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May, 2010... Fantasy became reality. Worlds overlay for the briefest moment. Outworlders became stranded on earth as more than half the human populace vanished. Our World, our universe, was transformed.

Fiction is now reality. Humans and those now bound to this world will either learn to coexist, or battle for supremecy.

Bo Salvatierra

Sheut Nation
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199 One of Our All Stars

About Bo Salvatierra

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Diego Klattenhoff
  • AGE
  • RACE
  • JOB
    Former Medi*Core Virology/ Biochem/Genetics/Pharm. Specialist
  • 'SHIP:
    Married to Gabriele Salvatierra
    Los Angeles
    Sheut Nation
    Formerly clean cut and impeccable, Bo has let himself slide. Lab coats, suits and shiny shoes discarded for worn military boots, whisker shabby jeans, battered sweaters and hoodies. Where hair was once military shorn, it’s now a mussed shag of ear length buttery colored curls that hint of a typical Czech descent. The urge to cut it is rare. He is, however, always cleanshaven.

    Glasses are usually perched on pale green eyes or pushed up on his head to hold his hair back, the lenses not quite right to the more than casual observer. They are slightly cracked near the top of the frames; he hasn’t had the want or resources to replace them.

    Underneath the shrug of baggy clothes is the rip of trained muscle in a compact frame. Average height, the snap of his sharp colored eyes is still enough to halt a friendly chatter. His features when lit up in a smile are quite warm, with a sharp lick of impulsive yet sweet sarcasm.
    In public he goes by "Triska" and is soft spoken, reserved, and polite; often coming off as cold or aloof. Privately, he is intense and a bit of a smart ass. Hellbent on his work; when it comes to his craft he loses track of everything else, getting lost in it for days on end. He is exceptionally adept in social situations, but prefers to avoid people in his personal time- his work taking up most of his thoughts.

    His main goal is to find and protect his twin sister, terrified of what may have happened to her during the shift. Loyalty drives him to find her, but his intense love for the last of his family is tearing him apart emotionally and mentally. Dealing with severe “ghost pains” and night terrors, he has become desperate. He still feels her, believes she is alive, and deeply fears he will go insane until he can guarantee her safety.

    Desperation has given him a particularly short fuse and complete lack of empathy for anyone that he might see as standing in his way of finding his kin. He would not hesitate killing anyone to save his own life, or the life of his beloved sister.
    A small homestead tucked remotely north of Los Angeles. The house is a modest cabin in a thick acre of woods, two rooms: a workspace and living area. Furnishings are basic, warmly comfortable and covered with books and small spatterings of his sister's art, contrasted sharply by his lab in the other room. The workroom is a jungle of glass, chemicals, and scavenged lab equipment. There is a small arboretum next to the cabin where he grows plants for his work, and occasionally food. Everything is shuttered heavily at night under the threat of intruders.

    He has a military issue CZ 75 with one ammo clip that he keeps in its case under the bed and always carries a fixed blade military knife in the back of his waistband and another on his left boot.

    His only mode of transportation is a repaired 2009 Yamaha FJR1300 ABS that he bought with money earned from selling his work privately to local hospitals. He stores it in the arboretum and only uses it to go into the city to get supplies.

    Frequently, he sells his medicinal items and vaccinations to the closest hospitals and clinics to secure contacts. Typically he's looking for information, but sometimes exchanges them for money so he can purchase supplies he cannot find. He knows how dangerous it is, but is willing to take the risk to get what he needs and keep leads on his sister's whereabouts.
    (See Staff Approved)
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    Bodhan is a savant.

    He has multiple degrees from numerous international universities. He is fluent in genetics, biology, virology, chemistry and astrophysics and can speak Mandarin, Czech, Spanish and English; which leaves him with a slight accent. Great mechanical knowledge and an ability to tinker make him a prolific inventor as well. Exceptionally gifted, he was an internationally sought after geneticist and astrophysicist until the Resonance, now hiding from the world in fear of what he could be used to create... or destroy.

    Employed by the Czech military for research fresh out of higher education, he has been trained in basic hand-to-hand combat, knife and firearm skills and can hold his own in a fight.

    He has exceptional knowledge of medicine and epidemiology. Though not a doctor, he can make useful pharmacology with relatively limited resources; a key component in the desire for him as a researcher.

    His theories surrounding the Nevus are groundbreaking, something he takes great care in hiding from the world.
    .............giggle soft, a sharp whiff came from between his lips to get the strawberry curls off his face. Her warmth was so comforting, snuggled against his chest in a blanket, their noses touching as they basked in the thick heaviness of the morning. She’d jumped into bed next to him, seemingly only to annoy the piss out of him. It never worked, even when she kept tickling his nose. He never felt complete unless she was close, sharing a womb together could do that…

    Sometimes their affection was mistaken for something other than siblings... it didn't bother them. People who weren't twins, would never understand anyway.

    He whiffed at the curls again

    “Wake up silly,” Maree whispered, “it’s 7am. It’s the last day of your assignment… then we can go somewhere cooler for a vacation.”

