edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:titus pullo

Night in the port city of Dolios bloomed with light and music. Every bar, cafe, and dance hall had its doors flung open on the warm night, spilling sound and people alike out onto the sidewalks and streets. Like other tourist cities, night life in Dolios went to all hours as people competed to spend their money and mingle in the warm weather. It was a perfect place to get lost until dawn.

highfunctioning

The void of space is momentarily interrupted by the presence of the spacecraft Persephone: a mid-sized ship on a mission of exploration, research, and interplanetary commerce and cultural exchange. She is operated by a crew of anywhere between 15 [skeleton] and 60 [full compliment] from all walks of life. She represents a Consortium of Planets, and her home port is Earth.

In addition to the crew, there is a lively contingent of passengers aboard at any given moment. One of the goals of the Consortium is to promote interplanetary exchange, and they view safe passage as a public service. Papers to travel with Persephone are easily obtained at your home world's embassy on any Consortium affiliated planet. There is a basic background check and standard set of physical examinations, of course, but nothing troubling or invasive.

They've been en route between planetary systems for three weeks now, and life is unremarkable. Routine. There is an air of purposeful contentment.

nebaritralk

Chiana had to have told about half the people on board, upstairs and downstairs people alike, that she was planning to enjoy the pool all morning long, and that they were free to join in. Chiana had even spent a couple of hours with the replicators, first, and there was a group of bottles gathered on one of the plastic tables by the pool. Because it wasn't a pool party without alcohol. If anyone had it in mind to have a quiet swim that morning, it was a shame - and, more to the point, not happening.

Today, the pool wouldn't be about fitness, it would be about fun.

xiii_legion

Once all the bodies are disposed of and the station is hammered (more or less) back into place Pullo figures it's time for a celebration. Everybody seems a bit down in the dumps, which is understandable - there's nothing left to kill, and that can make anyone a bit grumpy. But they had been stunningly successful at the killing they did do, and that deserves a party.

After a few days of preparation the hall is ready. The theme, if it could be said to have one, seems to be meat - there's a large variety of roasted and smoked meats threatening to buckle a table along with various other fruits, fish and breads, and enough scarves and tapestries adorning the walls to keep even Lady Troi happy. Most importantly, there's amphoras of wine all over the place as well as copious amounts of the harder spirits he liberated from some of the busted-open tavern rooms on the upper floors of the station. A makeshift altar to Fortuna stands along one wall - he has no idea how observant people are and whether they'll be smart enough to leave offerings to the goddess, but might as well give them the chance, eh?

Pullo was meant to be a legionary, there's no doubt about that. But as far as other careers go, party-planner wouldn't be the worst option... as long as you're happy with a bacchanal for every occasion.

eof_classified

<00:01:ψ> INITIATE PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< ABERDEEN.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 00:01:ψ | 03:19:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ QUARANTINE RELEASE : < 1 M1A TS-#1758 > < 1 M2A TS#1000kw “EXCALIBUR” > < 1 M3A TS#4591971, TS#4591972> < 2 M2A TS#1979-1-TS#1979-3, TS#1979-1A-1E > < 3 M1A TS #4205A-E > < 3 M2A TS #731-12A-12E > < 3 M3A TS #MIR899-01A-01J > < 3 M4A TS #183RC-5A-5E “LICKER” > < 4 M1A TS #4781-8A-8G > < 4 M2A TS-#1966 > < 5 M1A TS-#396739 > < 5 M2A TS #510105 > ]
> [ LOCK DISENGAGE : < 2 M2A CP #23 > < 2 M3A CP #6319 “RIPLEY” > ]

<00:01:ψ> LAUNCH PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 29 | 12:00 A.M. :

The countdown clocks tick over to zero just as the time changes from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am. A clear chime like an elevator announcing its arrival sounds briefly in every room on board, but otherwise the passage of the countdown’s completion goes unmarked.

DING!

