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Post by Warsmith Wolf on Jan 24, 2023 6:23:13 GMT -5
++Weapons down everyone, we're not spooking them.++ He said over the Vox, enclosed in his helmet so no one could see him speaking. This... this is a bad time to note that Sergeant MacVrenner accidentally snagged his comm-bead headset on the cupola ring on the way out of the tank, and hasn't noticed it's not on him any more, is it? !!! TROUBLE !!! BEG PARDON, SIR? !!! TROUBLE! !!! Now, old Big Mack certainly heard something as he peered out of the hatch - something about weapons. That don't do no good, that don't. Are these sorry lot armed? Well, now, we'll not be 'avin any of that! "Eyes peeled, lads!" the tank commander intones as he taps his comm-bead. "Karkin' civs might be-" Hmm. That's his tanker's cap, not a comm-bead. Pausing only to accept his headset back as Gunner Pyke passes it up to him (having been passed it by Loader Larken, whose head it first fell on), Sgt. MacVrenner isn't so foolish enough to simply open fire or aim any of his guns at anyone in particular. He does, however, rest one hand on the tank's pintle-mounted heavy stubber, and very audibly rack the slide. Want a go? Come and 'ave one...
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Post by Fate's End on Jan 24, 2023 22:50:35 GMT -5
((Author's Note: This first momentary response is intended to take place right before Cassim dismounts)) Krast listened closely as the two explained the situation. He couldn’t help but grin a little to himself as the nurse told the ex-soldier to behave. It was a bit odd that someone would place a nurse above a veteran soldier, especially if they were suppose to be guarding something. He gave Pavel a sharp grin, and a sharper look at the mention of doing something stupid. “You mean like smart mouthing a senior officer when he has a Kasrkin aiming a heavy weapon at your chest? Seems you think the Guard lost some teeth since your time,” he said, emphasizing the word Guard. He was starting to get a bit annoyed by the old man’s attitude. The older head of security didn't so much lose his smile as lose any trace of amusement. The expression turning brittle, more than a little dangerous and sparking with anger. He was about to respond when Maddie gripped his arm and hissed, her voice so low only he and the approaching Cassim could hear it. "Don't. Don't rise to his bait. Just keep your mouth shut, Pavel. Please." The smile still remained on his face, but the anger slowly faded and he held his tongue, not actually responding to Krast. ((And this picks up after Cassim's dismount and verbal exchange)) Cassim gives a smile, “Absolutely. We’re all comrades here are we not? I would hate for anyone to get gunned down by careless gunplay.” He looks over his shoulder and only notices Hoyt for the first time since hopping out of El Dorado. But if he can keep Hoyt from firing... . . . Still he stands between Hoyt and Pavel to encourage friendship, but glancing to Kragg for confirmation on if this is okay. Pavel's attention was fortunately refocused as Cassim answered his question. He snorted, but accepted the Sergeant's answer at face value. "Comrades, eh? I suppose that'll do." He offered grudgingly. He stopped and thought about what Pavel had said. Boss was a woman, and more interested in keeping customers coming in as to have someone rein in security. Clunk-ClunkInteresting. He’d been around the block enough to know when a trade market was doing well. Clunk Clunk ClunkNo one ever really suspected the Cadian, let alone a Kasrkin, to know anything about a black market. Honor and duty and all that had a lot of reputation to lend him. Clunk Clunk Clunk ClunkHe realized that his thoughts were being interrupted by a loudly, and quickly approaching walker, one he recognized. “What in the Bloody Throne is Cassim doing?” He muttered to Caerrick as the Sentinel walked up, stopped, and it’s pilot was ejected. For a second Krast thought some saviorbelt failure left the pilot flying to the ground, only for Cassim to stick the landing, in front of him, right between Pavel and Hoyt. He stared, mouth slacked for a moment, before he hardened his look and frowned at Cassim. “Sargeant Cassim, I hope for your sake you have a good reason to be riding in here and throwing yourself in front of a superior?” He snapped, purples eyes focused on the pilot. He continued on before he got a response. “Sargeant, return to your vehicle and wait for my order. I appreciate your willingness to protect these civilians but they’re in no danger. Hoyt, weapons down.” He emphasized the last part as well, looking over to the transports. He took a breath, honestly wondering what the hell was happening today. They needed to find this market before Bellicosa decided to try and jump the caravan with her pilot blind folded. He pressed his microbead and voxed one of his squads. ++Lesk, bring one of the cargo containers here,++ ++Aye, Lt++Shortly after, two white shields