirt off of your own back if he found his rhythm, and if he was on particularly good form he could convince you afterwards that he deserved compensation for shoddy service. He was half tempted to just fling a bag of money at the young Marine, pay for some rooms, and spare him the ear ache but he was relatively sure that technically only Marines were permitted to room at these sorts of establishments. With that in mind he supposed there was no harm in playing along...just a little... "What seems to be the problem here?" he asked importantly in his most bombastic voice, as he strode confidently over to the front desk to join his friend, "Langsam you wouldn't be bothering this nice young man with all that paperwork flimflammery would you? For God's sake man, he's a professional! He know's we're due today, and I'm sure he has room and board available for an entire crew's shakedown after the services we rendered to the government on Merrimont. I mean, it's been in all the papers, old bean! He knows who we are!" He turned to the young man, who was now looking vaguely panic stricken as his eyes darted back and forth between Lang, himself, and Lang's brick of forms. "Dear fellow, could you please arrange that I have a room with a view? The ocean's nice but I dare say a tad played out for myself and my associates so something in the opposite direction would be simply capital!" Edited by Crispy, Feb 8 2017, 08:02 AM.
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Mortimer Montgomery • Crew Position: Quartermaster • Profession: Chef • Crew: The Jacks Of All Trades • Threat: 186 • SD Earned: 348 • Beli: 17,000,500 • L: Grand Line: Route Two Solomon Th'uul • Crew Position: N/A • Profession: Martial Artist • Crew: N/A • Bounty: 7,500,000 • SD Earned: 150 • Beli: 53,500,000 • L: Grand Line: Route Three | |
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| ♦ SoIo | Feb 11 2017, 03:59 PM Post #7 |
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I don't think I've felt more unprepared than this in terms of what's NOT in my stomach... Eileen walked rather calmly back to the motel, though she placed her right hand over her hungry stomach in feeble hope that the tenacious growling would calm down to some relative level. Her thoughts and desire for food within the motel multiplied immensely as she walked in. It wasn't a life or death situation, but rather irritation. If she was going to seek any information on any aspect of food, the front desk was always the reliant source. However, it looked like the front desk was occupied. And quite so. Her attention quickly shifted from her stomach onto the scene at hand, psychologically removing her focus on hunger. Her gears in her brain shifted and accelerated as she analyzed the situation. There were two guys, both obviously not Marines. They also appeared to not be natives in Cactus Island just based on their clothing. One guy had glasses and appeared to be battle-heavy due to some notable scars that Eileen could catch out, while the other appeared to be more confined but wore the expression of observant. Both looked rather clean, and were slim. These guys could potentially just be big shot Bounty Hunters entering the Grand Line, but based on their behavior imposing upon Officer Jay, she knew they were experienced. This guy had confidence, especially in bargaining. Within earshot, they announced themselves as bounty hunters. Eileen has rarely interacted with Bounty Hunters as she's always worked behind the scene for the Marines, but the on the times she has worked with them, it's usually the Marines asking them to do most of the dirty work. It could be different here in the Grand Line, but she couldn't imagine the mindset of bounty hunters to crave for money be different. Regardless, she needed to step in as she saw Jay was about to relent. She also noticed and recognized the 5-page letter that the slim man held: Bounty Hunter documents that makes them officially recognized by the World Government. She widened her eyes, because that means these people are highly notable fighters for their acts of service that benefit the Marines. This in turn usually grants them more privileges than other bounty hunters. They were trying to use said 'privileges' to stay in the Marine outpost over the night. Unfortunately for those two, Eileen had memorized the entire documents as these were typically standardized. "Section 4.4 under Marine Property, a Bounty Hunter recognized by the WG is allowed to stay in Marine shelter for provisional needs." She had to read these awfully tedious documents for a case she tackled way back at Loguetown when the Marine Crime Agency had existed. "Marine shelter includes headquarters, outposts, and bases." Then with more emphasis, she concluded the written rule. "These do not include private land, motels, and any part of an official Marine building that requires valid Marine registration." She passed by the two bounty hunters and pointed her finger right at the exact rule she was referencing. She then leaned back on the front counter, getting a full view of the two newcomers, who she has surely attracted their full attention. "Officer Jay, you may resume your duties." She heard Jay nervously shuffle as he nodded in agreement. Eileen then smiled courteously at the two men. "Gentlemen, how else can I help you?" This was her detective mind at complete work. ...*GROWL*... But not her stomach at work...at all. How embarrassing. "...Excuse me on that. I haven't had food in awhile." The strong smell of the salty sea from the two certainly gave away that they were also new arrivals. "As you can imagine, coming into the island must have been a long day." |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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| ♥ Bright | Feb 13 2017, 02:51 PM Post #8 |
