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| RE Heroes 2; Attack of the Clones! Er, wait... | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 13 2009, 10:23 PM (7,658 Views) | |
| ~beflexor~ | Feb 13 2009, 10:23 PM Post #1 |
I just _____ in the _____.
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(OOC: As we’ve decided, this takes place two years after the original and it was in 2007, so the date would be somewhere in 2009 for the start of this RP. I set it in the summetime because I miss warmfs...) A woman, more of a girl at only twenty one really, mixed up a bowl of waffle mix and poured it into the iron, shrugged on a jacket despite the warm summer day, and grabbed a small package. One step she was in Twin Falls, Idaho, the next Moscow, Russia. While the NSA had provided Beflexor, along with the other Exiles, enough money to live comfortably for quite some time, there was just something fun about being able to use one’s power for a purpose. Beflexor had found her ability to teleport useful in the delivery business. Guaranteed at the post office within twenty four hours. Anything further would be difficult as she could only teleport to areas she’d previously been to. The airfare everywhere had been expensive, but it paid off. Russia was cold this time of year, being winter, hence the jacket at least. Beflexor skipped hastily to the front of the post office and dropped the package in the night slot. No one seeing the package the next day would be surprised to see it. She’d earned a bit of a reputation and had even met a few postal workers face to face. At first she went by a different name per city, but as her business grew, it became confusing, soon she’d come to be known as The Deliverator, ala Snow Crash. In her day to day life she went by the false name Alice, a play on another name she’d had. Only her closest friends knew her as Beflexor. Her handles only stuck well because she was quite ordinary looking in most countries she delivered to: she had brown hair that cascaded down to her waist, a lighter shade than usual as it was summertime, blue eyes with flecks of brown toward the center, and a pale cast to her skin. While she’d been bordering on overweight two years ago, necessity made her slim down, while she wasn’t supermodel, she could at least run five feet without collapsing into a panting heap now. Her clothes were what set her apart: her jacket was knee-length black leather while her pants and boots were of a brown, rougher cut of the same cow hide material, few people would consider leather for its light armoring properties, of course, few people could teleport like she could. Most obscure of all were the five clocks she wore on each wrist, all displaying different times. The teleporter, her job done, turned to leave when she saw a crowd of people gathered around a small antique shop, unusual for this time of night and this cold. Curious, Beflexor stepped over to see that they were being blocked by several police officers (though she wondered idly whether they were called police in Russia). She asked around until she found someone who could speak fair enough English. “There’s a dead body in there,” he said, breathing on his hands between sentences. “No one’s told us much, but they can’t seem to decided if it’s a murder or a suicide. She was always such a strange woman, never really leaving her house much, I figure the latter.” The hairs on the back of Beflexor’s neck stood up on end at the mention of ‘strange’. When your friends can shapeshift, start fires with their minds, and talk to computers, nothing was ever classified as strange. Beflexor moved back out of the small crowd and looked up at the second floor window where a light was on. The antique shop was downstairs, so upstairs would be home. After getting a fair look of it from this point, she teleported. And nearly slipped in the blood. The woman lay slumped to the floor in a puddle of it. Next to her was her arm, handcuffed to a pipe that came from the floor. It looked like she’d been ripped away from it and bled to death. Beflexor was suddenly in the bathroom of a bank in Bangkok. China, vomiting. When she was finished she immediately appeared back in her own home, her waffle was done, but she wasn’t hungry now. If Beflexor had been handcuffed and she tried hard enough to get away, she would end up the same way. The teleporter put her breakfast on a plate, poured a glass of orange juice, and left it on the back steps of her house. ~ George Harris thumped a stack of papers on Exile Darthanis’s desk at the National Security Agency. The boy didn’t use it often (though he took full advantage of the high-end computer they’d provided), but he knew it was the place where Harris would leave things of importance for him. He’d been the only one to stay once the metahuman branch of the NSA went through a meltdown, leaving them all to go about their ways. They didn’t keep