marched over, a large cargo crate held between them, a chirurgeon seal on both sides. They sat it down next to Krast, who motioned for Mollie to inspect it. “Standard grade medications, mostly antibiotics and such, nothing special but I’m sure the people you can get it to would appreciate it. Always figure it’s good practice to show your honesty upfront. We are here to help, but we’re also here to investigate some rumors. If you let us through, I promise my men won't interfere with your little business, unless we find anything aiding the enemy of the Imperium. I'd also like to discuss this with your boss if thats possible, just to smooth things out." Maddie approached cautiously, waving for Pavel to stay back with Cassim. Closer now to to the Lieutenant and his fellows, she knelt and seemed to forget a portion of her nervousness as she studiously inventoried the crate, ensuring it was exactly as he said. After a precious few seconds she nodded firmly. "Pavel," She began calling back just as a loud sound came from from Sergeant MacVrenner's bellow, cutting her off. ++Weapons down everyone, we're not spooking them.++ He said over the Vox, enclosed in his helmet so no one could see him speaking. This... this is a bad time to note that Sergeant MacVrenner accidentally snagged his comm-bead headset on the cupola ring on the way out of the tank, and hasn't noticed it's not on him any more, is it? !!! TROUBLE !!! BEG PARDON, SIR? !!! TROUBLE! !!! Now, old Big Mack certainly heard something as he peered out of the hatch - something about weapons. That don't do no good, that don't. Are these sorry lot armed? Well, now, we'll not be 'avin any of that! "Eyes peeled, lads!" the tank commander intones as he taps his comm-bead. "Karkin' civs might be-" Hmm. That's his tanker's cap, not a comm-bead. Pausing only to accept his headset back as Gunner Pyke passes it up to him (having been passed it by Loader Larken, whose head it first fell on), Sgt. MacVrenner isn't so foolish enough to simply open fire or aim any of his guns at anyone in particular. He does, however, rest one hand on the tank's pintle-mounted heavy stubber, and very audibly rack the slide. Want a go? Come and 'ave one...Her train of thought was very clearly derailed as she stared at the pintle-mounted weapon and swallowed nervously. ". . . Right---uh. Yes, I'll have you waved through. If you mount up, Pavel and I will lead you in so there's no misunderstandings. Yes?" ((Through negotiations and more than a bit of intimidation, The Guard has convinced the Camp guards to allow them access to the black market. In the next GM post or so we will timeskip the convoy ahead a few minutes to arrive at the camp unless characters intend to not go forward, etc.))
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Post by theredauthar on Jan 30, 2023 0:17:35 GMT -5
“Sargeant Cassim, I hope for your sake you have a good reason to be riding in here and throwing yourself in front of a superior?” He snapped, purples eyes focused on the pilot. He continued on before he got a response. “Sargeant, return to your vehicle and wait for my order. I appreciate your willingness to protect these civilians but they’re in no danger. Hoyt, weapons down.” He emphasized the last part as well, looking over to the transports. Cassim gives a half-hearted shrug, “If you say so, El-Tee.” He turns to head back over to El Dorado before he’s stopped by a sound. Hmm. That's his tanker's cap, not a comm-bead. Pausing only to accept his headset back as Gunner Pyke passes it up to him (having been passed it by Loader Larken, whose head it first fell on), Sgt. MacVrenner isn't so foolish enough to simply open fire or aim any of his guns at anyone in particular. He does, however, rest one hand on the tank's pintle-mounted heavy stubber, and very audibly rack the slide. Cassim pauses for just a moment to look towards the tank. His immediate instinct would be to dive for cover, but his training at least gives him the sense to check which side is readying their weapon. Not that he could do much if the tank did fire. Yeesh, our side is definitely nuts. Not that I can really complain myself now can I?With nothing else, he reaches El Dorado and begins his climb back up into the vehicle, with about as much grace as he had when he dismounted. He’s done this before. He shouldn’t have, but he has. When he gets back into the cockpit of his walker and buckles himself in he thumbs the vox to see if the Lieutenant is ready to chew him out yet. Well I won their hearts right? Mission achieved. He chuckles to himself. Cassim reclines a bit in his seat, bringing his arms behind his head. “The El-Tee said to wait for orders,” he reassures the sentinel, “Probably means look out duty at the end of the sniper scope again…”
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Post by Fate's End on Feb 10, 2023 0:42:51 GMT -5