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Wannabe Writer
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Officer Jay was such a polite individual. At no point did he stutter or interrupt as Lang carefully explained the precise legal - and of course moral reasons - why they not only deserved some rooms but were also entitled to them. Lang appreciated people like Jay. The Marine only occasionally blinked and once Lang's dutiful explanation was over he seemed just about ready to fold the papers away and reach for some keys when a terribly scary voice cut through the night air to sting Lang's ears. Caution did not come due to any deepness, or gravelly tone. Nor were its words threatening, insulting or even particularly loud. They were, however, informed. Ignorance made for a poor shield against swords of ink and articulation. Lang turned around, eyebrow taking a skyward vacation. This one, this woman, was dressed head to toe in a very formidable armor indeed. Nothing about her physicality stood out. She was as plain as a young, twenty something could be. Fairly attractive, blondish, and about as far from eccentric-looking as one could possibly be. A Masters or PhD student perhaps. Except no Masters or PhD student got to order Marines about and they certainly weren't intimately familiar with Section 4.4 unless, by sheer astronomical coincidence, that just happened to be their area - one of many in the countless aspects of criminal and Marine law - of study. Lang licked his lips, carefully folded the paper and stored it neatly away within his coat pocket. "True," he conceded. "However,, per section 17B of Masterson Act bounty hunters acknowledged to have assisted - directly or indirectly - in the capture of a bounty whose worth equals or exceeds fifty million beli are also granted a virtual stipend to be used at Marine properties period. I can assure you that at no point in the document is it strictly defined exactly what that term encompasses and what it does not." Lang smiled with an incredibly unbecoming amount of smugness. "And, as my good friend Mortimer Montgomery - you may have heard of him recently - points out, we have provided just such assistance in a little place called Merrimont. Little incident with the Red Queen and all. So, I do believe that-" A great beast emerged from its cave and roared. A cave situated somewhere in the approximate location of the woman's stomach. Lang was paralyzed mid sentence, finger held in the air. Slowly he lowered it, balled it into a fist with which to cover his mouth and coughed. It was difficult to hold back his repressed chuckling. "I, uh, I suppose Marine rations aren't quite what they used to be then, are they?" He looked to Mortimer to try and see if he was having just as much trouble as he was in containing himself. A happy sigh left him. "I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. How about we sort out this mess with the rooms later, hmm? I'm sure we could all do with a bite to eat, and if Mortimer here can abide someone else's cooking then I suggest we all go to dinner, yes? Preferably somewhere with a bit more cheer than a rainy sunday at the local graveyard." |
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| Crispy | Feb 17 2017, 07:49 AM Post #9 |
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Packet of Crisp
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Mortimer could tell a military brat from a passing glance. They didn't have to be in uniform, or barking orders, or even look particularly "militant", it was in how they moved, how they carried themselves. There's a rigidity in the flow of their movement, they tilted a little as they carried on, as a rule, habitual accommodation for weapons and gear they tended to carry on their non-dominant side. There was an alertness as well, you saw it most in veterans of some awful bloody struggle, to whom every pin drop was from a grenade and every slammed door was cause to duck for cover, that wasn't the case here. The newcomer moved with the telltale uniformed, regimental quickstep that came with every new Marine, fresh out of the box, though there was a casualness to it, meaning this wasn't something she was thinking consciously about doing; it had been drilled until it became habit, a young officer then, or someone who enlisted very young at any rate. Elementary really, any Academy graduate would pick up on it, after all, almost everything he did had been regimented and drilled into him at some point. It was incredible how different civilians moved if you payed attention, even dear steadfast Langsam: He moved as an individual, not a part of a greater whole, his individuality was what made him blend in. Rather ironic really. With that in mind Mortimer wasn't in the least bit surprised when the pretty young woman started going blow for blow with the young bounty hunter on proper Marine protocol and forms and this and that and the other, blah blah blah... Definitely a young