Drunkard's Walk Forums

Quote:"I know you two!" the voice indignantly squeaked through the wall. "It'll be loud and sweaty and you'll
be grinning all of tomorrow and...."

I laughed uproariously.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

I can't shake the mental image of a frustrated catgirl on her belly on her bed, her pillow pulled tight over her head as her tail swishes angrily in the
air above.



Awesome stuff Ops.

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Nar'teth stepped wearily from the entry porter to Riot 6.1's base, his weary muscles protesting even the weight of Skar-Khaz in its sheath at his back.
He all but fell onto one of the couches there. Teil-Khaz jerked his arm around as he shifted, until he mentally shut off the flow of his magic to the shield,
and it shimmered back into its jeweled bangle.

He ached. Reyshal had left on another surveying journey, leaving him behind again. She had cited his relative inexperience with his weaponry as her excuse for
leaving him behind again. So he hadn't thought much about using the brand new "Architect Entertainment" system to practice. After all, it was
just an illusion, right?

Apparently not, though. While he had spend a goodly while in the simulations, when he had exited, it had felt like a sledgehammer had hit all of his muscles at
once. An Empath hero near him had been able to help him to the side of the room and fortified him against the pain. The man had shaken his head at him, and
told him that it was a certain, open secret that you didn't actually come out of the system exactly the same as you went in. What you experienced had a
toll on your body, mind, and, the man had said, it was a safe bet that your security level had gone up as well.

Here and now, Nar'teth cursed, shaking his hands and arms free of the magical enhancements that he had purchased just a few weeks ago, that were already
drained of their power and now useless to him. Now he had to reequip himself, get used to a security level almost double what he had possessed before AE, and
find a gentler way to train his body into the skills he had learned inside the system.

He levered himself off the couch, and headed to the teleporter bay. Maybe clearing out a few spots of the Park would help him settle his body down. As he
passed by the message board, a new notice caught his eye.

"Destined Rival? Eternal Foe? Who would ask for those things from their own teammates?" Nar'teth shook his head over it. Then he had a thought.
"Or, there's..." He tore off a small piece of one of the other notices, wrote down the name on the announcement, and strode off to the bay.

He'd be sure to deliver his 'Random Dueling Challenge' to Astra Sabre in person. This would be a great way to hone his skills against someone who
wasn't trying to kill him off!

Quote:"That's it, I'm going to find Derrick," a familiar muffled voice was audible saying from the other side of the wall

Cause she wants some heavy petting of her own?
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

As the dimensionally displaced imp known as Vengeful Flame bounced painfully through the teleportation system of Paragon, he was, to put it slightly,
displeased. More specifically, he was discovering new kinds of profanity in languages that mere mortals had yet to comprehend.

"#(%&)@!@$! @$)@)#(!%#!^& @)$)%)ing bitch! I'll @%(#)_@ @()#@#! tear her !@*($@))%$ heart out! I'll @($)@!#*( *@#)!_#%^ing eat the thing
in front of her @($@)I!( (@)@_!ing golem! Nobody tries to do that shit to me! Nobody!"

As he said this, he noted that his spiral through the teleportational grid had slowed to a stop. Entities unused to hopping planes of existence would find it
rather unnoticeable, but to an imp like Vengey, the difference was immediately noticeable. And only a few things had the possibility to not simply redirect
him, but stop the teleportation in mid-beam. None of which filled him with any confidence.

Which was when he caught sight of a figure which, if he'd been in any corporeal form at the moment, would have caused him to "shit his pants", as
the phrase went.

The figure ahead of him was dressed in a sharp black business suit, a small PDA protruding from one pocket and the impression of a cell phone visible in
another. The snazzy black sunglasses that he wore similarly seemed to have dozens of various holographic images flitting back and forth along them even as
Vengey was very sure that the being was aware of him just fine. However, the frightening points were the scars, hanging skin, and various bolted in pieces of
cyberware that peppered the figure's duskily dark skin. That kind of Celestial form belonged only to one particular type of demon, the Habbalites, and the
level of sophistication and self-experimentation that they implied belonged to only one Habbalite in particular.