Fifteen minutes later the convoy finds itself lead through several hastily moved (and easily crushed) blockades. With another few minutes of travel they find themselves heading down into what seems to have been a half-excavated quarry, overhung by . . . some sort of bizarre construction blanketed in camo netting. Whatever the construction is, it provides plenty of shelter and for the quarry itself, casting shade over the majority. The overhanging structure itself is well-hidden, the camo netting of ingenious make, allowing it to appear as perhaps nothing more than a small peak from the air above. Within the Quarry itself is a mass of humanity; well organized tents and old imperial issue emergency shelters, multiple battered cargo 8's, and a lively market set into the shade of the overhang. Easily several hundred men, women and children live here in the camp, and most look up with concern as the Astra Militarum convoy is allowed down the massive ramp into the quarry proper. Maddie hugs herself as a breeze cuts down into the quarry. Even with the natural shelter and the structure providing cover above the quarry, the air is still bitterly cold. She waves towards the market and glances at Krast, "Boss is over there. Uh---I'd appreciate it if you could try not to look too scary? We've got a lot of kids and young people here. Generally its safer here than in the cities." Next to her, Pavel snorts and scoffs, "After those damn silver-masked Janissaries gunned down PDF and civilians in the capital . . . People chose to live here than in Harvest." For the Guard itself, initial impressions are perhaps mixed. There is no obvious sign of mutation, which is perhaps always a concern. But there are obvious guard posts, as well as several modified technicals with heavier weapons mounted in their backs. The camp guards keep their distance, but give vicious glares and spit whenever their glances meet those of the guard. The rest of the civilians look miserable and cold, for the most part. But at least all wear some form of heavier clothing, seeming to indicate that the someone is trying to keep them all alive with a modicum of success. ((Congratulations, the convoy has made it into the the Black market! The leader is indicated to be in the market proper, deeper in the quarry but visible from the ramp the convoy is currently positioned on it. The camo netting is covering the structure above incredibly well, but it could perhaps do with investigation. As well as anything else your characters have a desire to attempt, explore or do ))
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samo
New Member
Posts: 10
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Post by samo on Feb 10, 2023 14:15:09 GMT -5
There those rare moments where lucidity was the first step to inevitable contemplation. Hoyt was, by his own and the opinion of many others, utterly inimical. Or at least that was one of the more polite descriptions for him. Geniality wasn't a requirement to make it into the Shock Troop, much less the Kasrkins. If it was, Kensington would be a prodigy. Everyone liked Kensington. Some perhaps a little too much at times. Caerrick had a natural charisma. It was what made her a leader. What made her a woman Hoyt would follow into the maw of hell without so much as a complaint. As the Sergeant was fond of saying; Epsilon is a hand and each of us a digit upon it. What goods a fist made of one finger? Work together, die together. And it was an undeniable truth. Each of them had their talents. Something that they brought to the squad. Kensington's ability to rigmarole his way out of taking accountability for anything and everything was commendable. Caerrick had a talent for threats. And Hoyt?
"Chose." The Kasrkin's sneered behind his respirator. "They chose to live here? Karking hel."
Well, nobody could say he was dishonest.
The acropolis and all the madness it was formed was... commendable. A town of rusted metal, weather-worn timber, tattered-tents and little else. And still, as humanity was so fond of doing, they persevered. No doubt their exodus from the sanctity of Haven had been hard and living here harder. Exposed to the weather as much to enemy incursion. And yet,
"Still standing." Hoyt grunted, the words uttered under an exasperated breath. The shanty-town in it's own twisted way, reminded him of home. Cadia. The world-that-was. Of course he mourned it. For what it had represented, not for what it had been to him. The place had shown him little love and him of it. A childhood festering in husks of buildings desiccated and ruined by war. Those days had been cold, full of hunger and little else. There was a sting in his heart that threatened to become sadness when he saw children amidst it all.
Hoyt moved quick for a man clad head-to-toe in enough ordnance to turn half an enemy company into an afterthought. He made his way towards Maddie, one hand still resting on his holstered hellpistol whilst the other worked to unclasp the strap fastening his helmet to his head. Click went the strap and off the helmet went to be clasped beneath at his waist.