officer then, he thought as Lang started to rally with his own weapons of litigation, no NCO I've ever met knew this much about procedure, it just wouldn't fall under their purview. He quirked a smile as Lang used his recent appearance in the newspaper as a point in his argument and tried to look modest. "Come now, Langsam, dear fellow," he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away in faux modesty, "it was barely a trifle! Hardly worth the front page at all, and it wasn't as if I was alone on Merrimont, we all did our bit for the cause, eh? You do me too much credit, sir." He had to admit though, he had cut a damn fine figure on that front page spread, bloody inspiring stuff that. I must remember to frame it... Then the young woman's stomach fumbled like a sleeping dragon and Lang burst out laughing, making Mortimer smile as the two began discussing getting a bite to eat. "I suppose I can stomach having someone put food in front of me, for a change, old boy. To the cafeteria!" He laughed, setting off with long confident strides before a two things occurred to him. 1: He had no idea where he was going, and 2: He had been terribly rude to the young lady. "I beg your pardon, Ms." He flourished his tailcoat with a dignified bow, "We haven't introduced ourselves properly at all, I am dreadfully ashamed. I am Mortimer Montgomery, Gentleman Bounty Hunter, and this is my counterpart Langsam Spinne. Absolutely cracking to make your acquaintance, my dear, and you are?" Edited by Crispy, Feb 17 2017, 05:34 PM.
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Mortimer Montgomery • Crew Position: Quartermaster • Profession: Chef • Crew: The Jacks Of All Trades • Threat: 186 • SD Earned: 348 • Beli: 17,000,500 • L: Grand Line: Route Two Solomon Th'uul • Crew Position: N/A • Profession: Martial Artist • Crew: N/A • Bounty: 7,500,000 • SD Earned: 150 • Beli: 53,500,000 • L: Grand Line: Route Three | |
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| ♦ SoIo | Feb 17 2017, 03:53 PM Post #10 |
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"Well then. I'll be damned. Eileen flinched. And quite notably too for a multitude of reasons. The man was correct, the rule did exist. She had come across this specific rule, but had probably ignored it. Partially due to the fact she was situated in the Blues, where that particular rule was not very applicable. For her to be outsmarted because of a lack of plain details was something she wasn't so used to. Secondly, the name of "Mortimer Montgomery" instantly rung a familiar chord. These men were certainly not ordinary Bounty Hunters, or supposedly big-shot. They were the real deal. These men were undoubtedly from the Jack of all Trades, one of the most notable Bounty Hunter guilds. Tales of their stories had even spread to the Blues. Eileen had always kept herself informed by reading the News Coo (though usually looks out for any sense of bias when reading), and their incident in Red Queen had hit big headlines. If this man was Mortimer then...Eileen glossed over the other guy who initially held the documents. Pale, slim, blue eyes, and also...a faintly glowing object from his chest? Eileen quickly scrutinized her eyes to get a better look. There was no doubt: Right after Mortimer had confirmed the other man, Eileen knew this was Langsam Spinne. Lastly...her stomach growled at the most inconvenient time when she made a stand. Typically, this would have turned her into a laughing stock (in which it might already have). But the men were gracious enough to try and not to humiliate her. If Eileen had any reason to flinch, it was inexcusable. The credentials in front of her were overwhelming. She immediately recognized what appeared to be a rookie mistake (albeit small) in the Grand Line. And from stories she's heard from older Marines, a rookie mistake is usually what claims the lives of a good number of Marines, no matter the magnitude of the mistake. However, her expression remained calm. If anything, she was lucky that these gentlemen were gracious enough to kindly prioritize her stomach over the need of a room. Mortimer Montgomery. Langsam Spinne. What interesting men...Mortimer looked to be incredibly strong. Langsam appeared to have a similar intellect level to her, maybe more so. Regardless of being envious, she needed to keep her guard up. Just previously at Reverse Mountain she met a very smart Marine Captain, and now a very smart Bounty Hunter and probably the other that is as strong as a captain. The intellect and power in the Grand Line was already exponentially, and understandably, increasing. Her lips curved into a smile. I have to keep up or I'm going to fall behind. Already, the potential for future adventures felt exhilarating. Tenderly, she looked over to Jay, who appeared to be very lost on what he should be doing. "We'll address their needs later. Do you happen to know any good areas of food around the town or even in this motel?" "Not that I can think of in Velvet Tip...we usually eat here in the motel, there's a kitchen around at the back." Eileen shifted her eyes to where Jay was pointing. "However, our cooks have already gone off duty, so I don't know how much more I can help." Oh, terrific. Then there is only one hope she can cling onto. "That'll do. Thank you, Jay." With her composure remaining untouched, she smiled mildly again at the two men. She couldn't