"Dre-...er....Archangel Vapula.....I'm....honored by your presence," Vengey lied desperately, trying to resist his celestial form's intent to
break out in a foul cold sweat.

Vapula smiled slightly as he looked over the imp, pulling out his PDA and poking at a few things.

"Vengefarius, what am I to do with you? I mean, really, it's quite embarassing. You've failed so
spectacularly that mere mortals are getting the best of you. If you weren't Celestial, you'd be a drooling idiot with less brain cells to rub together
than a particularly dim slug," he said, frowning just as suddenly.

"Er, sir...even if I did....shouldn't Prince Andreaphlus or...um....Prince Kobal be here?"

"Well, I suppose they should, in theory," Vapula nodded. "However, while Andre' would probably tell
you to go find a few mortals to assault and call it good, Kobal's agreed with me that we can't let you off the hook this time."

The temperature of the conduit involved dropped several degrees as Vengey swallowed.

"Of course, I could just destroy you, but that'd be wasteful. There's still a chance you might help the Cause eventually, Vengefarius. So, for
that particular reason, I'm not going to scatter your Essence to the far corners of Creation."

While this was, presumably, good news, Vengey was not particularly reassured. "So...um...what are my new orders...sir?"

"Well, simply put, Kobal and I dug up a new job for which you're particularly suited," Vapula smiled. "Have you ever wondered why Technology
attracts so many demons from so many Bands, Vengefarius?"

"...why is that, sir?" Vengey asked, knowing that answering incorrectly would've possibly cost him what little mercy Vapula'd decided to show
him already...which only made the Habbalite's satisfied grin even more frightening.

"Well, even the most brutal Shedite can appreciate what happens when a piece of Technology fails in a spectacularly horrific way," Vapula answered as he tapped in a few commands on his PDA with a smirk.

***

In the Steel Canyon Medical Center, the mainframe for the medicomm system flickered for a split second, as the code...twitched....scrambling one particular
beam in. The twisted mass that emerged from the teleporter was what someone could only barely suggest was once humanoid, a nurse screaming as the bleeding,
organic mess that was somehow still alive collapsed out of the teleportation grid.

Simultaneously, the police drones protecting the hospital tipped over, smoking, as a group of groaning animated cadavers charged in the front door. Making
their way through the hospital with single-minded dedication to a goal, they entered the teleport room and removed the gurgling organic looking mass,
retreating out of the hospital just as quickly. The Meat Doctors wanted this particular sample back as soon as possible....

***

"I really must thank you for agreeing to help me overrule Andreaphlus on this. One can only do so many experiments on the undeserving before questions are
asked...." Vapula smiled.

"Of course," the short somewhat pudgy form of Kobal responded. "He fucked up big time. We had to do something. And...well....it was just too
damn funny to pass up," the Impudite cackled.

"Truly a fitting Punishment indeed," Vapula nodded.

***

"Query: How may I be of assistance?"

The metallic voice is of the silicon circuitry that controls his body now, not his own. But he still hears it.

"Hmm....."

The voice is simple enough to discern. Braende, a member of the Legendary. Easy on the eyes, and easier on the mind....two things that what little is left of
him no longer has to draw upon.

"Query: How may I be of assistance?"

There's just enough left of him to recognize the burst of flames that usually imply that the flame based heroine has changed her outfit. Just enough sound
input to guesstimate at the view his body has that he has no access to now.

"Query: If this unit may not be of assistance, may this unit return to it's designated charging station?"