tabs on anyone anymore, though they still provided a pension to each one, sort of a bribe so that none of them would come with any ill intent. So far things had worked out wonderfully. Harris looked at the stack with a grim expression hidden behind his graying mustache. The papers each held a report of people around the world dying under mysterious circumstances. While there was no telling if they were connected, Harris had his suspicions. Darthanis wasn’t a field agent. All the papers did was serve as a silent warning, just in case. Someone, or something, was targeting people with powers. It would only be a matter of time before one of the Exiles would be in the crosshairs. ~ Zachary Benson raised his fist to knock on her door and then hesitated, his hand running through his blonde hair before falling back down, he worked up the courage but once again he faltered. Maybe she was still asleep, or she was with one of her Exiles, or was just too busy. Being a leader, everyone came before her, and Zack respected that, being in a high position in the NSA before quitting himself he understood. He was making excuses though. He could face people who wouldn’t stop to think before sending him hurling across a room with their mind, popping him into a tiny fold of universe never to return, send jagged shards of metal at him, or melt his face off with the bat of an eyelash. Yet he couldn’t work up the courage to knock on Aiko’s door and ask her out for breakfast. It wasn’t like it was going to be anything formal, he would probably be wearing something nicer than a worn pair of jeans and an obscure band T-shirt. Breakfast wouldn’t mean anything, it would just be a meal between…friends. Could she ever really be more than a friend though? What other friend brought him back from the brink of death after he’d done the same for her? What other friend had spent hours in his mind, literally? What other friend made him feel the way he did? Zack fiddled with an object in his pocket, which only seemed to get heavier with time, and he leaned against the door, groaning. |
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Ceiling Cat is watching you... | |
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| ~Tvae~ | Feb 14 2009, 05:02 AM Post #2 |
Today's Mood: Syke! Life is awesome!
  ![]](http://209.85.62.24/static/1/pip_r.png)
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Exile Tvae, also known more casually as Justin, leaned back in his computer chair, lazily throwing a baseball up above his head and catching it inches from his face. Baseball. He hated baseball. Why did he have one? "You know, you really should stop procrastinating." Yeah, and you should really shut up... "I don't see how playing with a baseball is going to help you get through your classes..." I told you to shut up! "Besides, you don't even like baseball... You should at least procrastinate with something worthwhil-" "SHUT!!! UP!!!" Justin yelled out loud. From the next room (the living room/kitchen section of the apartment Justin shared with 3 other college students) came the sounds of someone putting down something heavy and walking to the door of his room. Shiii... Now look what you've done. "Me? I haven't done anything, you're the one who's going around yelling about-" However, at that moment, the door opened and a girl entered the room. She was one of the other college students who lived in the dorm, and happened to also be Justin's girlfriend. "Hey, you okay Justin? I heard you yelling about something, like you were talking to someone else..." Justin looked around the room guiltily for a half second, before turning to the girl with a grin on his face. There was no one else in the room, just Justin. "Nah, don't worry bout it, Kate. I'm just stressed out a bit bout this research paper..." He stood up and gave her a hug, as if to reaffirm the point that everything was, in fact, okay. "Aight, just let me know if you need anything." She turned, gave him a smile over her shoulder, then left the room, closing the door behind her. Kaitlynn Travis. 20 years old, photo major, and my girlfriend. Who has no idea what I can actually do. As soon as she was gone, the voice from earlier immediately piped up again. "Or more of fail to actually do, hence our current predicament. And what is with you listing all the details you know about people in your head? It's really kinda stalker-ish..." Justin sighed, and sat back in his chair again. And I would appreciate it if you would not constantly read my thoughts. It's impolite. And don't worry, I want out of this situation waaaaaay more than you do. If a voice could nod, that is what it would have done in this situation. "Fair enough. I'm at least used to it. But anyways, unless you've had any sudden breakthrough ideas, you should probably get back to working on that paper, or else you're gonna end up failing that writing course..." Writing. Bah. Research papers