No matter how handsome Hoyt might have been, there was nothing left of it now. Just ruin. A heretic chainsword had removed whatever chance Hoyt might have had of ever doing anything but a twisted sneer. The flesh of his cheek was a valley of white, poorly healed flesh. Metal teeth, replacements of the ones that had been shattered by the chainblade could be seen through the immense cleft in his cheek. The scar twisted his features into a permanent half-grin. Only his eyes betrayed some semblance of his age. Rich violet, flecked with black. The half of his face that wasn't a zig-zag of scar-tissue was austere and refined. It did nothing but emphasize the devastation that had been done to it.
"Hoyt." He said to Maddie when he stopped in front of her. "Now you have a name and most of a face to put to the threats." The Kasrkin gave a dry laugh. Slowly, he put out a hand wherein a box stamped with munitorum print was held. The bold font read 'RATION PACK. KASRKIN-ISSUE ONLY. 1 WEEK.'. "I get it." Hoyt said, his eyes flashing back to the camp below. "I really do. Now take this-" He shook the box in his hand. "- and eat before the next light breeze carries you off. Give away the rest as needs given. If I find you bartering with this, I'll stop being pleasant."
Then, he shrugged. "Hurry up, before the convoy starts talking. I've a reputation to keep."
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cyg
Junior Member
Posts: 58
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Post by cyg on Feb 17, 2023 18:41:51 GMT -5
Krast watched as the column of his men made their way down towards the shanty town. It wasn’t exactly the worst settlement he’d ever seen, some pits in the underhives he’d fought to clear had made this place look like the Golden Palace, but it was still a den of refugees. He did note there was some order to how things were placed, and most of the structures were secure enough. Eye’s darted across it all, taking in tactical information; could a sniper roost there? Lines of fire for ambushes? Fastest way to pull the cargo trucks out if things escalated.
He was in his own head so much he barely heard what Maddie had said, turning and looking at her as Pavel finished. He’d heard about how the Janissaries ran things, and he wasn’t the biggest fan. He gave Maddie a quick flash of his teeth, not quite a smile but close, and nodded.
“Oh don’t you worry, I know how to make a good impression, and so do my men.” He said, and looked over to the civilians. He heard Hoyt talking to Maddie, but he put that to the back of his mind. As long as no one pulled a gun this time it should all go smoothly. Time to give some orders. He started first with Bellicosa, the Leman Russ was sure to cause a start among everyone.
++Sergeant MacVrenner, I want you to keep your tank on look out for anything coming near the transports. Don’t shoot but let them know why the Russ is the Imperiums best, if you get my drift. Also, put on some tunes for the people here, liven the spirits. They look like they could use something uplifting, maybe not so pious, or too loud. Got anything to match?++
His next orders went to the transports and some of the infantry. Set up near the market, open up an aid station and evaluate the people here. Give them what they need but make sure everyone gets something. Try and take names and a head count, but don’t push if they won’t give that out, the guard wasn’t here to harass these people more. If they ever sent out another detachment here having a headcount might mean they could bring enough. Other than that, keep their eyes up, don’t let anything be stolen, and if they want they can mingle with the crowds in pairs to try and make a good show of things.
++Sergeant Caerrick, can I talk to you alone for a moment?++ he put in lastly. He moved to the front of his chimera, away from where others could hear and cut his vox. Waiting for Caerrick he spoke to her in a quiet tone.
“Sergeant, I have a special task for you, and a team you make up. I’m sure you’ve guessed by now we’re not just here to look pretty and hand out ration bars to people. Orders are that this little quarry is a possible blackmarket for Xenos weaponry, possibly more. Now that's only a rumor, but a rumor command would wager a good few Cadians on. I trust you know what to look for, and I trust a Kasrkin more to get the job done than others.” He paused, looking back over the transports, a grimace briefly flashing on his face.
“Pick out a few from Epsilon, and the other squads, and have them do sweeps through the market. If they spot something, mark it and try to retrieve it without confiscating it at first, but by no means are we to leave any Xenos tech behind that we find. If things get too hot…” He paused at this, remembering the orders he had, “...vox to me and pull everyone out. I'll be trying to talk to the Leader of this little squatters kingdom, see if we can't work things out diplomatically. Understood, Sergeant?”
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Post by hobbsy on Feb 20, 2023 2:38:12 GMT -5
"Not a bad day's work." Bruce thought to himself as he flicked his fingers over the recently brought and 'acquired' supplies and wealth they had gained through the day's activities. It had started that morning when a man with no name with a horse with no name asked them for a service. Deliver a few crates to the refuge in the hill country, no questions asked (other than for haggling a good price). Once that job was done, the extra cash was put towards buying and trading what they could to make even more profit. And profit, they had indeed made.