So close, the possibilities so infinite, and yet the shackles that bind what little is left of his Essence and being to this metallic monstrosity prevent him
from acting on them. He is a blind man that remembers what it was like to see. He is a creature of the flesh that remembers what it was like to lust after
another plaything. He is no longer capable of doing either, and as the cybernetic body of Vengeful Flame plugs itself into its charging station and shuts down
into sleep mode, what little is left of what might be called the imp Vengefarius screams in fury and insanity at the torture heaped upon it.

***

Previous Snippet Reference
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

ouch.

did you re-roll/respec him?
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

I haven't seen Vengey around lately, but I imagine he's still here. Rather, this is a very, very, VERY much delayed explanation for his transition from
Pooky's dark opposite to the cybernetic imp who's ripping off HK-47's speech pattern that we all know and...um...aren't quite as squicked out
by.

The fact that I spent about half an hour browsing through the In Nomine wiki may or may not have contributed to my writing this.

Maybe.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

OK, it's my toon, and that bugged _me_. Good work, Ops!
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

There are times for keeping your game face firmly fixed.
When others were looking to you for leadership, you could not let it slip. You had to maintain the aura of
calm, focused control, and by doing so, let it pass like an infection to those around you. When the world around you
was descending into utter bat-shit madness, to the point where the appearance of the Cheshire Cat, Queen of Hearts and Hookah smoking caterpillar would signify
a turn towards the comfortably normal, you had to keep your game face on.



Thibor has a carefully trained game face. Anyone
who had spent any time with dogs knew how difficult it was for the canine, or in his case, lupine, face to conceal emotion.
Doggie expressions were so obvious.; happy dog, unhappy dog, sick dog and of course Irish setter. His team
looked to him. His team needed him to be the solid rock on which they would
build their attack.



Even now, they were arranged behind him. Waiting
for the word.



He has seen the enemies. His team had seen the
enemies. He turned to his team.



His game face faltered. Then gave
way. The look of shocked horror matching those around him.



As one they turned and fled, tumbling through the portal and back into the bustling
Architect Enterprise lobby.



Thibor let loose a long and profane burst of Romani; the incredibly descriptive and
anatomically unlikely phrases were a balm to his battered psyche. He felt cleaner for it.



"Okay." Thibor rasped. "Is never, ever, running one of Jackie's custom missions ever again.
Agreed?"



It was unanimous.

Quote:"Okay." Thibor rasped. "Is never, ever, running one of Jackie's custom missions ever again. Agreed?

BWUHAHAHAHAAa
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

And on the other side of the fence..

Snippets of the Legendary - Putting Decay to Bed.

Fluttering his decorative wings idly, El'Pookyrnthzl Amachef, Former Lieutenant to the Dark Lord of Forseeable Consequences, Former Subguardian of the
Gates of Mild Despair, Former Assistant to the Secretary of Minor Stumbles, (Redeemed-Probationary) motored through the night sky, immaterial wings of magic
slowly and steadily making progress towards the residence of the (highly attractive) passed-out (dead sexy) hero cradled (half-dressed) in his arms. Pooky
resolutely kept his eyes forward on his flight path, and his hands still on (firm, supple) shoulder and knee. As he arrived directly above the access door to
Decay's apartment, Pooky cut out the flight and dropped from the sky like a rock. Timing it perfectly, he cut back into hover, surfed the ground effect,
and settled noiselessly to the pavement.

Walking down the stairs, Pooky shifted the (ripe, young) heroine to a single-arm carry, and she fell against his shoulder, alcoholic breath blowing warm into
his (exquisitely sensitive) ear. Facing the magically warded entry door to her apartment, Pooky concentrated, his stubby wings and leather coat flaring a white
image of formal suit and ivory feathers. The door pulsed green in response, and Pooky grunted. Pointing at Decay, then pointing at the door, Pooky raised an
eyebrow in inquiry, and the door obligingly clicked open.