aren't writing, they're taking things other people have written, chopping them into little pieces, adding your own twist to them, then rearranging them. No true creativity. "I'll agree to that when they stop counting towards your GPA. And besides, research papers do have a fair bit of creativity, if you do them right..." Whatever. I just can't write anymore right now. And why do you even care? Content with the work he had done for the moment (which was approximately absolutely nothing), Justin turned to his favorite hideout: The intratubes. He checked through the different comics he followed (for the third time that day), e-mail, a forum or two, and eventually... He ran out of things to do. Again. "...Maybe you should... do your paper?" With renewed vigor, Justin procrastinated like never before. You know, maybe I'm forgetting about some old site, which I used to go to a lot... I know there's quite a few I've probably forgotten... His mind wandered between a couple, before coming to... Reality's Exile. The site which had cause all of this. Well, that's not entirely true, but... His mind wandered over the past couple years, over the other members of the site, over the NSA, over the grays, over the - Wait. Other members. They had gotten powers. Aiko. I think I just figured out a way to solve our predicament. "Seriously? Well, in that case, to hell with your research paper. What do we have to do?" Edited by Tvae, Feb 16 2009, 05:31 PM.
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| +Aiko+ | Feb 15 2009, 12:04 AM Post #3 |
Roffel House!
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(OOC: I'm going to be in North Carolina and away from internet access until Friday, so I'll see you all then.) Aiko’s alarm went off for the second time, and for the second time she was awake long before it rang. She had it set originally for 0730, since she had made plans to go birding a local hotspot with some friends. Unfortunately, everybody canceled on her the night before because of a front moving in. Aiko didn’t really trust the weatherman, but all she had to do was go outside and feel the wind on her face to know that rain was coming. Her powers had grown significantly stronger and more refined in the two years since the incident with the NSA. She was much better at detecting even the slightest patterns in otherwise chaotic surroundings. Jigsaw puzzles, sudoku, and many of her favorite games were simply no longer challenging to her, and subjects she had once struggled in she could do without even trying. Calculus, statistics, all the horrific math courses she had taken as an undergrad and nearly failed were child’s play to her now. She wasn’t complaining. Not at all. While the ability to see patterns in nothing had its drawbacks (a particularly bad car accident she had anticipated but had no power to stop came to mind), her newfound strengths had earned her quite a positive reputation nationwide among wildlife biologists. She’d been working hard on her career even before the Reality’s Exile incident occurred, but now she had a real gift when it came to understanding how nature worked, and she was even more marketable. After successfully completing her PhD, Aiko was hired within 3 months by a private consulting agency in New York. She was extremely happy because not only did it pay really good, but she was only a couple of hours away from her parents’ house too. Aiko sat on her bed with an overly large yawn. She’d been awake for a couple of hours already, but too lazy to get out of bed. She turned off her alarm and looked out the window. At least it stopped raining. She ambled around for a little bit, undecided about what to do, but finally figured the weather had improved enough to at least make a stab at birding. She got dressed, gathered her camera, binoculars, and spotting scope, and walked downstairs. She was slipping her boots on when she heard footsteps on the porch outside. Not expecting company, Aiko stood on her toes to look through the peephole (dang things were made for people who were six feet plus, she swore). Her lips spread into a wide smile when she saw who was standing there, looking a bit insecure. She laughed quietly under her breath at how cute his expression was. She wondered what he wanted and decided to play the role of the ignorant. Gathering up her gear, she made sure that she seemed even more loaded with equipment than she really was. Her backpack was slung over her lower arm, her keys were in her opposite hand, and the spotting scope was resting on its tripod over her shoulder. She struggled to open the doorknob, then once the door started sliding open she helped it along with the toe of her boot. She looked up at Zack with a perfectly believable expression of surprise. “Zack! Hey! Good morning, what’s up?” |
 Courtesy of EP | |
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| ~Gate~ | Feb 15 2009, 12:33 AM Post #4 |
G.A.T.E.
