Author Topic: The Promotion, by LostInSpace  (Read 1205 times)

Rathustra

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The Promotion, by LostInSpace
« on: September 18, 2018, 08:11:21 AM »
Quote
The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Trooper, what's this I hear about your contract being turned back?"

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "Heard correct."

The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
    "Get the fuck to the mess hall. You and everyone who went with you."

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "Understood."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Copper is thinking at us, wants us in the compound right now."

The lean, amber-eyed female rises from the ground, and clambers to her feet.

The lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Aye alright."

You say to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Up you get, and fall in."

The toned, ash-haired woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Let me rephrase that, in case I wasn't clear, you and every Bynner who was with you."

You send a telepathic message to the toned, ash-haired woman:
     "We're coming now."

The lean, amber-eyed female winces as she rolls her shoulder.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Pretty sure I'm about to get chewed the fuck out."

The lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Probably."

You think:
     "About to fucking suck."

The Mess Hall [W]

The coal-black haired portly man is standing here.
The tribal-tattooed, dusky man is standing here.
The toned, ash-haired woman is standing here.
The husky, pudgy-cheeked woman is here, picking away at some stew.
The rugged, sandy-haired manservant is here, sweeping the floor slowly.
The buxom, brown-haired maidservant stirs a large, bubbling stewpot here.
The lean, amber-eyed female has arrived from the west.
The broad-shouldered, roughshod man has arrived from the west.
A war beetle has arrived from the west.

With a raspy chuckle, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Feck Lieutenant...c'mon.."

The toned, ash-haired woman eyes a war beetle.

You exclaim to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Don't bring the fucking bug in here!"

You stop leading the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man quickly salutes the toned, ash-haired woman.

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head tilts to the side, his gaze flickering over you.

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes.

You notice: The lean, amber-eyed female looks at the toned, ash-haired woman.

You notice: The lean, amber-eyed female looks at the tribal-tattooed, dusky man.

Rolling her neck this way and that, speaking to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, the toned, ash-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
     "You see the one what looks like his mother beat him a bit too hard?"

The shaggy-haired, grungy man salutes the tribal-tattooed, dusky man as well.

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes the tribal-tattooed, dusky man and the toned, ash-haired woman firmly.

The coal-black haired portly man finds a place against the wall, trying to remain inconspicuous.

Turning a brief glance for the group, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Which one tha' be Lieutenant? They all look feckin' soft.."

You think:
     "Not really sure what's fucking happening..."

Calling over to the newly arrived unit, the toned, ash-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
     "Which one of you was the soft motherfucker that caused us to lose coin today?"

In an aside, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "There's always one soft link."

With a slow shake of his head, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Should o' jest let us take it Lieutenant. Ya' feckin' know we would o' got th' job done."

The coal-black haired portly man looks about hesitantly, a bit puzzled.

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man spits at your feet!

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "You cost me food today ya fuck!"

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "I was in charge Lieutenant, responsibility is on my shoulders."

Reaching out to give his shoulder a good punch, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "Knock it off, sergeant."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man exclaims to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Ya caused me fuckin' a turn wit somethin' wet too!"

Stepping forward, the lean, amber-eyed female says, in sirihish:
     "Was me Lieutenant, Couldnt kill em fast enough."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head offers a submissive dip towards the toned, ash-haired woman, before taking a step back.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the broad-shouldered, roughshod man with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man:
     "You better get to the fucking mess quick as you can, Lieutenant Copper wants us all here, I left you be because you were krath struck."

Quietly, lifting a hand, the coal-black haired portly man says, in sirihish:
     "I don't know what happened, because I wasn't there, part of it likely belongs to me."

Chewing at the corner of her mouth as she looks between the lean, amber-eyed female and you, the toned, ash-haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "So you two were the twits that cost me money. Prapti, step forwards."

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man has arrived from the west, glancing over his shoulder as he jogs, wincing.
A war beetle has arrived from the west.

Scowling, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man says to a war beetle, in sirihish:
     "You . . stop f. . . ."

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man hisses at a war beetle, flailing his hands.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man steps forward, gaze straight ahead.

Turning and trudging on out, a war beetle walks west.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man blinks, glancing to you.

You think:
     "Taking my patch?"

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man snaps to attention, rendering a careful salute to the toned, ash-haired woman.

You notice: The broad-shouldered, roughshod man's face makes a bit of a wince as he moves to the rigid poise.

(The shaggy-haired, grungy man's lips tug downward briefly as his eyes dart to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.)


Glancing over, the toned, ash-haired woman asks the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "Sergeant, I'm tempted to just take his sleeves right here and kick him to the street. He can go rot back in whatever rat-hole he came out if. Do you think we can salvage this idiot?"

You think:
     "He needs to be with Bones, not fucking here."

Turning his attention back to you, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Yea? Maybe one more go?"

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "This tha first contract he dropped?"

The lean, amber-eyed female remains near motionless as she stand rigidly.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man stills stares straight ahead, at attention.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man bites into his lower lip, staying mostly still and certainly silent.