Inside the apartment, Pooky shifted Decay back to the easier knees-and-shoulder carry he was using in flight, and looked around. The decor was clean and well
kept, but nothing special. The place almost felt like a hotel room, soulless and empty. The magic wards provided the only real mark of the individual living
here. Pooky walked down the short hallway and opened the end door, turning sideways to confidently enter without disturbing Decay.

And found the bathroom. A grin split his face as he considered the slender (yet buxom and well rounded) form of the heroine nestled in his arms, and he sidled
back out into the hall, opening the second door to discover a linen closet.

The third door finally contained his goal (the bed the bed the bed), and he carefully shifted Decay back to one arm, drawing back the comforter with the other.
Laying down his (lookit those hips) burden, Pooky stepped to the foot of the bed and began unlacing the heavy boots Decay wore. For her part, Decay rolled over
on her side and started snoring. With her boots in hand, Pooky went back to the entry of the apartment, depositing them on the boot rack just inside the door.

When he returned to the bedroom, Decay was still on her side, one hand fumbling weakly and drunkly with the button of her jeans. Pooky sighed, and pulled her
socks off, tossing them in a corner of the room. Decay continued to fumble with her jeans, stymied by the incredibly difficult puzzle presented by the top
button. With a mushy grunt of frustration, Decay gave up and brought her arm back to her chest. With dexterity surprising for his bulky hands, Pooky pulled
Decays legs straight enough to reveal the button that had bested her, and popped it open with a single quick twisting motion. The remainder of the buttons
composing the button fly followed suit, and Decay nestled deeper into her bed as the tension of her tight (ass!) jeans eased.

Back in the hallway, Pooky rummaged through the medicine cabinet, returning to the bedroom with water glass and aspirin in hand. Decay was in motion again, one
arm bent behind her, fumbling at the back of the Paragon Protectors baseball shirt she wore. Pooky's ears twitched. Putting the water glass and aspirin
down on an endtable, Pooky gently grasped Decay's wrist, moving her hand back forward and up. With his other hand, Pooky reached the back of the shirt and
popped her bra open with a single flick of finger-and-thumb (lookit them cans). Decay sighed in pleasure as her bra came loose, and turned over on to her back.
Pooky released the wrist he held, and that hand fell straight towards the head of the bed, and Decay's other hand dived into the collar of her shirt.

Pooky watched in amusement as she drunkenly fumbled to do the Bra Trick, shaking his head as she repeatedly failed to succeed. Finally, he stepped forward and
snagged her flailing right hand in his right, darting a hand into the sleeve of her baseball shirt and snagging the shoulder strap of her bra. a quick tug
pulled this around her elbow, another slipped her forearm out of it, and Decay hunched her shoulders forward as he snagged the remaining shoulder strap and
brought the (hella sexy) black lacy bra out of her other sleeve, tossing it onto the socks in the corner. Decay emitted a grunt of satisfaction and rolled onto
her side, fumbling in and nearly knocking over the nightstand with the water and aspirin about it. Pooky lunged across the bed to rescue them, ending up with
his muscular bulk held in an awkward position to avoid crushing the (nearly naked) girl into her bed. Decay succeeded in her mission and lurched back onto her
back, pulling her jeans down with one hand and holding a small plasticene packet aloft with the other.

Pooky's eyes bounced between the object Decay held aloft and the wriggling, fumbling, drunken removal of pants. It took him several seconds to catch back
up to thought, and his eyes widened as he snatched the condom (scorrre)from her hand. Decay grunted in triumph as her jeans came off, and Pooky stood paralyzed
as warm denim wrapped around his head. "If yurr gentle, fucker, I'mma frow you out t'door" Decay slurred out.