And then, on every floor of the station, doors that have heretofore remained locked begin to open, and one by one the things that those doors were keeping in begin to crawl out.

morethanhuman

Erik stands in the middle of the shuttle bay, one hand extended palm-up in front of him. Far overhead, almost at the top of the shuttle bay, Lwaxana’s shuttle hovers in midair. His eyes narrow, Erik curls his fingers in a little come-here gesture. A rush of power that's lain dormant in him for over a year surges out through his fingertips, and the shuttle hurtls toward him. It swoops down, passing so close over his head that the breeze from its passing ruffles his hair.

He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.

There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”

"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."

She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.

"But you're missing ( something... )

The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.

. . .

They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.

Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.

Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.

How do you like me now, HAL?

"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.

Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.

“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”

[see the OOC post here before tagging.]

sharpshooting

The tray full of hyposprays looked grim in the soft lighting of their imagined sick bay. John had to admit the holodeck had proven useful beyond his expectations-- even if the end result they'd reached was less of a sure thing than he was really comfortable with.

This is going to work, he told himself for the hundredth time. It was a far cry from a guarantee, but the results had been promising with Forge. Really, Lauren and Sherlock had been right: they didn't have the time to spend on being completely sure. It was their last hope. They had to take it.

He picked up the first vial and slid it into its casing, bending over his first patient-- Mrs. Troi, as it happened-- and pressing it to her neck. She stirred, and John began to speak in a quiet tone that effectively masked the relief he felt. "You're waking up now, Mrs. Troi. Take slow breaths, don't move around too much just yet, and I'll be by with a glass of water for you in just a moment."

John looked up and met Lauren's eyes where she stood giving a similar speech to Dr. Banner. She returned his little smile in wordless acknowledgment: the antidote was working, at least for now.

[see the OOC post here for more info.]

xiii_legion

Pullo isn't always the most punctual person in the world - just ask Mystique (or at least, if she was awake) - but he's in the gym at 8pm just like he said he would be, with his collection of wooden swords and his one precious gun in a holster around his waist.

For a moment he wishes his old friend Vorenus was there with him - Pullo's no leader, really, mostly staying at the head of the Aventine rabble by cracking skulls and pouring drinks. He doesn't inspire loyalty or devotion the way that greater men do and he's not even sure if anybody will even show up, but there's enough of the martially-minded still among them that he's hopeful at least one or two might. He'll worry about what to say if and when they do.

born_guilty

[March 5, early evening]

Q: What's better than a trip to Jurassic Park that results in a couple of M1911s and enough mags to fill a backpack?

A: A doting henchman to break 'em in with.

[HERE]

wise_ass

Bert walks out of the sickbay with a small crowd, all of them having been nudged out by the doctors who needed time, space and a piece of silence for their examinations.

In the small waiting area just outside it, the remaining residents of the Proserpina are in varying states of bewilderment, panic and exhaustion. The people they've lost-- all of them, apparently, boasting some kind of magic ability, at least to Bert's limited understanding-- had been all been tracked down and brought into the sickbay; those left standing had done whatever they could to help John, Lauren, and Sherlock hook the patients up to the machines that might be able to save them.

And there's the matter of the clock to contend with, which hasn't disappeared, but just run down to zero.

"Is everyone all right?" he asks of the room at large, breaking up the alternating silence and whispered conversations. Of course they're not all right, but Bert can't stand to worry by himself in silence.

proserpinian

<5:01:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< HEMLOCK.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 5:01:ψ | 09:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:20.94% > < N:78.08% > < +CCl₈O | “HEMLOCK” > < TEMP: 19ºC>

<5:01:ψ | 08:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<08:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 1 | 8:00 A.M. :

At 08:00 on the Proserpina, a colorless gas begins pumping through the air vents of Floors 1-5, initially detectable only by the inconspicuous but distinct smell of freshly cut grass.

Any subjects containing the specific nanites which restrain preternatural ability will experience a gradual decline in health, beginning with a vasovagal syncope response and followed by cardiac arrest within several hours. These subjects will find themselves experiencing a range of typical presyncope symptoms such as dizziness, blurred vision, muscle weakness, hallucinations and lightheadedness for their remaining two-to-three minutes of consciousness.