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Alaska, five days earlier. "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" this cry echoed out over the alaska tundra, most likely scaring any moose or wolf away within about a five mile radius, along with waking up any unfortunate neighbors that happened to be sleeping. It was an odd sound, indeed, but probably the sight of it to anyone seeing it. It was a guy, skateboarding over the ice, with a few minor changes: First, instead of dressed like a street punk, he was dressed in military grade camouflage for Artic Combat. Second, what he was riding was not a skateboard, but a two-foot thick brick of ice. Third, instead of going about five miles an hour, he was going more then 30. "Yeah! now THIS is Ice-skating!" The individual in question had been doing this for some time, about an hour. Things, however, were about to change for him, and his fun was about to come to a violent halt. For, if one were to look behind him, a helicopter was following him at a furious pace, the pilot (A young woman, from the sound of it) yelling at him through the radio in his uniform's coat. "JOHN!! KNOCK IT OFF, JEEZ, YOUR VACATION ENDED YESTERDAY ITS TIME FOR YOU TO GET BACK TO BASE!!" "Why?" he chuckled over his radio "Vacation is whenever we don't have work, and I don't have work, so I'm on Vacation!" "John, seriously!!" "Man, quit being so frigid, May. If you act like that you'll never get a boyfriend...But..." Gate (john) turned around and looked up twoard the helicopter following him. "Come on down here, i know your feeling cold from being so serious, and id be more then happy to-" The next instant, a small gas grenade was launched out of one of the helicopters . and, by accident or by choice, this said gas grenade smacked Gate straight in the head, knocking him out. And that's where, well...Gate's story begins. ----------------------- Area-52, four days later. a day later, Gate had gone from having fun to being in lockdown. He now found himself in a rather plain room, probably only a step up from the brig in Area-52. This wasn't the first time he had been in this room. As a matter of fact he probably spent more time in this room then he did in his own. this room was the mix of two important functions : A comfortable lockup and a mission briefing room. In other words, it was the "Your in deep s*** but we need you to do a mission to save the world or something" room. normally, many of the bravest soldiers would be stressed beyond beleif knowing that their readiness would determine the fate of thousands or millions, and that this room was the starting point for such drastic missions that could determine the fate of humanity. Gate had risen to the occasion, and now was ready to fight. Man, I'm starved, hopefully Bob's on briefing duty today, he brings doughnuts. ...on second thought, maybe Gate wasn't ready yet. not that such a drastic saving-the-world occasion had risen yet, And from Gate's Experience, that...really almost never happened nowadays. It took another few minutes of gate contemplating a mix of his past and doughnuts before the briefing began: and it started when a woman walked into the room. Her features a mixture of Asian and American (mostly Asian, however) the woman was an exotic beauty: it was a wonder that she hadn't become a model with her looks and figure. "Awwww, if it isn't Ms.Hot potato Launcher, having fun throwing gas grenades at peoples heads still? that bruise lasted for ten minutes, ya know. thats a record on me." "I was aiming lower. guess my hand slipped." May giggled "Ew, thats mean..." cutting to the chase, may walked over to a table in the center of the room, and slid a picture and documents over to the side closest to Gate. in response, Gate sat down and looked at the Doccument for a minute. He then looked back at may. his face a mixture of anger and curiousity. "What the hell does this "beflexor" have to do with what we're doing here?" "She can help us." "Fight? you've got to be kidding. just because she can cross an Idaho Potato farm in less then a second doesn't mean she's ready to take on the other big, bad enemies out in the world." "We need all the help we can get." Gate sighed. "....alright, fill me in." Edited by Gate, Feb 16 2009, 11:40 PM.
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"Every person's life is a book written of thousands of pages, each one containing an irreplaceable truth" -Subject-16 , Assassin's Creed- | |
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| +CEMP+ | Feb 15 2009, 09:15 PM Post #5 |
SUPER SHELL BATTLE MODE 3!