trust them right away as anything could happen in the Grand Line. Maybe the two were evil people in the inside, despite their outward politeness. Maybe they are very violent people. How would she know? It was quite simple. It wouldn't hurt to strike up a conversation to get to know her newcomers. In context of this, sometimes words were better than actions in learning about each other. "Sure, gentlemen. We can push this aside and accommodate you later on. I personally don't think it's a big deal, I only wanted to know if there were any malicious intentions." She exaggerated the last sentence with a playful tone. "After all...It would be interesting to know what you two are doing here after your epic endeavors with the Red Queen." This indicated that she does read the news and was well informed of their past journey. "I hope one of you two can cook." Of course, she couldn't forget the most crucial thing, especially after Mortimer had opened up to her. It was only reasonable to respond in kind. "I'm Eileen Falkner. I'm just a Marine who got assigned here and am waiting for my assignment tomorrow. Nice to meet you." And she extended her hand out. |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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| ♥ Bright | Feb 20 2017, 04:14 PM Post #11 |
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Lang eyed the plain-clothes officer with crisp satisfaction. Another notch for the belt, this one; she'd been caught hook, line and sinker with her trousers around her ankles to boot. "I'm glad we've come to an understanding, miss. Buut, my friend is right. We should introduce ourselves." He let Mortimer do most of the honors and bowed at the mention of his own name, before - with an elegant flourish perfected from hours at the blackjack table - he flicked out a business card for her to take. It was naturally emblazoned with their flag and all relevant contact details, including projected destinations for the near future. Had to be replaced every few weeks, but still worth it so far as Lang was concerned. He peeked upwards from his bow and smiled. "Malicious isn't a word in our lexicon. Really, we're just like you; enforcers of justice, but with a bit more of a... particular demeanor, when it comes to being paid and all that." Lang resumed his full height and dusted at his lapels, all while granting Eileen a wink. "Our enemies are your enemies, your fight is our fight." Red took the moment to emerge from Lang's pocket, perch herself on his shoulder and wave a little leg hello. Lang poked at her abdomen and she hissed and nipped at the finger. "Ah, and there's this one as well. Meet Red. Another partner in crime. Or crime fighting, rather. But she's just a footnote, really. Where are these kitchens at, then? They'll do." A step or two and Lang stopped, looked back over his shoulder at Eileen with a frown. The frown curled into a snigger, then a chuckle and soon Lang was almost bursting at his sides. He nudged and elbowed Mortimer while tittering away. "She asks if one of us can cook!" Even Red was rocking around on his shoulder. "Next she'll be wondering if either of our company knows how to file a tax return! Ha!" the guffawing continued as Lang investigated the rear of the building and poked his head through a service door. He gestured both companions through and began to settle down. Wiping his eye, he told her, "Ah, my apologies miss... Falkner? Eileen Falkner? Splendid. Yes, my apologies. I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything, only you are in for a treat. The only thing more legendary about Mortimer here besides his keen talent for decapitating murderous fishmen, is his aptitude in an apron and toque blanche." With unrestrained curiosity, Lang began to explore the slightly gloomy and grimy kitchen. It was an industrious place, and no effort had gone into making it look wholesome beyond the rather intimidating scowl of Fleet Admiral Panikku leering down at them from a framed window on the wall. Lang ran a finger along the bottom of the frame. Dusty. Certainly not the best kitchen around, but checking the cupboards and walk in freezer room revealed enough goods to feed a small army. Which, naturally, was the whole point of the room's existence. In the corner the chefs had stuffed a small, plastic, foldable table with matching, tatty chairs. An abused and overflowing ashtray combined with several mismatched packs of cards told him all that was needed to be known about why it was there. A sigh bounced around the room as Lang set about lighting some of the glass sconces with a pack of matches. It would do, and if Mortimer couldn't whip up a feast with what was on offer then Lang would buy a hat and eat it. He took a seat in one of the flimsy chairs. "Oh, please Eileen - and we are on first name basis, yes? - please; there's never been such a thing as 'just a Marine.' It's certainly very easy to squash a person down into a mere three words. But, even someone as adorably stupid and incompetent as our dear Walter has depth; they are a deep labyrinth of a library, chock full of experience, hopes, dreams and nuance." He tried to soak up as much comfort as the chair offered by leaning back. Red jumped to the table's surface and scuffled about with the cards. "We have time. You can enlighten us a little better than that, surely?" Edited by Bright, Feb 20 2017, 04:18 PM.