His musings were interrupted in the usual form of Jed appearing around the side of the imperial Centaur tank which they worked and lived out of. "Boss!" Jed hissed, apparently out of breath, "The fuzz are here!". Bruce looked over the side and gave a disgruntled seer towards his compatriot. "What are you on about now Jed?! This is a black market! There is no fuzz for twenty clicks from here!". "But they are Willie. They even got a tank!" Jed pleaded. Bruce was about to turn away to ignore the distraction when he froze.
"TANK!?!"
In one fluid motion, Bruce lept out of the open top tank and rushed to the corner of the side ally they had parked down. "Why didn't you tell me they were guards?!" he demanded. Not even waiting for a reply, he scuttled up the side of the Centaur and down to the driver's compartment where Tane was asleep. "Tane! Tane wake up! We got trouble. Start the tank and start it quietly!" Bruce yammered as he shook the driver awake. Tane simply gave him back a look in reply. "Alright! I know it'll make some noise. Just don't rev the engine or anything!" Bruce grumbled back in an exasperated tone. "Look. We need to get out and get out quickly! As soon as they are off the main ramp, will mine our own business out of here and gun it for the hills!".
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Post by Warsmith Wolf on Feb 21, 2023 3:37:31 GMT -5
This time, Sergeant MacVrenner has his headset on properly – and, as Fate would have it, he gets his orders as they were intended. ++“Can do, sah! Right an’ rousin’, the proper way!”++The mighty tank slews to a halt, turret at idle, hull heavy bolter idly sweeping back and forth. Then comes a wail of harsh static, before a great and terrible sound emits from the iron beast’s external laud-hailers, worse than the bark of any battle cannon – the opening verses of The Emperor’s Fist, the discerning Varvaxian tankman’s anthem of choice. AAAAAAAAAAAAway down there in the land of traitors, Tau, Orks, ‘Nids, and Emperor-Haters, Right away! Come away! Right away! Come away!
All trait’rous plots to be disloyal, The Emperor’s Fist shall surely foil! Right away! Come away! Right away! Come away! Varvaxian tankers, it would seem, have rather a different idea on what the words uplifting and not too loud mean. The Emperor’s Fist is rolling! Ooo-ray! Ooo-ray! Each blueskin boy must understand that ‘e must mind the Emperor’s Hand! Ooo-ray! Ooo-ray! We all do praise the Emperor! Ooo-ray! Ooo-ray! We all do praise the Emperor! That the crew appear to be singing along with it probably doesn’t help…
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quoth
Junior Member
Posts: 74
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Post by quoth on Feb 21, 2023 15:35:30 GMT -5
Trooper Savin Deveraux was in trouble. What had started as any other trip to the the black market had quickly taken a turn when the guard showed up. This was definitely not the place to be found, out of uniform and carrying several gallon jugs of contraband homemade amasec. Okay, how to play this? Thinking quickly, the ratling buttons up her chameleoline coat to the throat, hiding her civilian outfit beneath, and puts on her red field cap. She bundles some sticks about the right length to be a longlas in cloth and slings it over her shoulder. Thusly disguised as herself, she sidles into formation with one of the patrols sweeping the market, adopting her best ‘I’ve been here the whole time’ demeanor. This is going great.
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Post by theredauthar on Feb 21, 2023 20:34:10 GMT -5
Guardsmen running, refugees and civies trading goods and friendly greetings. Having a good time. “This krakking sucks,” grumbles Cassim as he watches the camp from a little ways off through the scope of his longlas, “Oh sure the tank is allowed in, but not El Dorado?” Was he being punished? Probably not. One, he’s a scout, and two he’s a sniper. His job is to either explore ahead or cover from the rear. And unfortunately sitting in a bright gold trimmed sentinel in the middle of a refugee camp, swinginging a longlas around is probably not the brightest idea. And yeah, he may or may not have blindly jumped into a dangerous situation and had the potential of causing it to blow up worse so it makes tactical sense to keep him out of the trouble for the time being. Didn’t make it suck any less. The machine spirit of El Dorado seemed to agree as the sentinel almost seemed like it was about to take a step in the direction of the camp, on its own. Of course it didn’t. El Dorado didn’t move unless Cassim made it move. But sometimes it just felt like the machine would react or make choices without his input. “Easy, patience,” Cassim whispers to the walker, “We’ll have our time in the limelight soon enough.” He didn’t believe it either. The “find black market” thing is pretty much wrapped up. Now it’s just chilling till the order to go home… Out of sheer boredom Cassim scans the market through his scope again. [TheRedAuthar Request: [4df + 1] Roll: [+, -, -, -] Result: -1 Careful Roll to skim the town]
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Post by silverruby on Feb 22, 2023 13:49:16 GMT -5
Clink... Clink... Clink...