Removing the thrown jeans and depositing them on the pile in the corner, Pooky pocketed the condom. Decay, for her part, was sprawled on her back with her arms
loosely flopped out, one bent knee (yeeeessssss) displaying the matching downstairs complement to the lacy bra sitting in the pile. Pooky's ears twitched
madly as he brought a hand to his face kneading the bridge of his nose. After a moment to collect his thoughts, Pooky pulled the comforter out from under
Decay's sprawled form. Snapping it out like a tablecloth, Pooky guided it down across the intoxicated (willing) girl and stepped back as it settled. Decay
resumed snoring, and Pooky sighed again before returning to the front door of the apartment. Considering the pen and notepad in his pocket, Pooky shook his
head. The door pulsed green at his advance, and Pooky stopped, facing it. The wards smoldered sullenly at the edge of sight, and Pooky sighed again.
Concentrating, Pooky Manifested his diminutive wings and flawless samite suit again. Pointing at the door, Pooky hooked a thumb behind his shoulder, and the
door grudgingly clicked open.

With the door locked behind him, Pooky popped into the night sky in a short hop, landing at a nearby package store. The bored clerk behind the desk raised an
eyebrow when Pooky put six large bottles of Maker's Mark on the bar, but had no questions beyond 'ID?' and 'Cash or Credit?'. Pooky left
the store and flung himself back into the night, heading for one of his favorite haunts for some serious drinking.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

What has me wondering is just what happened to Vengy to make him go off into the bleeps about (presumably) Amber and Emet.
---

The Master said: "It is all in vain! I have never yet seen a man who can perceive his own faults and bring the charge home against himself."

>Analects: Book V, Chaper XXVI

Makes sense to me. as Ops is seeing it (which is now Canon), Vengy mediported out after he was.. disassembled. The leftover bits were assembled into
MechaVengy, the bits that _made_ the mediport, were stolen by Doc Vahz.

Celestial management determined that Vengy's punishment would be to spend eternity imprisoned in the robot body, bound by it's strictures...

Like a cheesecake behind unbreakable glass.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

RE: Putting Decay to Bed

I am highly amused

It wouldn't be probation without some temptation.

And six bottles of makers is quite a lot, is Decay going to have to return the favor?

(minor nit I am happy to live with because your narrative works so well: Decay wouldn't bother keeping her shirt on in that state. If she thinks she is
going to score, no reason to keep clothing on to get in the way)
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

I figure, as hammered as she was, the poor gal was doing quite well to get a condom out of the nightstand and get her pants off.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Snippets Of The Legendary: Hangovers and Consequences.

*Thwip-thwipthwip-thwip-THONK*

"Damnit, Pooky, what the hell?" Terrence Knight blurted, pulling bits of shattered arrow from his leather jacket.

"Sorry, sorry... " Pooky replied, reaching into his jacket for a tube of green inspirations and downing two. "I may sh-still be drunk."

"...what?" Terrence replied, ducking under a sword thrust and uppercutting a Praefectus into the ceiling, where it stuck. "You're a _demon_, how much did you have??"

"Well, I had a couple beers in the bar, I was gonna enjoy the next episode of the Decay Show, and I.. six.. bottles.. whiskey. four vodka. I had three empties of Everclear when I woke up.. sme other stuff, too....."

Terrence stood aghast, staring at the wobbling imp, as the surrounding Praefectus beat on him to no avail. "That's enough booze to pickle Hamidon!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Pooky replied. Reaching into his jacket again for more greens, the imp unceremoniously fell on his face.

Terrence cleared the last of the current batch of Praefectus with a foot stomp, and hopped over the pile of downed romans. Kneeling beside Pooky, he checked pulse and respiration, performing a rough-and-ready medical evaluation. Finding the imp to be in no danger of clocking out immediately, Terrence stood, and with a sigh, hoisted Pooky up to a shoulder carry, turning and heading for the exit.

Pooky, for his part, vomited an alcoholic bile down the back of Terrence's leather jacket.

---

The stress of teleporting into the base set off the imp again, and Terrence winced as he heard another gout of vomit splash onto the leather of his jacket, and cringed as it soaked into the denim of his jeans. Awkwardly, more because of the disgusting sensation of puke on his pants than the insignificant burden on his shoulder, Terrence walked to the medbay and deposited Pooky on the diagnostic table. The imp lay like a dead thing, and Terrence shook his head as he irrigated Pooky's mouth and turned him over on his side, before leaving the medbay for the showers.