Subjects without the aforementioned nanites will be unaffected by CCl₈O.

As of HEMLOCK.EXE’s program launch, CCl₈O will be a standard element in the Proserpina’s air mix.

highfunctioning

Sherlock was still cursing and squinting as he made his way back to the lab after their release from Sanctuary. There was simply no way he was going anywhere else first, and transecting the Porta Ianualis was the fastest route.

If he'd ever been to a football match, he might have likened it to a scoreboard, looming large and ominous from the ceiling. The massive clock was counting down, standing currently at 212:41:58:003. Sherlock stared at it, running scenarios and associative terms in his head.

--Maia, Bona Dea, Beltane, St. Joseph, May Day, mayday, SOS--

"Computer, what happens on May the first?"

Silence was his answer.

Naturally.

[GP for reactions to the release from lockdown/discovery of the countdown clocks]

xiii_legion

"...well okay," Pullo was saying, "I'm sure you think that's true, but you have to admit, my explanation makes just as much sense." 'Giant balls of gas' indeed. He snorted as he dealt out the cards - one, two to them both - and then laid the next three face-up on the table. A three, eight, and a King, which didn't do much with the five and Jack that he held. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent, then reached out and tossed two bottlecaps into the pile in the middle of the table.

The table in the rec room was more 'authentic', Mystique said, though there didn't seem to be anything authentic about the bright green fuzz coating it. The lighting was certainly atmospheric, and he had hauled along several bottles of what the replicators had gifted him when he asked for bourbon, though Mystique had made a face when she tasted it. They were playing there instead of her room because supposedly there were going to be more players tonight, an eventuality that Pullo relished. Not that he didn't like playing with her, but damnit, she knew all his tells.

Which was probably why she called his bluff, and his next two bluffs, and probably why the pile of bottlecaps was much bigger on her side of the table than his, and growing.

"Godsdamnit, woman, stop taking all my money! How am I going to pay the dancing girls if you keep robbing me blind!"

[tag into any TL you like - there's no posting order, just go nuts! wheeee!]

the_iceman

There were only very few people in the world who had seen Mycroft Holmes without a tie. He only took off his jacket in extreme circumstances, but his tie, in a double Windsor knot, was a set feature. Come winter, come summer, in England or Dubai; Mycroft would always wear it.

He had only taken it off now because he didn’t want it covered in flour. It had taken him long enough to get the wardrobe to provide him with one of acceptable quality and he took great care of it.

It took him some time, and great patience, but eventually he managed to gather all the ingredients the recipe mentioned – though he did find himself needing to make some adaptations to the original, as the food replicator only seemed compliant up to a point. But he managed to gather them without swearing and that was saying something.

Now, to business; cake.

It was his brother who was the master of ingredients – be it of a chemical kind – and who, through years and years of practical experience in measuring, compounding and mixing, had perfected the science. Mycroft had never quite bothered to put scientific knowledge to practice – let alone engaging in any attempt at cooking or baking. And though he did understand the basic purpose of a whisk (no genius required there), he had never before held one in his hand.

He felt quite ridiculous – and he was not even wearing an apron – but in quite good spirits. He didn’t feel particularly useful as such, and baking a cake could hardly cure the mental tedium from which he suffered, but it was something.

((Yup. You’re reading it right. It’s not a figment of your imagination, or a door to another dimension. Find him at any point, either gathering ingredients, baking a cake, or somewhere in between, coming to terms with the fact that he’s actually doing something.

brightestlight

Caroline Forbes turns nineteen today.

She turns nineteen, and last night - through sheer accident, while she was looking for decorations (because yes, she was going to throw herself a party - nobody else was going to, and this place wasn't going to rule her life that much) she found a micro USB charger, stuffed into a cardboard box full of strings and cords and what looked like dry spaghetti.