    His pale eyes snapped open frantically before the blanket was thrown off.

    She openly laughed as he scampered around the room trying to find everything he needed before bolting to the shower, but not before taking the time to boff a pillow directly at her face.

    Bacon was already sizzling before he got out of the shower in the LA apartment he shared with his twin sister. He came tripping into the kitchen, half in a suit, half still getting dressed, reaching into the fridge to gulp milk from the carton.

    “Stop that,” she hissed, snapping off the TV as she spied him watching the news.

    He was always distracted by turmoil. Intense turmoil it seemed this time in Africa... which meant that would be where he wanted to go next. He needed time off first.

    “It’s so good like this,” he grinned like a fool. “Long day today, have to turn in all my ID’s.”

    He took another gulp, and returned it to the fridge, tucking in his shirt and crunching on bacon as he tied his tie. Suitcoat was thrown on, a muffled “bye” through toast stuffed between his lips.

    “Get back soon, then we can pack,” she smiled brightly. “I can’t pull our tickets up yet for some reason. Internet is down. I’ll get that figured out while you’re gone.”

    He smiled his pearly teeth at her over the toast and closed the door. Taking the elevator, he finished his toast and brushed off the crumbs. The car was already waiting for him and he climbed in calmly, whisked away to the high security lab he’d been working in for a little over a year. He patted his pocket absently, cell phone not there. He cursed himself quietly, he never forgot it. The day was quick, stark lab coats sterile, his rusty Mandarin now sharpened to a point working with his lab partners for the last month. Outbreak of tuberculosis in the northernmost parts of Asia. Resistant to all vaccines, it had taken him a while to figure it out. All that was left was to slap labels on the boxes of medicine and send them out.

    Turning in his key card and ID in the security office at the front of the compound, the first steps into the street were liberating. Home. He’d made enough money to pay off his loans, move back overseas and take a look at the quaint job he’d been offered at the university. This job had been great, a little on the secretive side, some of his superiors a bit aloof and odd, but they’d made a lot of progress and they were pleased.

    Let them figure out what to do with the other things he’d discovered.

    He waited a few moments in the dark for his car, looking at his watch and patting his pocket to find it again empty where his cell phone should have been.

    He waited.

    Chewing his lip, he turned and walked back into the doors. They were locked. Peering inside, there was no one. He banged on the glass.


    Traffic was quiet, not unusual after dark. Everyone was driven in and out of the compound.

    Perhaps he’d missed his ride?

    He started walking, an odd sensation making his skin crawl. Where was everyone? His pace picked up, the sudden frantic clutch of panic in his chest turning his gate into an outright run. His sister was scared, terrified, he could feel it. Block after block, tie long pulled free, he ran up the steps to his apartment.

    “Maree!” he screamed, turning the corners of the stairs so sharply while looking up he was making himself dizzy.

    Panic bar was smashed into on his floor. The doors were open, all the doors, every door. TV’s still on, ovens cooking, fire alarms screaming.

    “Maree! Kde jsi!“

    Their door was broken open, her cell phone on the kitchen table. Bacon grease stank, burned away from the pan hours ago, the burner still on.

    Blood. There was blood everywhere.

    “Kde jsi!“

    Tears had sprung to the corners of his eyes, tearing out the bottom drawer of his nightstand to pull out his pistol and load it. Turning sharply, eyes wild, he fired... the inhuman scream seizing his chest.

    He fired, then fired again...............


    His nightmare is always the same. Looking into eyes he didn't recognize, killing, blood everywhere, haunted by the prospect it was his sister. Nothing left of the creature's face after the flurry of bullets to determine whether or not is actually was haunts even his daylight hours, and inches him closer to insanity every day.

    Comfortable in his close-knit tiny family, they were inseparable. After the death of their parents in a car accident on an autobahn in Germany, they made a promise to always stay together. Maree'Anca was content to be in his shadow, approving or disproving of his girlfriends and choices, and he the same to her. Their companionship became the comfort of brother and sister, intertwined with the duty of parenting each other.

    He followed his dreams and drive to learn everything he could get his hands on, fueling his brilliant gifted mind. She pursued her art and writing at the leisure of the money he so freely shared with her. It took them around the world, exposed her to cultures that she absorbed into her work as he cured and saved the lives of countless people stricken with disease and misery. It was a state of peaceful happiness.

    Then the world ended.

    His sanity now ticks dangerously like a bomb.

    Past means nothing to him, not the degrees or the money, his military service or honors, the homeland he'd left or the countless lives he saved with his work.

    Nothing matters anymore except finding her and protecting her with his knowledge. He goes by the name "Triska" in public; only his sister called him by his middle name and she would recognize it.

    He works incessantly to find a "cure" to whatever ails her, knowing in the back of his mind it will never happen. Nonetheless, he moves forward to keep his mind from focusing on the empty hole in his psyche. He will either find her, or put a bullet in his brain before he iis forced to use his skills to serve someone other than his own mind.

