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[Argonnek]

How has Progress on the game... progressed... so far?

[Golgath]

How has Progress on the game... progressed... so far?

I haven't heard much from Vaiolis lately, so I can't say how things are going for him, but on my end I've mostly been throwing some ideas back and forth for the different factions that the players might encounter in a small-scale setting.  Nothing solid enough to post, sadly, but distractions abound are to blame for this.

[Strife26]

Can we do something in the meantime?

[Luke_Prowler]

I think we should do a little RP while we wait. We won't be able to do as much, it still can be fun.

[Golgath]

I think we should do a little RP while we wait. We won't be able to do as much, it still can be fun.

Certainly have no problems with this, and it might be helpful to have a personality set if we need to make decisions without player input.  Though all our planning generally means we'd prefer it unless the player is unavailable.  Anyway, if you want a situation...  You can assume you're still traveling to this place, or maybe figuring how your individual squads meet.  It's all good.

[Strife26]

Strife looked up. “Another day, another world. Looks like I have everything, and I don’t feel to bad.”
Strife draws his pistol. “Good, the M15 is working.” It seemed that no go on the rifle for know though.
“Now to find a bar . . .”

[Archangel]

Archangel walks out of the QANTAS flight. "Man do I want a drink!"

[Luke_Prowler]

If one had to guess what Luke did last night, it would be easy to assume that drinking was involved, for he looked like he was so deep in that a bomb going off couldn't wake him. normally, this would prompt some fool to pull some prank on the man, but one look at the various weapons, death machines, traps, and other doodads laying around the room, such act would turn the prankster into a fine red powder. it would seem nothing would wake up our

"Breakfast!" someone yelled from downstairs.

eclipsed wake up time: 0.7 seconds.

[Golgath]

If one had to guess what Luke did last night, it would be easy to assume that drinking was involved, for he looked like he was so deep in that a bomb going off couldn't wake him. normally, this would prompt some fool to pull some prank on the man, but one look at the various weapons, death machines, traps, and other doodads laying around the room, such act would turn the prankster into a fine red powder. it would seem nothing would wake up our

"Breakfast!" someone yelled from downstairs.

eclipsed wake up time: 0.7 seconds.

As you (carefully) make your way out of the room, you hear your battered radio muttering more problems from the news channel.
As the food prices continue to rise, more food riots are occurring in Mexico, and there have been a number of protests in several major cities across the nation.  Some citizens blame it on-
The radio quickly becomes inaudible as you leave the room.





(OOC: I'll be trying to dispense little plot bits through this manner, if the players themselves have no problems with it.)

[Strife26]

Strife strides down the street, getting a couple of the normal looks for his trench coat. He finds a conveniently labeled bar and goes in. It's open, but empty. "Probably more of a family place, no traffic for now."

Strife goes up to the bar and rummages through the pockets of his coat. "Is gold an acceptable currency here?"

He places the gold coin (crown gold actually, usually good enough though, valuable without being bendable) in front of the flabbergasted bartender. Too bad about the shock value though.

Luckily, the bartender was a habitual reader, so he knew the value of gold. Could he trust this stranger? "Errrrr, we only accept dollars here, sir . . ."

"It's 91.6 % gold; I know that it's irregular, but surely it's worth a lot?"

The bartender looked into Strife's eye's and decided to trust him. "I believe you buddy, but I can't put it in the cash drawer. I'd pay you cash from my own pocket, but I don't have enough to cover even a single gold piece, they're worth a lot."

"I'll give it to you, no change needed."

"Huh? Okay then, what would you like?"

Strife reached into the sleeve of his trench coat and pulled out a four sided dice. He rolled it once on the bar. It came up as a four. "Double vodka. No ice."

"The house is Smirnoff, does that work?"

"Sure."

The bartender poured the drink "I'm Adam, by the way, would you like to share yours?"

"Strife."

Strife took a gulp, then asked, "Obviously, I'm not from around here. If I wanted to change a gold piece like that to hard currency, where would I go?"

"Well, it depends. A pawn shop would probably give you some money for it, but I doubt that it'd be anything near what it's worth. Gold is something like $800 an ounce right now. Of course, with the amount of gold you're spending on a drink, it might not matter to you. You could go to a bank, but I have a feeling that that's more trouble to you than you'd like."