Pictures. There were a million pictures, now that she could charge her phone that she'd gotten out of inventory. Her and Elena, her and Bonnie, Matt and Tyler and Jeremy-- and her mom.

That was when she changed everything. No party. Not a standard party anyway - she left everything where it was, the small observatory where she'd been going to invite everyone a tornado of forgotten decorations. No, she was going to do this right, because she wasn't going to be all woebegone. No point in it.

So. Holodeck.

Carnival.

The holodeck obliged, and it was just before dusk, the buzz of people around her mixing with the noises of children and weird, piped in music. There were what seemed like a million booths, with prizes and people and there was dinky rollercoaster and a ferris wheel and bumper cars and the smell of cotton candy and funnelcakes and it was pretty much exactly what she'd wanted.

Nothing super personal, but there's no way people wouldn't have fun. She pulled out her communicator, and sent out the message, just before-- "Computer? Give me the pinkest cosmopolitan you can. And make nobody care about open containers of alcohol."

Let's get this party started.

xiii_legion

March 28

Pullo comes to Zoe with a... sensitive request. She tries to save his immortal soul. It does not go well.

[Here|PG]

vivat_regina

The first thing that hit one on entering the holodeck was the smell of fresh air, grass and trees - in short, spring. There was a light breeze in the air, though the sun was warm, and there was even the gentle sound of birdsong off in the distance. Off to the right was an inviting looking evergreen wood with spires of long, straight pines, the distinctive brown, needle-cushioned floor of a coniferous forest, and shafts of light filtering between the wide-spaced trees. Off to the left was a picturesque little stableblock, apparently standing all alone in the middle of nowhere, some horses milling around in the pasture surrounding it. Off in front were rolling hills as far as the eye could see.

Inside the stable, what Regina couldn't believe was the smell. Fresh forage, clean horses, oiled leather - it was all just as it should be, warm light filtering in through the slatted stable block windows, the sounds of the horses shuffling and nickering to one another in their stalls.

She understood illusion - all too well. But the ability to fool the senses so completely on such a scale was simply remarkable - all the moreso that it was done not with magic, but with science.

"Computer, I'd like a palfrey mare, chestnut with a white blaze, a little over fifteen hands."

"There are six varieties of palfrey available: the single-foot, the stepping pace, the tolt, the rack, the-"

"Forget it," she interrupted. "Just give me a big black Thoroughbred."

And there she was standing in front of her, a living, breathing, and yet apparently non-existent horse. She was even a little antsy, snorting and picking her feet up in her eagerness to get going. Regina was no less eager.

"Computer: flat saddle, curb bit and bridle, please."

"There are four varieties of English saddle available: close contact, dressage-"

"All-purpose, computer, give me a break here."

Trying something a little different for this EP. Since it seems weird to me everyone coming upon a person at a given moment, particularly when it's a time like saddling up, I've also put two TLs in comments marking other points later in the same general timeframe and location, also open to everyone. Pick whichever setting you fancy; spread things about a bit - think of it as three EPs for the price of one!

princess_bruiser

The thing about a ninja is, a ninja doesn't need a superhero name.

A ninja is just a ninja. A ninja is a force of nature. The wind doesn't have a name, the darkness doesn't have a name, and vengeance doesn't have a name...

(But if she had a ninja name, she thinks it would probably be Kimiko Shadowborn, like the awesome girl ninja from Magic Teen Warriors : Xtreme because that is a really cool ninja name.)

And after she sneaks out of the wardrobe, she knows just who her first target is.

One of the bad mutants. She's not going to hurt them, because she's not a bad guy. She just wants them to know that the station has eyes. ...HER eyes. And that she's got their number, and they better not try anything bad. Also, she's got this costume and she just had her first ninja class with Wolverine-sensei, so she really wants to do something.

So: Magneto and Mystique. Time to track them down... ninja style.

- - -

Mystique's on her way back from a swim, wrapped in a terry robe and wearing flip-flops, when she sees something familiar-looking on the ground, just outside the Arboretum.