A phone call later, Terrence sighed in pleasure as the pounding near-steam-hot water sluiced the stains of his good deed off his skin. He had just worked up a good lather when a grasping hand clenched on his left buttock. With a startle yelp, Terrence whirled, slapping his hands down, and knocked Emerald Blast's hand off. Through the foamy suds dripping off his hair, Terrence made out her face grinning up at him. Quickly rinsing off the shampoo, Terr bent down to kiss Emerald, but held her at arms length when her hands started wandering.

"Sorry, hon, but I need a favor."

"That _was_ the idea, Terrrrrrence" Emerald purred, one hand on the fastener of the zip-up top she was wearing. "A favor for a favor."

With a chuckle, Terrence kissed her again, and closed his hand around hers, still on the zipper pull of her top. "I'd love to, Rhea, I really would, but I left you a problem in the med bay. I'll be there.. shortly."

With a pout and another kiss, Emerald skipped out of the bathroom, plucking Mr. Whiskers from his safe perch on top of the paper towel dispenser. As she neared the medbay, her nose wrinkled at the sharp stench of alcohol and vomit.

Pooky hadn't puked again, fortunately, but the stench was astounding, even for an Army trained medic. Emerald threw on a light filtration mask, set Mr. Whiskers on top of a nearby medicine cabinet to oversee, and set to work. The diagnostic bed cranked Pooky to a recumbent position, and Emerald began the first part of her tasking, namely, stripping the vomit-soaked clothing from Pooky. She had just gotten the cummerbund and dress shirt removed, leaving Pooky's muscular torso bare, when Terrence returned from the shower, towling his damp hair.

"Huh," commented Terrence, eying the comatose imp. "No nipples."

"No reason for them, really. He may not be an Archangel, but he is a Celestial.. " Emerald replied.

"True enough. So what's next?"

"Well, that really depends on how much he's drank... "

"Six bottles of whiskey, three bottles of everclear, four bottles of vodka, and 'some other stuff'" Terrence supplied, looking puzzled as Emerald paled and glanced up at Mr. Whiskers.

"Mr. Whiskers says that he'll probably survive, but we should really pump his stomach.. Terr, that's enough alcohol to stand a decent chance of killing _you_!" Emerald said in a low, panicked tone.

Terrence shrugged. "He's not human, hon.. and I didn't do it."

"You have any idea what happened?"

"All I know is, he said something about watching 'The Decay Show' at a bar.. "

Emerald scowled. Glancing at Mr. Whiskers again, she nodded, and turned back to Terrence. "Well, we're gonna pump his stomach for him, that'll at least make sure he survives."

With Terrence assisting, Emerald snapped Pooky into the restraints built in to the diagnostic table. Considering the muscled column of the imp's throat, Emerald opened a drawer and removed a plastic tube in a bag. Handing it to Terrence, she motioned to the imp on the table. "That goes down his throat." Terrence stood in shock, the plastic tube in hand, looking from Pooky to Emerald and back. Emerald, bustling about the medbay, turned back to Terrence with a plastic bucket in hand. "Well?"

"Uh, ah.. buh?" Terrence mumbled, waving the tube confusedly. Emerald laughed, setting down her bucket, and took the tube from Terrence's hand.

"This should be easy enough for you, you big galoot." She said, winking, as she stripped the bag off of the sterile tube. "Once you've verified that the mouth and upper throat are clear." She said, pulling Pooky's jaw down. "You can insert the tube - it may be helpful to lubricate it." With a broad grin, Emerald drizzled clear lubricant on the tube from another drawer. Motioning Terrence closer, she had him hold Pooky's head tilted back, and his jaw open. With a gentle twisting motion, she slid the tube into the imp's throat. "Use of a larger tube, relatively speaking, tends to prevent accidental intubation of the trachea. However, confirmation is easily achieved by compressing the chest and listening for breath sounds." Emerald motioned to Terrence again, and he let loose of Pooky's head, which stayed in place thanks to the tube Emerald held, to push firmly on the imp's barrel chest.