"Heh, that's right."

Strife nursed his drink and talked to Adam for a while. Weird questions mostly, where was he and who were they at war with. The grill/bar was empty. Eventually, the cook came out and joined the pair. Strife obviously didn't mind. The cook was a jovial black chap by the name of Martin. Strife eventually ordered a sandwich. He was just finishing it, when a few people entered the place. Martin shuffled back to the kitchen, and Strife got up to leave. Adam asked, "Are you going to be okay Strife? I know you'll say you will, but we're open ten to two, so if you need somewhere to go, I usually work the day shift."

"Okay then. I'll be back."

Strife left to the odd glances of the new patrons. 

[Frelock]

Special agent 59864, code name Frelock, awoke to the sound of a beeping alarm.  He was gracious for the intrusion into his sleep; the nightmares had returned, and every moment awake was one in which he didn't have to suffer the punishment of hell.  It had been the same dream again, the one with the woman, her baby, and the child.  He flinched, just thinking about it.  Their faces remained, burned into his memory.  It was brutal, it was fierce, it was monstrous.

He looked out the window of his small apartment.  "Damn shrink; he said the dreams wouldn't come back," he said darkly.  The basketball hoop in the ally, long abandoned, hang as a sad reminder of a happier time.  Swinging his gaze to the gray sky, he amended, "Not that reality is much better."  He walked over the kitchen to make breakfast.  Another day, another 24 hours of life, and another distraction from their faces.

[Little]

Little woke slowly with her head hurting and her arms wrapped around someone, all of which were unusual for her. She opened her eyes a moment after she clawed her way from the depths of slumber, taking in a bland hotel-room and that the time was nearly three in the morning. Why she in a hotel room with another person, with a hangover? Oh, yeah! That's why she wasn't back home! The Paris job and the return trip! She smiles at the already-treasured memories and turns her attention to her more immediate surroundings. There was a good-looking man in the bed with her, and judging by the fact of how much booze she had last nights, it had probably evolved into a one-night stand. Well, that wasn't a bad thing. He had a chiseled body, she dimly remembered soft brown eyes not unlike her own through the haze of a mild hangover. Damn shame.

She carefully withdrew herself from the bed without waking her companion. She looked through her duffel bag and slipped on a pair of panties before quietly putting on her bra. It was no fun to scare the living hell out of someone naked, she knew. They just looked at you instead of being afraid. She went through her bag some more, finally finding a package of elastic band and a combat knife. Quietly peeling back the covers of the bed without managing to wake her companion, she smiles. In one fluid motion, an elastic band is wrapped around last night's fling's part, and with another smooth motion, cut it off.

The man's eyes rammed open and he began to let out a scream. Little merely smiles, her beautiful face framed by brown hair. She leans forward, and with one quick jab, the screams terminate. She quickly walks over to her bag and gets dressed, leaving the hotel casually but with an air of urgency. She makes her way to a train station, boards at three thirty, and heads to a new destination.

___

A few hours later, Little walks into a bar, wearing a nice jacket for the gray day and a tight pair of jeans, her shoes cheap sneakers. Some odd fellow was sitting at the bar in a trenchcoat sipping vodka. She decides to strike up a conversation with the odd fellow, seeing as the bar was nearly deserted. Clutching her duffel bag, she sits at the bar, and says to the man in the trenchcoat, "Hi. What's your name?" accompanied with a dazzling smile.

[Archangel]

After getting his shotgun past Customs with minimum difficulty (gun licence, gun registration, call to the Australian authorities to confirm) he heads towards the Tourist Information desk.

Also, Today is my birthday! \ I /   \ I / ( these are supposed to be fireworks)
                                         --o--  -o-
                                         / I \  / I \
                                        /            \
                                       /              \

[Strife26]

"Oh? Hello. It's Strife."

Strife, sensing something strange, returns to the bar. This newcomer wasn't right, Strife knew that much. He could probably leave safely, but what if she had hostile intentions to the bar? He didn't know enough about this world to guess, so he'd have to stay for another moment to be sure . . .

[Little]

Little grins, "Hi. I'm Little. What's with the trenchcoat?"