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Sweet music (At least to him) jived through his mind, and his mind jived with it as if his brain was sensitive to the vibrations. CEMP was especially enjoying Revolution; an original album made by one of his favorite OCR remixers, Beatdrop (Otherwise known as Dain Olsen). Some of his favorites tracks was Revolution, Heatseeker, and a few others. There was always something about the beat of his music (Or beatdroppings XD) that he enjoyed. And it always went nicely when he was soldering something together. Ahhh, that was some good fun indeed, having had some help from the NSA to get back into his school. It was no easy task, and it was a bit nerve wracking at first, but it worked out in the end. It felt strange to be back in the department with his new found abilities and senses; but cool as well. Over the months of learning more about electronics and working with different types of electrical systems, his abilities had become more and more defined and sensitive towards the electron flow. For one, he realized that unlike most of the other students here, it was as if the flow of electricity was tangible to him. He had learned that there were various classifications of energy, probably five or six if he remembered; and they both included mechanical and electrical energy. Funny enough, electrical energy could be considered mechanical energy, since essentially electrons were being moved about like water across a circuit board; much like how water would be used to power a windmill. The only difference was that electricity wasn't tangible, and you needed all sorts of devices to see what was happening. To him, it was absolutely tangible, and even though he did use the scopes and other equipment, he already had a good feeling for how the electrons flowed; almost as if he had his hand in water and was feeling the current. It was a truly fascinating experience. It was also somewhat of a mischievous experience, since he occasionally played a small tricks on the other students. Mostly, he played with the equipment and computers, giving them odd readings and such, and forcing them to trouble shoot; and sometimes they did need to trouble shoot. It probably did provide a small point of practice, but occasionally, CEMP (Or Tim) would make one of the instruments act really odd (Like making it says hi); he even once put a big smiley on someone's desktop. He was even tempted to force a capacitor to blow, but thought against, not wanting to make a fool out of the student. In any case, he managed to keep himself restrained enough to keep a low profile; most of the times. Right now, the object he was working on wasn't for school work, but a personal pet project. Miraculously, he managed to find work slightly related to his field; chiefly speaking, working at an electronic parts store. He was able to find all sorts of junk and use it to his own fowl means; occasionally, when he was working on his pet project, he would laugh maniacally. Not because he was going to do something evil, but just because it made him feel good. Oddly enough, at the same time he was working on the device that was nearing completion, another part of his mind was occasionally jotted down story ideas and even a bit of text for his stories he was working on. Setting down the soldering iron, finding himself listening to Blood Inside, his mind began to wonder. There were many occasions that he looked back on those old events, cherishing the good moments. He mostly ignored the bad stuff, and settled on the REcon that had been subsequently created by the birth of their powers. He remembered occasionally chatting with a few people, but mostly with Aiko and Beflexor. Especially Beflexor. A smiled came up as he realized he could always call her over. She had once visited his place via teleportation, having found a way for her to get the destination. He surprisingly envied that ability of her, and some times her writing. How it stood on it's own from others. Yeah, he thought, maybe when I'm done this, I can call her. |
"To look for a shipwreck is at best a crapshoot, and to launch and fund a search, it helps to be the headmaster of the village idiot school or else the kind of stubborn lunatic who tries walk through walls simply because they're in the way. I probably fall in the latter group." - Clive Cussler, The Sea Hunters II  | |
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| ~beflexor~ | Feb 16 2009, 02:18 PM Post #6 |
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I just _____ in the _____.