A glint of metal flickered in the hands of a man dressed in a long leather coat, seated at one of the nearby "Canteen" tents that spooned out gritty nutrient gruel to the denizens of the quarry. The hunter watched the convoy of Astra Militarum men and women trundle into the encampment with a small mote of interest, initially curious who had come to "crash the party" so to speak. Of course the Guard would eventually extend it's grip here to the outskirts where humanity was simply trying to eke out a living. Selling and trading contraband supplies and weapons on top of said eking, of course.
Leaning onto his elbow and tilting his head down to lower the brim of his hat, the man continued to flick his lighter, rolling it between dexterous fingers as he watched the proceedings. A slow drag on his lho-stick revealed a handsome, rugged face in the glow of burning ashes, framed with fragrant smoke.
Yul Altanbaatar was a "regular" here, at least, he had visited the market on his own for his own needs several times in the past. How else was someone of his occupation to acquire firearms and gear to complete his jobs? Sometimes, his employers provided gear, but it was of expected that he supply his own. Strapped over his shoulder, was a scoped stub-rifle that had been scrubbed of any nomen or numerical designation; at his hip, a holstered las pistol; thigh, a sheathed hunting knife. His body is wrapped in fitted dark brown leather: gloves, chaps, boots; and a flak chest-piece could be seen peeking out from under the coat, flak gauntlets hidden under the sleeves of his coat. Nearby, hidden behind the row of tents was his worldly possessions strapped onto the sides of a black-painted ex-Enforcer motorbike.
He watched impassively as one of the Kasrkin approached Maddie, offering over a ration pack as a token of peace. If she had met her end then and there, well, that would be inconvenient for everyone here, wouldn't it... She was probably the most amicable face to represent the camp that he had seen. "Not like I'm paid to care, another will take her place," Yul thought to himself with a cynical snort, pushing away his half-eaten bowl of tasteless gruel- he had been offered a measly ladle of it, and it wasn't more than a mouthful left, anyhow.
Unlike the skittish denizens of the camp, Yul stood out like a sore thumb; a dark, calm blot in the midst of nervous and frightened civilians milling about, watching from the periphery of tents as guardsmen jumped to follow their leader's orders.
"-Emperor's great balls, that's loud..." The bounty hunter couldn't help but comment as the tank crew began to belt out loyalist songs, his words drowned out by the noise emanating from the tank's laud-hailers.
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Post by Draeci on Feb 22, 2023 16:59:58 GMT -5
"Hell." there's an aggravated hiss of breath from the next table over, as a startled and much more twitchy woman flees from her seat, leaving a softly-cursing figure sat alone with a pair of drinks... and a now-scattered pattern of ornate cards laid out in front of them. Exactly how they'd gone unnoticed until now is unclear, but it seems the Guard's arrival has scared away their current mark. "Gotta start taking payment up front..."
Wearing a long, tan leather coat with the collar pushed up, despite their best attempts to blend in to the market, the figure is still clearly a psyker. Further, to even the untrained eye, a psyker that someone had at a point invested quite some funds into. The cut of their cloth is markedly different to those around them, and if the winged circle tattooed around one eye wasn't a clue, the wrought metal collar sitting at their throat certainly was. However to those willing (or able) to catch a second glance, the fine materials of their dayclothes and edges of their long coat have distinct signs of wear. Their expression certainly does. There's a distinct tiredness as they tenderly gather up their tarot, then rub their neck with their hand, sighing. Clacky watches the group of Guard come to a noisy halt, eyes scanning the dancing lights that made up the procession. Indistinguishable from one another at a distance, colours blending as they worked as a unit. Mostly. Taking coin was soldiers was easy, but, much like cards, they travelled in packs, and the psyker considers giving up for the day. But lodgings - secure lodgings - still sometimes call for coin when you're a mutant.