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| Crispy | Feb 26 2017, 10:46 AM Post #12 |
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Packet of Crisp
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Mortimer took her hand and shook it firmly, inclining his head. He briefly toyed with the idea of throwing in a bow but it wouldn't do to appear too theatrical, it wasn't as though she was a foreign dignitary or any such thing, it'd likely come off as forced. Be polite, not pompous, old boy, it was a good mantra to remember when meeting new people, particularly people of rank. "Malicious intent?" Mortimer chuckled, "Dear woman, Langsam and I couldn't be less malicious if we were gossamer wrapped teddy bears, wouldn't you say so, old man!?" As Lang concurred Mortimer nodded sagely and stuck out his jaw, grinned widely, tongue in cheek. "Yes indeed, and a good fight it is, these days it's paying exceptionally well, after all." As they entered the modest kitchen and the call went up for a cook Mortimer clutched his heart as though shot and groaned in mock anguish. "There I was, all ready and set to have someone to shove a plate of something in front of me, for a change, only to find that there is no chef! Truly woe is the life of a butler!" Half swooning he tromped over to the cabinets and started a meticulous peruse of their contents. "You wouldn't catch me dead in a toque blanche, Lang!" He called over his shoulder as he made his way over to inspect the large freezer, "They're like putting a chap's hair through a tumble dryer when the humidity goes up. No thank you, sir, have you any idea how long it takes to get a quaff this bloody perfect!?" What struck Mortimer first wasn't the purely utilitarian selection of ingredients in the damnable place, but the frankly abysmal level of hygiene. A cold shiver ran up his spine as he spotted grime coating the edges of the grill and a coin thick layer of dust on almost every surface, and the less said about the floor the better. Mortimer swallowed the screaming urge to drop to his hands and knees and scrub, then he swallowed the equally powerful urge to run from the room to throttle whichever dribbling plebeian thought this kitchen was fit to serve human beings out of. Though that was probably a bad idea, he hadn't caught up on any recent legislature changes about trying assault cases, but he was relatively certain that assaulting a marine chef on a marine base would be something of a faux pas in the law enforcement community; and that would be a damn shame after cutting such a nice figure in this week's paper. "Dear fellows," he intoned finally, trying to keep the retch out of his tone, "does anyone have any preference on what we have for dinner, take out perhaps?" Did he sound too hopeful? Probably. Edited by Crispy, Mar 2 2017, 01:06 PM.
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Mortimer Montgomery • Crew Position: Quartermaster • Profession: Chef • Crew: The Jacks Of All Trades • Threat: 186 • SD Earned: 348 • Beli: 17,000,500 • L: Grand Line: Route Two Solomon Th'uul • Crew Position: N/A • Profession: Martial Artist • Crew: N/A • Bounty: 7,500,000 • SD Earned: 150 • Beli: 53,500,000 • L: Grand Line: Route Three | |
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| ♦ SoIo | Mar 3 2017, 02:11 AM Post #13 |
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((OOC: Sorry for the delay, I was busy updating the Character Generator. I also apologize in advance if I am making any sort of assumptions. I'm trying to have Eileen sound smart.)) How cute... Eileen closed her eyes and smiled warmly as she also sat down along with Langsam. She was amused by Mortimer's desire of irony for being a chef. She then turned her head back in response to Mortimer's question of order. "Takeout? I'll have anything honestly. As long as my stomach has something to grind down, I think I will be content." Then she decided to add some politeness to fit in the tone with the atmosphere already established by the bounty hunters. After all, she could deduce from Mortimer's tone he wasn't too pleased with the setup. She wasn't surprised too...she would be just as disappointed as the chef if she had to cook in this environment. "By the way, thank you very much for doing this. I apologize if the environment is far from optimal, I can ask the Marines to clean up their act. I trust you can cook up a great meal given what you have." Even though the words from Langsam and Mortimer small jokes would hurt any person who was highly sensitive, Eileen was far from that type. Her years with the Marines have proven her durability through microaggressions and subtle jokes, mainly due to the prominent gender bias that floated within the Marines when she was at the Blues. At least these guys acknowledged that she wasn't some typical Marines, despite her efforts to downplay herself to make her not seem so impressive. She did find the gentlemen's politeness to be endearing, and she could only reciprocate by being hospitable towards them. That said, she still held her guard up as she only wanted to treat them