With a huff, the toned, ash-haired woman says to the tribal-tattooed, dusky man, in sirihish:
     "By my count, I believe it is. Tell you what, I don't have one lick of a need for another trooper, but I'll give him a second chance."

You think:
     "Worse things than losing my rank, could be fucking dead."

Holding out a hand, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Prapti, your sleeves and your patch."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man's head dips a brief nod towards the toned, ash-haired woman.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man nods, reaching up.

You stop using your pair of one-striped studded sleeves.

You stop using your dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch.

You give your dusty red-slashed, tembo-sewn patch to the toned, ash-haired woman.

Folding them gently, you give your pair of one-striped studded sleeves to the toned, ash-haired woman.

With a slow shake of his head, the tribal-tattooed, dusky man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Shame. His unit be better fer it, yea?"

The toned, ash-haired woman stuffs the patch and sleeves into a massive pocket inside her hooded, black military aba, then reaches into a second, similar pocket.

(The shaggy-haired, grungy man's eyes follow the toned, ash-haired woman's hand.)

Tossing a package over to you, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Put these on."

The toned, ash-haired woman gives you her pair of two-striped studded sleeves.

The toned, ash-haired woman gives you her gortok-stitched, deep blue patch.

The coal-black haired portly man flits his eyes up, expression hopeful, but concerned.

The shaggy-haired, grungy man looks down at your pair of two-striped studded sleeves in confusion.

The coal-black haired portly man suddenly splits into a grin.

A grin slowly crawls across the tribal-tattooed, dusky man's face, as he watches you.

The lean, amber-eyed female widens her eyes briefly, then regains composure and returns to being rigid.

Thumbs running over the two knots, you exclaim to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Yes Lieutenant!"

Tugging them on, you fit your pair of two-striped studded sleeves onto your arms.

Slapping it into place, you reach up and place your gortok-stitched, deep blue patch on your left shoulder.

The coal-black haired portly man taps a salute to you.

Folding her arms over her chest, working her jaw back and forth for a few moments, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "My fucking Dusky Gortoks sergeant got herself killed on some spike-pit or something a month back. I need a new sergeant, and you owe me for this..."

The lithe, tall elven woman salutes you, fist to aba-clad chest.

The toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "...Contract you lost."

With a firm nod, you say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Understood Lieutenant, whatever you need."

The lean, amber-eyed female salutes you.

Grains of dust fall from the tribal-tattooed, dusky man's shoulders, as he offers a sharp salute towards you.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man holds his pose, right eye twitching.

The coal-black haired portly man slowly wipes the grin from his face, his eyes betraying worry.

You think:
     "Dusky fucking Toks."

Taking a look around the mess hall, frowning for a moment, the toned, ash-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Now, we're going to go have a nice long talk about how you're going to be doing your job, sergeant. But first and foremost, I think you've got your first order to make."

The toned, ash-haired woman lets here eyes linger on the broad-shouldered, roughshod man for a moment.

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Was just about to say."

You say to the broad-shouldered, roughshod man, in sirihish:
     "Runner, get to fucking Bones."

You say to the coal-black haired portly man, in sirihish:
     "And you help him."

Gasping it out, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man says, in sirihish:
     "Yes, Sergeant."

The coal-black haired portly man taps a salute, then nods firmly, attempting to assist the broad-shouldered, roughshod man.

The broad-shouldered, roughshod man cranes his body to the right, limping off hastily.

Limping along, the broad-shouldered, roughshod man walks west.

The toned, ash-haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "Anyone else who needs patching up, go see to it. Sergeants, come along."

The tribal-tattooed, dusky man scratches at the side of his face, as he follows after the toned, ash-haired woman.

You say to the lean, amber-eyed female, in sirihish:
     "And if you need it, go fucking see Bones."

The lean, amber-eyed female says to you, in sirihish:
     "Its nothing Sargeant.

You sling a bone-bladed gythka staff across your back.

You say to the toned, ash-haired woman, in sirihish:
     "All sorted Lieutenant."

The toned, ash-haired woman turns away from the group, heading out of the mess hall.

MeTekillot

  • Posts: 10363
Re: The Promotion, by LostInSpace
« Reply #1 on: September 18, 2018, 08:28:26 AM »
staff should close the byn
Also, I like my cootch to have a pert pink color and nice smell. Knowing my luck I would bonk someone with AIDs, get rotten box, and die miserable.

Veselka

  • Posts: 997
Re: The Promotion, by LostInSpace
« Reply #2 on: September 18, 2018, 11:39:59 AM »
Staff should close MeTekillot.

Fun log!
Live your life as though your every act were to become a universal law.

--Immanuel Kant

Cind

  • Posts: 1833
Re: The Promotion, by LostInSpace
« Reply #3 on: September 26, 2018, 07:32:04 PM »
This was cool.

I remember Lt. Copper. She doesn't take no nonsense.
Playing something new could be just what you need!

PriestlySiren

  • Posts: 938
Re: The Promotion, by LostInSpace
« Reply #4 on: September 27, 2018, 12:14:03 AM »
Lieutenant Copper's still there. She's a sorcerer, like Vennant.