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Beflexor was in the middle of making a sandwich for lunch when she paused, a concerned expression on her face, she turned around, knowing she wouldn't see anything. Still, something was bothering her. Ever since she'd gained the ability to teleport Beflexor had been more aware of her other ability. As far back as she could remember she'd always had a strong sense of deja vu, to the point of even being able to predict something seconds in advance. Something bothered her now, but she'd usually brushed her precognitive ability off, when everyone around you was always skeptical of it your whole live, you had a tendency to do the same. She did so now, figuring it was just her being paranoid. Still, once she put the lettuce away, she went into her bedroom and tucked a small revolver in the front of her pants. No matter how she felt, being a double agent and working for the government two years ago had changed her. At any moment the NSA or the Greys could come bursting through the door, weapons armed and ready to take her away. Though now, there were even other groups now, she remembered Kies talking about how he'd almost been kidnapped, by people who hadn't been either NSA or Grey from the way it sounded. With the two major players dissolved it left other factions able to seize control of the majority and influence of any rising people with powers. Beflexor finished making two sandwiches for lunch and poured a glass of lemonade, she took the glass and a plate and set them both on the back steps. To her surprise, there was an envelope left there. She opened it, finding an obituary clipped from today's newspaper and a note. The obituary was about a woman in her late forties, no husband, no children, it was rather vague as to her life, but it did mention she burned to death in her home. The note made the teleporter cock her head to the side. In scrawling lines, as though the writer had difficulty, it read: She loved to eat ice cream, and didn't own a freezer. Just what was that supposed to mean? Oh well, at least her stray was getting more sociable... ~ Zack was in the verge of bailing when Aiko opened the door, causing him to take a step backwards. He jerked his hand out of his pocket, careful not to remove its contents, and waved, immediately feeling stupid. Who waves to someone standing right in front of them? "Uh, hi Aiko," he was an ex-NSA agent, capable of movie-quality acting, he could befriend someone and then snap their neck the next second, "I-I was wondering..." even now he did some freelance work, "...if you would like to go out for breakfast," there were a string of murders as of late, "I mean if you haven't eaten already," he ought to mention them, "but I guess you're busy," just in case. Since leaving the NSA two years ago Zack now worked as a private investigator, his sharp skills at stealth and subterfuge making him perfect for the job. He'd made a decent amount of money, still, that probably wouldn't matter to Aiko. He'd been doing nothing but dancing around the issue with her, not the money but rather his feelings. He wished he could read minds, it would make things so much easier, his obscure ability to tap into the potential of minds was limited in that department. Wincing, he continued, like ripping off a band-aid he reminded himself. "There's this place that has the best waffles, and pancakes and stuff. They have these tiny waffles with chocolate chips in them, I like them with extra whipped cream though there was one time they forgot and..." he paused, realizing both his hands were posed, finger and thumb, to indicate the size of the chips, he let them fall to his sides. "What I mean is we really should get together and discuss the Exiles too, there's been something going on that I think concerns the whole of us." You're capsizing! Righting! Righting! Tell her she's hot! Zack yelped and scrabbled at his ear, pulling out the small communication device that he typically used to stay connected with his younger brother back at his office, though he thought Neil was still sleeping, not listening in on private conversations and acting like he was twelve. Zack didn't even want to think about the boat jargon. Just before he managed to remove the device he heard one last thing. You should have sent flowers first, that's what I did with Rip, folded them out of paper and everything...did I send them to where she lives or where she works?...ah crap. ~ A girl named Victoria Black sat in a small waiting room in a doctor's office. To pass the time she took a pair of scissors and sliced a part of her shirt, she smoothed her finger over the cut and it instantly came back together. As far back as she could remember she could do that. It was one of her first memories. There wasn't anyone else in the waiting room at the moment but Victoria had the feeling she was being watched. Something was watching her, studying her. She played with her shirt a few more times, the watcher seeming intent on her ability. After nearly ten minutes it became either bored or content with its information and left. A stalker. Worst twentieth birthday ever. |