Emerald gave a thumbs up, and gently rotated the tube on it's long axis, sliding it further down the imp's throat. "once you're past the initial junction, it's easy sailing." As the tube bottomed out, Emerald motioned to Terrence. "Hand me the saline please?"

Terrence handed over the saline, and Emerald squirted some into the end of the tube. Handing it back to Terrence, she continued. "The syringe, please?" Terrence handed over a strange syringe, with a length of tubing instead of a needle. Emerald fed the tubing into the larger tube sticking out of Pooky, and drew off a small quantity of fluid, which she emptied into the sink. Sniffing at it and blinking her eyes, Emerald turned back to the imp. "And that's definitely stomach contents. Mr. Whiskers says that there's some rum in there as well.. "

"So what comes now?" Terrence asked.

"Well, we fill the stomach, with saline, so we don't throw off his electrolyte balance, and then empty it.. two or three runs of that, and he'll be all empty, aside from what he's already digested.. that should be enough."

"You know he's going to be so hungover, he'll probably wish you hadn't bothered."

Emerald dimpled at Terrence before squirting another syringe full of stomach contents into the disposal sink. "Not my problem, I assure you!"

Pooky, for his part, contributed nothing.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Quote: Pooky, for his part, contributed nothing.

Well, except for slightly-used alcohol, that is. Hardly what one would call nothing, especially as the described mixture probably handled that irritating clog
that's been stopping up the drain in the medbay for the past few weeks. Honestly, _catgirls_, I swear.

(Very nice, Wire! I approve!)

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Robin: Oh sure, you laugh when we get hamidon goo, Rikti blood, Vaz puke and robot oil in our fur, and the sticky fur and smell have us nearly whimpering, then
you complain when we try and clean it off. Humans! Hmph!

*grin* Thats awesome Wire...and also...ewwww, I can just Picture Terr thinking "The Imp so owes me a new jacket and pair of pants..I'm going to have
to burn them now.." But that was a really amuseing snippet..still Another amuseing conclusion would be pooky doin Rise of the Pheonix with an extra Flare
of flame as all the alcohol in his body gets burned away in his revival

*Rise* WOOSH!

*burp* BA-WHOOSH!
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Quote: Wiredgeek wrote:

---

*Rise* WOOSH!




*burp* BA-WHOOSH!

Robin: *Eyes go wide, and she flees the horrible, painful stench.*

They don't understand, any of them.

The thrill of the Hunt. The smell of blood in the air and in the water. The flow of the wind over my skin.

He's close already. My prey is far from the weaklings I've savaged before. They paid me to do this, but truth be? I woulda done it anyway. The
challenge, the struggle....this is going to be fun. He's walking forward now. The chattle follow around him,
shouting words, waving signs that mean nothing to me. I'm no mindless animal, though. But their causes? Their bitching? Not worth crap in a can over this
Hunt.

I remember, years ago, they didn't understand. Not when they looked at me. All except for one of them. Miss Dusanny. She looked at me and she understood. And she was afraid. That's why they sent me away. Again and again. I came back. At the end, she got to see what I
really was, and I know she saw what she was afraid of and more.

He's getting close to my hiding place. Just about in range. The poor bastard doesn't know what's coming. Not that I care. I leap outwards, going
right for him. Hardened claws gouge through flesh and the bloodscent from before flows even deeper. I feel my pupils dilate as my brain smells the food like I
do and everything in me tenses up for the kill. Duck around clumsy swing. Bite a shoulder, kick off. Slit the throats of a few of the cattle, then dive away.
They can't follow me. Not without abandoning their old plan. And I go back to waiting. Watching. Ready to strike.