Waiting patiently for the group to loosen, and start straying, Clacky turns their more immediate attention to nearby Yul, flicking up a card between their fingers, but keeping the card face hidden, "Emperor's Tarot reading, friend? Weather forecast for the week ahead?" they grin and tilt their head, taking a more visual measure of the bounty-hunter, "...Tarocchini*?"
[[*traditional card games played with tarot.]]
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Post by silverruby on Feb 22, 2023 18:22:57 GMT -5
Waiting patiently for the group to loosen, and start straying, Clacky turns their more immediate attention to nearby Yul, flicking up a card between their fingers, but keeping the card face hidden, " Emperor's Tarot reading, friend? Weather forecast for the week ahead?" they grin and tilt their head, taking a more visual measure of the bounty-hunter, "...Tarocchini *?" "Piss off." Yul flicked away the remaining stub of his lho-stick to the side as he drew another out of a packet to his lips without looking at Clacky. He lit the new one with a long drag, deep blue eyes never leaving the flicker of fire shielded by his fingers. "I don't have coin for you," He added, dismissing the fortune-reader as he tucks the silver lighter into an inner pocket of his coat. Perhaps sticking around and getting questioned by the Guard wasn't a great idea, either, he observed as the soldiers were dispersed among the other civilians. Yul unfolded himself from the tiny stool and tossed a few coins onto the table to cover the sad excuse for a meal, and fixed his hat into place as he gave his gear a once over.
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Post by Draeci on Feb 22, 2023 23:06:24 GMT -5
"Piss off." Yul flicked away the remaining stub of his lho-stick to the side as he drew another out of a packet to his lips without looking at Clacky. He lit the new one with a long drag, deep blue eyes never leaving the flicker of fire shielded by his fingers. "I don't have coin for you," He added, dismissing the fortune-reader as he tucks the silver lighter into an inner pocket of his coat. Stale cooking oil. Burned grease.Clacky keeps the grimace from their face at Yul's rebuke having tasted rather off, but mulls it over for a second, the terseness didn't seem to come with any familiar acidity. Broad irritation rather than disgust at the psyker's existence was... unusual. And vastly preferable to the curdled taste of revulsion towards them. Sky-grey eyes regard the bounty hunter for a moment, and Clacky does a quick, cold read of Yul. Local accent, but cleaner diction than most. Doesn't hide them, either. Educated. Armed, eating poorly ...but hasn't joined the Guard. Why?The raw emotional layer of Yul's aura fizzes in front of the psyker like a livid, static bruise, offering the temptation of unfiltered insight to anyone willing to just reach into the weave and tug parts loose. Respectful, Clacky glances instead at the concealed card held in their fingers. Hm.They lower their hand and fluidly slide the card back into the deck. Sympathy and curiousity vy for position, and deciding not to poke this particular bear today, the psyker drops their sass. "Tell you what, lad... One on the house. A short read, and-" Clacky cautiously inspects the second, untouched steaming mug that their prospective client abandoned, "-plain black recaff, if we are to indeed believe it." the showman's grin is gone, but there's a twitch of dark amusement. Real, undiluted recaff was pretty unlikely around here. "It helps me to look busy when the Emperor's Finest finish falling over their feet long enough to have a look around, and it helps you- well- when else are you going to get your divination from an actual deviant?" The Psyker shifts in their seat to regard the Guard assembly once more, clear wariness on their face as they squint over the group. "Don't read anyone spoiling for real trouble just now, but there's definitely some terribly bored folk in the mix. Could amount to the same thing, given incentive."
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Post by blinddeadmcjones on Feb 23, 2023 1:44:48 GMT -5
chimera rides. although through repetition one could become accustomed to them, they were not exactly what you'd call a pleasant experience, that said Hawke was thankful that this time it was one of the more brief rides. craning her head to one side and then the other once she felt that satisfying 'pop' from between the joints, the Cadian surveyed the sorry scene before her without much to say as she waited for her next set of orders. her lack of surprise at the conditions matched only by her indifference towards all the glares thrown the guards way. looking at one of the squad patrols Hawke felt something was amiss when she spotted a short figure trying to merge in amongst them, i don't recall any ratlings being in any of the mustered squads... her first thought was that it was one of refugees or rebels but there was something familiar about that cap the figure was wearing but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
[blinddeadmcjones Request: [4df] Roll: [+, -, -, -] Result: -2][careful roll to try and recognise savin]
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