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Ceiling Cat is watching you... | |
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| ~kies~ | Feb 16 2009, 04:31 PM Post #7 |
Kilroy says hi
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Joshua was tired,his head ached,and all the rest of him was sore. After all the insanity with the NSA and the greys was over, and his unexpected,but not unwelcome return to his human body.Joshua begun working to regain his abilities. As it turned out,it wasn't as easy as he would have hoped. He stopped losing consciousness after his return to humanity,unfortunately it took months before he could hold that form for more than a few minutes. As a result,it made public appearances very dangerous,and by the time Joshua could retain his own shape for extended periods of time,it was already early 2009. As he thought all this,he made his way to the bathroom,where he took a long cold shower. As an exercise,he would spend hours a day,assuming the shape of any and every human,or animal he had come in contact within the past few days. It was exhausting work,and made him feel like he had just run a marathon,but it was necessary. As the teenager had come to find out,it wasn't retaining forms that tired him,it was switching between them. "I wonder what Em's up to" the shapeshifter mumbled as he made his way outside,shaven and dressed in blue jeans and a black hoodie. His hair was jet black black,worn back in a ponytail as usual. Standing at five foot eleven,Joshua was tall for his age,not that he looked his age anyways. In reality,the exile looked like he could be anywhere in from fifteen to eighteen. It was both an advantage and a disadvantage,in the up side,people didn't treat him like some cracked out idiot. But on the down side,it only added a sense of prolingment to his life,which annoyed him to no end,he wanted to get out and get a decent job,and make a living,not spend six hours a day learning things of no real value. Not that he really needed money,the NSA had provided him with enough funds to live by himself,even spending more money than a police officer. But Joshua wasn't a big spender by nature,so he would be fine for a long time. He now lived by himself,in a decent sized apartment in new jersey. The NSA had oh so generously modifed his legal age and name. Not that they had wanted to,it took a lot of persuading on his part,and someone from the NSA would occasionally occasionally come to check up on him and made sure he wasn't doing anything stupid,Em would stop by every once in a while too. But in the end they had agreed,so he was now no longer Joshua Perez,he was eighteen year old Kies Raul,which suited him fine. Although he had a lot of academics to catch up on,which he did ok in everything but math for the most part,so he was able to maintain the guise. Breaking into a run,he assumed the form of a sparrow and took off. A few hours later,he was landing in the NSA's parking lot. (I haven't written in a while,so please excuse the mistakes) Edited by kies, Feb 16 2009, 08:45 PM.
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 I finally got one!...... And it died a horrible death,so I guess I'll have to find a new one. | |
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| ~RipTheJacker~ | Feb 16 2009, 06:03 PM Post #8 |
Darthanis's official secretary
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((OMFG Darthy's secretary! LOLZ! Imagine that...)) Music played softly in the back round as Rip swung into her desk chair. She propped her feet up on the desk and kicked off her heals. She smiled at her bare toes wiggling in the dim light. "You're free!" She whispered jokingly. It had been a few years since the discovery of her powers, Rip had expected to never want to see the NSA before, but now she sat behind one of their desks. She flipped over the brown plastic name stand at the front of the desk and glared at the black letters on it. "Lilli Cain..." She said aloud. She flicked it off the desk with a grunt of contempt. She missed her old name. All the exiles she still talked to knew her as Rip or Lisha still, but to everyone else, she was something else entirely. She let out a sigh and shifted her gaze to the steam lifting off her mug. She pressed in an intercom button on her desk. "Want some coffee?" she let go of the button and sighed before pressing it down again. "Or photocopies?" She let her head dropped as she moaned. "Anything?" Edited by RipTheJacker, Mar 7 2009, 01:43 PM.