The old crew didn't understand either. They thought of me as muscle, and I was, back then. I didn't have no ideas. No goals. Aimless. The captain,
though, he took me in. He showed me the place....the place I'd been dreaming of. The songs from the water....I ain't into new-agey bullshit, but
there's something down there. Something powerful. Something I want bad. The captain gave me purpose. Gave me a goal. For that, he died quick and in his
sleep. Of course, they never found the body....

The prey's getting close, and I jump out again. They're waiting, this time, but they're too slow. Way too slow. They move like humans. Like cattle.
Like meat. And the guys throwing bombs at me go down in sprays of blood. It's all over me. Coating my skin, running over my eyes. The smell. The gore.
It's intoxicating. I want more. But I gotta keep it together. I run. Stab the prey in the back. Maul his sides as
he reaches around to hit me. Slice at his legs. He's bleeding from a dozen cuts and furrows now. I see the realization in his eyes. He can't beat me.
He's too slow. But he's gonna try anyway.

Stupid heroes.

I vanish again, and I think about the dreams. The weird call from the water. I knew all along that was where I belong. My body just took time to catch up to
it. Now I'm ready. Now I can finally find It. Assuming that Arachnos don't get in my way. They're tougher to kill than those coral things. And they
can hurt me...for now. Power's what it comes down to. I want more. And when I have it, nothing will be able to survive me. Nothing.

Strike from the shadows again. I gore him, but then jump away. He tries to fight back, but he's hurt so bad he can't. I decide to have a little fun.
The look on his face as I tear into his protest line is priceless. I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting the blood. It's almost time to finish this, and I
can see he expects me to. He stinks of fear and anger and fight or flight instinct, but he's staring me down. I don't care. All that means is that if I
kill him here, everyone's gonna talk about his heroic last stand. That bullshit won't fly. I fade out again, letting them march on.

Pier 7, huh? Maybe I should remember that name. Everyone else is gonna. They're making some kinda speech. I hate speeches. Probably bugging the boss. So I
move. Adrenaline surges as I leap out. Covered in blood, fangs glinting. I probably frighten half the protesters to death right then and there. But not the big
guy. Not my prey. He stands his ground. But he's weakened. Blooded and bleeding. In a one on one fight, he might've been a challenge, but that's
stupid. Now? Now he's chum.

I tear into him and the blood sprays. My senses seem to extend as I rip into him. Sight. Smell. Hearing. There's gasps of horror all around. The stench of
vomit as people get sick watching me. But above all that is the blood. The smell, the texture, the sound. The sopping, schlorping, dripping of the blood.
It's on me, in me, all around me. The scent drives me wild as I tear and claw and bite. Bones crack. Organs rupture. I dig in and tear out a length of
something. He's already dead, his body just doesn't know it yet, but I can see his eyes focused on me. Let 'im watch as I eat his damn heart!

It takes a while....a long while....to get out of the frenzy. I may've killed a few of the boss's men that came to pay me. I dunno. The meatsacks all
look the same after a while, and they bleed the same too. The boss's happy. He's paying me extra....and there's black armor waiting. The BIG boss
wants to talk to me. Something about a job.

He wants me to be his on call killer....I knew that Recluse guy was alright.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

creepy redside kitteh stalker?
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

Captain Mako, actually. They weren't in any way ambiguous about what happened to Scrapyard before he died. :lol
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

As I had mentioned in the Mish design thread, when I first read that I was supposing it was a sort of Claw Stalker rather erieely like Ankh. But then you bring
out the scrapyarders, and the calling from the sea, and I realized it was Mako. It was a little creepy for a moment...
---

The Master said: "It is all in vain! I have never yet seen a man who can perceive his own faults and bring the charge home against himself."

>Analects: Book V, Chaper XXVI