It's a bullet. An AK-47 shell, to be precise. Just sitting there. She looks up from where she's crouched and sees another one, farther down the hall.

What the hell...

She thinks of the block of rooms up ahead, half of which lock sporadically, and wonders if it's even remotely possible that the armory has opened up.

Later, in retrospect, the fact that a child set her up with a breadcrumb-style bullet trail and she fell for it calls for some serious self-examination.

---

Bam! Mystique walks in, and the door shuts behind her. Molly-- err, the faceless ninja-- presses a button on the wall and locks it. There's a mirror in Mystique's room, so she can see Mystique, but Mystique can't see... the ninja.

Mystique's face is priceless.

"What the #$@%?!"

"Hello, Mystique," says the ninja in her most mysterious, loudest whisper. "I think we should have a talk. ...and no more swears."

"Molly," Raven says through her teeth, looking like she's about to try busting through the glass. "Unlock the door. Now."

[ C'mon, tag in and be party to Mystique's fury and humiliation or Molly's mysterious admonishments of a former X-villain!! xD Depending on your tag-in, I'll give you one, the other, or both (and let you know via IM or email) at least until your character either frees Mystique or encourages Molly to get a new hobby. Feel free to pretend your character got the wrong door and stumble into Mystique's side, or see Molly's door open a crack. ]

Current Location: interrogation rooms; 5th floor.

withmyshield

Sharon marches into the holodeck, which is empty [apparently there aren't any takers for her challenge, and it's probably for the best -grown men crying isn't the most fun way to start a beach day] and plunks her bag down in the middle of the empty space. She looks pretty hysterical dressed the way she is standing in the middle of an empty room on a space station, but Sharon doesn't give a damn about that right now.

"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.

"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."

Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.

She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.

auroradora

Twenty-four hours doesn't sound like a long time, but when you're too frightened and furious to sleep through much of it, it feels like an age. By the time Tonks finds herself deposited into the big round room, she's irritable, drained and desperate to find someone who can tell her what was going on. She feels naked without her wand, but there's nothing for it-- she has to find out more information, and to do that, she's going to have to explore.

The space station Proserpina, huh? She knows about Muggles traveling into space, of course, but had never thought it would affect her. She still wouldn't believe it if she hadn't looked out the windows and seen the star-struck darkness for herself. The view was enough to distract her, but not for long. She'd spent her worry and fright in the quarantine cell and was now too tired to be anything but wary. If something's going to come out and get her, well, there's not much she can do to stop it.

It burns like acid in her throat, knowing what's happening back home-- or not knowing, as the case may be-- it sharpens her focus as she moves through the hallways, taking a catalogue of her surroundings. Constant vigilance. It's rarely out of her mind these days, and now even more so. No matter where she is, there's got to be a way to get back home, and she's going to find it even if it takes days.

A few of the doors had opened as she approached them (fancy, she thinks, snidely) but when she comes up to one that didn't, she frowned. "Open up," she tells it. Nothing happens-- not an altogether unexpected outcome. Focusing as much as her overtaxed mind allows, she holds out her hand and says convincingly, "Alohomora!"

Again, nothing. Tonks kicks the door with her ugly grey trainer and snarls, "Piss off and let me in!" The door doesn't respond-- but the person who's just snuck up on her does, and she whirls to face the interrupter with a defiant expression.

[she's got chin-length brown hair and brown eyes to start. find her trying to get into the door of your choice!]

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Edge of Forever RPG

November 2013

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the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:titus pullo

Planetside: Dolios - Nighttime

come sail away

Pool party

Fors Fortuna (GP)

(no subject)

bow in the presence of greatness

wake-up call [gathering post]

[backdated to May 12th]

Backdated to March 5th.

[ Backdated to yesterday, noonish. ]

(no subject)

4.24 | 07:06

Ante up!

And keep your jokes to yourself

Happy Birthday to All of You

(no subject)

Fact: girls love horses

The rise of the mutant ninja.

Beach Party GP

(no subject)

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November 2013

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