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／l、 ﾞ（ﾟ､ ｡ ７ OMFG l、ﾞ ~ヽ KAWAIII-NE! じしf_, )ノ | |
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| ~Darthanis Galbraith~ | Feb 16 2009, 07:48 PM Post #9 |
JBHZI81U812
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Em sat at his desk, tending to his duties. Filling out forms, entering data and error checking various documents. It was not terribly exciting but it was a good paying job with a lot of promise. The job had payed well enough for him to afford a decent sized house, one that was rather large for one person. He even went out and bought a new sports car. Occasionally he invited the exiles to visit him but only a handful usually ever showed up. His office was messy with a purpose. The clutter was not absolute entropy as most important things were set down within reach. It was time to have his secretary clean his office again. Em casually reached out with his mind and pulled a pen from the floor and brought it within grabbing distance. He reached up and snatched it out of the air and scribbled something on a forum. Muttering and shaking his head he made a similar mark on all the pages of the form. Em was in possession of a vast array of psychic powers that had finally started developing within the last year. Precognition, telepathy were the two he made use of most however he was starting to develop the ability to suggest ideas and feelings to people around him. However he had recently been working on one useful ability. George Harris walked into his office with a stack of papers. The agent had aged quite a bit after the destruction of the Meta-human headquarters. Em greeted him with a smile, and the agent dropped a stack of papers on his desk which was unusual. Usually his paperwork appeared in cardboard boxes, clearly labeled. Something about the agent's expression worried Em. He nodded to Harris as he turned to leave the room and turned his attention to the stack of papers. Taking a steadying breath Em forced himself to relax. Placing his hands on the stack of papers he began reading them without even leafing through them. He had two theories on the handy ability. He was reading the information attached to the papers, the emotions and reactions and possibly even the thoughts as people looked over the papers themselves. That or he was simply able to read with his eyes closed. He sped the pace up, sifting through the list of absurd deaths. He snapped his eyes open when Rip's voice cut in on his thoughts. He had been holding his breath during his osmosis and he suddenly let it out with a gasp. "...Or photocopies?" finished rip's voice, she sounded bored again. He hit the intercom button and held it a moment before saying anything. "Uhh, sure. Come on in. I'm done with my paperwork for now." And because he needed to make an excuse for himself he hit the intercom button again. "I have something you might want to see." He let go of the button again momentarily. A thought suddenly settled in his mind, Kies was coming to visit again. He hit the button again "And kies is coming to visit, I might need your help cleaning up." And he frantically began pushing papers around and herding them into stacks. |
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| ~Tvae~ | Feb 16 2009, 08:15 PM Post #10 |
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Today's Mood: Syke! Life is awesome!
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((OOC: Flashback time! My next couple posts will have them as well, as quite a bit happened to me during the two sections.)) 2 years ago, at the end of RE Heroes 1... Justin was never one to sit around and do nothing, and as such, the day after they had escaped the cave, he also "escaped" the hotel. He left in the direction of the NSA base, despite having no idea where it lay. So far as he could tell, none of the other exiles seemed intent on returning, so he set off on his own. He quickly encountered a problem with finding the NSA base: No one he asked knew anything about it. Great, trying to find a top-secret base, my favorite pastime... However, over time, he had successfully gathered enough information to at least gather the base's general location: After all, large military convoys usually don't just disappear into nothing. He had eventually succeeded in meeting a hunter who claimed to know the location of the base, though he refused to go there himself - last time he had gotten anywhere near the outermost perimeter he had been accosted and interrogated for an entire week (or, so he claimed). Justin had managed to persuade him to at least drop him off at the beginning of the road leading to the base, though. It was certainly a step in the right direction. ___________________________________________________________________________ Present time... Got it? "Yeah, it's a good plan, just... What if she refuses to help, or it doesn't work?" Well, we generally considered Aiko the leader of the exiles... If she can't help us, maybe she could at least get us into contact with one of the exiles who would be able to. "Fair enough. So, where do we find this... Aiko?" Justin paused for a second before answering. Yeah, that's the problem... I lost all contact with the other exiles two years ago. The only way I had to contact them was the site Reality's Exile, but the NSA has taken that down now. And I never bothered with phone numbers, as I didn't have a phone myself. "Great, so we have someone who can help us, but no way to find her?" That's about the gist of it. "Luckily for you, I know someone who should be able to help find her. And, as a bonus, I know exactly where to find her. If you're up for it, then pack your bags, we're going back to Greece. You have enough money for plane tickets, yes?" Yeah, the NSA gave us... Wait, what do you mean back to Greece? There was a pause. "Just... start packing, I'll explain on the way." |
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1:09 AM Nov 23