as subsidiaries for the time being. She was only here to treat the bounty hunters and see if they deserve this place as an outing. After all...there was one more clause that Langsam may not have been aware of in the Bounty Hunter documents. Though, that clause was only relevant if a certain condition was met. And as far as she knew, that condition was indeed met. Upon hearing Langsam's most recent question, she was slightly startled to see that they did not intend to explain in more detail about their adventures with (or against) the Red Queen. She was quite a dangerous adversary, in fact if her memory servers her right, a Yonkou! Maybe Eileen didn't make her request clear initially. Either way, she was put onto the spotlight. "Hmm..." She stared at the dark wooden ceiling for a brief moment, thinking for a brief second. How could she explain herself more but without giving away too much? It's fun to be mysterious to strangers ...Ah, maybe this would do. Keeping a half smile on her face, she pulled out a map from her bag and spread it out for Langsam to see. This was one way to display her main skillset, while not revealing too much about herself. "Here we are, Cactus Island. One of the first islands in the Grand Line after traversing from Reverse Island. Last reported activities of the Red Queen's forces were in Merrimont Island, located here. Now from what I've read, one of their Division Leaders was defeated. I'm going to assume that you guys have done it since members of the Jack of All Trades were confirmed to have contributed." Noted, this was Eileen's first mention of their bounty hunter guild to them. "You were gravely injured however." She noted Langsam's glowing chest. "So you needed to recover somewhere and recuperate. Such new technology requires knowledge and adjustment before continuing active bounty hunting. What sounds like a good place where you can just relax in the Grand Line?" She then took a glance at Langsam's documents and had noted additional documents, detailing money and signatures. Trade, business, some deals were being made. As for Mortimer...even though he does appear to be a chef, Eileen could tell he has a certain way of holding things, with a lot of elegance. Holding cups as if they were glasses of champagne wine. If this was based on a recent activity that was docile, these two must have been served a lot of cocktail juices. Eileen then dove into her mind palace and dug up her recent research on the Grand Line. Connecting all the dots together, she then made the conclusion... "Kyuka Island, I suppose?" "Then you came here, hoping to find something that's a run for your money. Literally." Then, she decided to press on her question. "I must ask, why here? Is it because where most big shot pirates are? Easy to catch them? If you wanted bigger meat, which I'm sure you two are fully capable of, further down the Grand Line is probably where you want them, am I right? Maybe if I knew more about your story with your endeavors against the Red Queen's forces, it could clear up a small confusion." She sat back on her seat and crossed her arms, still maintaining her smile. She was satisfied. That'll do in terms of making deductions. ((OOC: Let me know if you want information about my previous SLs)) |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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| ♥ Bright | Mar 3 2017, 12:31 PM Post #14 |
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Wannabe Writer
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Lang's leg bobbed up and down on the knee of the other. Rough, but cozy. For his tastes, at the very least. Less so his old pal. "Really, Mortimer, that bad? Or is it, and I use these words with the greatest platonic love a person can muster, just a case of your overly high standards turning up their nose again?" Casually, he ran a finger across the plastic table's surface and held it up. Dust, mixed with a trace of grime, but hardly enough that they'd be at any serious risk of a hospital visit.. "And yes! You have made me very much aware of the importance of hygiene in the past and yes, I do once again apologize for that incident with the mold behind my dresser. I'm still quite amazed at tea's ability to create and sustain life. But I digress; to save time, a wild debate and ultimately our stomachs, takeout seems the best option. And by takeout, I of course mean the contents of our fridge." he whipped out his trusty Den Den, poked it awake and punched a number into its shell. It was picked up after the third ring. "Walter, Lang here. Be a lamb and bring us the tupperware from the bottom shelf of the fridge, would you? We're at the local Marine motel. Just down the street, yes. There's a good fellow. Thank you." With a little gurgle the Den Den went back to sleep and Lang neatly placed it back withing the depths of his coat, saying as he did so, "I know the rice is on the top shelf Mortimer, but you know how Walter is. Always tells him the opposite of what you want." He waved his hand to dismiss the issue. "Anyway. What we were talking about? Oh yes, Eileen here!" He leaned back in his seat again and Red, bored of the dusty playing cards, opted to hop into his lap and snuggle down. She didn't get any pets, but wasn't interested in them anyway. She knew not to expect anything of the sort. Eileen, on the other hand, was very much expecting something. There was a nose on that one, a nose that had locked on to a scent and was very, very keen on digging down to its source without, amusingly enough, trying to make anything of a mess while doing so. They were playing that age old game of polite maneuvering where the term 'directness' didn't exist and to hint at anything required bouncing a beam of light through a maze of mirrors at just the right angle. Lang relaxed and watched as she pulled out her map, connected the lines with an invisible pen and patted them both down without so much as laying a finger on them. And credit where it was due, she was good. Astute, well-informed, and able to step back far enough to see and then put all the pieces in place. Though he was reluctant to show too much enthusiasm, Lang had to admit to himself that he was colored impressed. He smiled, wide, and gave a small round of applause. Red joined in, tapping her little legs together. "Look at this one go. I don't think I've seen wits that sharp in a long while. Very impressive, Eileen." There was a pause. The air hung silent for just a moment. And like it, so too did Lang's smile last just a little bit too long. He harumpfed, shuffled in his seat and clicked his tongue. Eventually, he leaned forward on the table, let out a single note of a chortle, played with his fingers then looked at Eileen intensely. His expression was still warm, curious, a tad playful, but held a cautious undertone. "If you don't mind me asking, Eileen, what rank are you? You ordered our friend Petty Office Jay before. Confident enough to bend the rules and not bother with uniform. But if I'm not mistaken, that's also some very distinct red soil you have on your shoes. Redline soil, if I had to take a guess. You're new in this ocean, aren't you? So... Lieutenant? Lieutenant Commander, maybe? Too smart for Ensign, surely." It was something of a joke, but he didn't really laugh much. "I can see that you're quite curious about me and Mortimer's... misadventures on Merrimont, and as much as I'd love to gossip nonstop about them, there is a certain individual in your organisation who - not only am I frustratingly indebted to - also holds a rather large amount of authority. Said individual asked very nicely that we didn't go into too much detail about what happened on Merrimont." Lang relaxed a little. "I am being very genuine when I use the term 'friendly'... but yes, a friendly bit of advice; don't go snooping too deep into that particular incident. Your superiors would probably thank you for it." |
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| ♦ SoIo | Mar 13 2017, 06:57 PM Post #15 |
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"Sorry about that...was only curious, that's all." Eileen shuffled a bit, but her expression remained unfazed. She only closed her eyes and nodded in understanding. Lang's shift of tone on maintaining privacy was justifiably vigilant and straightforward. Based on the exciting news she read about the ambiguous coverage at Merrimont, it had piqued her curiosity so much that she had to know more about the Red Queen, regardless of what people said. Though Eileen should have realized sooner that she was being nosy and that those details were highly classified information, even with her ranking as a Lieutenant. Speaking of which, she knew it: This man was indeed very clever. Using the same basis of deduction as she did, Lang was able to correctly guess her ranking. Eileen chuckled softly after Lang finished his statement. She rose up from her chair, collected the map at the middle of the table, and pocketed the parchment. She sat back down and placed both her hands on her stomach. "Correct on the ranking, though. I generally do not like to wear uniform nor show my ranking, but I shouldn't be surprised regardless." As they were waiting on their takeout food, Eileen still had to judge them correctly if they were generally good willing people. So far, no red flags have popped up as they were currently such nice gentlemen. In addition, they were renowned to be important adversaries of the Marines, as much as the organization does not like to admit it. Still, there was one question that remained unanswered for her. "At the very least, you could answer why you're here, right? Of all places you could travel to cash in some big bucks, here? People are barely above 30 million beli in terms of bounties. You'd be very lucky to find someone with 50 million from the Blues." |
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I'm going to be less active as of 9/25/17. Kinda hitting a point where I'm contemplating why I'm here while having a full-time job. OPRP Character Builder Tool (Last Updated: June 2017) Eileen Falkner Jessabelle Adams Ray Solo PSA | |
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