Profile Fields

  • Primary
    Bodhan "Triska" Marin
  • All My Characters
    Bodhan "Triska" Marin (Salvatierra)
    Maree'Anca "Jo" Marin
    Kai Alexander Morgan
    Kett Evangline
    Rhome Del Santo
    Rorye Shannon-Kearney
    Shalheira Lharithlyn- INACTIVE
    Jacob Minor
    Saxon Terrano- INACTIVE
    Josef Carroll Boudreaux
    Calista Burke
    Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick
    Calder Muireadach
  • Typist's Interests
    Monster maker
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Before online was a thing
  • Role Play Sample
    Snow was rifled from his hair, stepping into a doorway that lived silently under a half collapsed awning. The weight of the drifting snow was immense, crushing the right side to create a wall. The bright white of the blizzard even in the sunset was intense, eyes not adjusting to the sudden shadows within the gaping doorway. It was the kitchen back door of a swank, tiny restaurant at one time. Stripped of all its candor, the kitchen was stark and quiet, the small dining room dark with its deep wood, plush carpet and shuttered windows… but the fireplace, inviting and waiting for a fire.

    A great place to spend the night.

    He’d almost tripped, stumbling forward slightly before straightening and shuddering from head to toe. Small sprinkles of snow flittered to the dark floor, the curious cock of his head quick as his eyes adjusted to the light.

    A form was huddled near the door, not moving… no doubt caught by the sudden flare of snow that had blanketed the city for far too long. Fingers slid into his pockets, taking a step forward. The man was huddled against the wall, knees to his chest… caught by the snow… a sad sight. Tapping his shoe against his, there was no response.

    He knelt, reaching to press two fingers against his shoulder. Lips were almost white, dark blue circles beneath his eyes.

    He was still.

    Great, a fucking corpse.

    He stood, a long seethe through his nose. Cold, he didn’t feel like going back out and wading through the snowdrifts back home. Night was coming. Temperature was dropping. This wasn’t good. He didn’t feel like spending the night with a friggin’ corpse.


    Gathering the remnants of several broken tables, he snapped them sharply and tossed them into the hearth, stuffing it with a gaudy tablecloth to catch the flame. Pulling a lighter, he waited till it caught, tending to it until it blazed. Warming his fingers for a bit, he stood, knees creaking and pulled the gaggle of garish velvet curtains for a cushy place to spend the night.

    But first.

    “Sorry buddy.”

    His voice was always soft, reminiscent of a calm before the storm.

    He didn’t touch him for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire behind him. Strange… usually there was someone that remained, clinging to the body, making it clear that he wasn’t welcome. It was silent, quiet, as if he wasn’t dead at all. Sliding his hands under his arms, he lifted… immediately dropping him back to the floor.

    Eyes narrowed suspiciously, scuffed steel toe tapping at him again.

    He wasn’t stiff enough to be dead. Kneeling again, he brought flaring nostrils along the skin of his face.



    His body scrambled upward, and dodged through the kitchen… reaching outward he pulled the rest of the awning down with a thundering crash to bar the door closed and keep the heat in. The windows had drifted and would insulate against the wind. Lifting a stainless steel table to cover the outside door already somewhat closed off by the awning, he secured it in place with the oven and did the same to the small dining room. They were enclosed from the elements. Dragging a shredded couch five feet from the fireplace, he threw a curtain over it… creating a small barrier around the hearth to collect heat.

    He picked him up in one fell swoop, putting him as close to the fire as he could as he pulled off clothing. Skin was like ice, firm hands rubbing from his shoulders down his arms to create some sort of friction heat. Moving to the center of his chest he rubbed sharply in a brisk circle.

    “C’mon man”

    He’d never felt someone so cold… his hand slowing down. Perhaps he’d been wrong, maybe he was just crazy. Leaning the man’s face toward his, he drew a slow breath near his lips, scenting the cold breath that still moved from them.

    How in the hell could this man still be alive?

    There was no reason for him to keep this man alive, whispers across his ears of the dead that now walked silent through the city’s shadows chiding him for even trying. Perhaps that’s what made him work harder… the need to hear another’s voice other than those that were in his head.

    He blinked at his own thoughts, eyes focusing on the flicker of the fire as he leaned the small framed man back from his face. Pulling up the thick blanket curtains that were now starting to retain fierce heat, he’d created a shield from the cold at his back, and a catch for the heat rolling from the fire. He could no longer see his breath, beads of sweat glittering at his temples.

    Brain snapped back to the most pressing, lifting the rest of the thick curtains over him.

    He, was here for sleep. Perhaps he’d wake up next to a dead body, it wouldn’t be the first time. It would be the first time he remembered how they’d died, and probably the first it wasn’t his doing.
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  1. Hay there


    Saw you were looking for threads. Any idea what you could do with Branden? Just a crazy idea I guess but you have multiple characters and I'm sure we could come up with something.




    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Brandon Valosa

      Brandon Valosa

      lol ok so let's iron out some ideas then. I just have the one character. so let's look at what you think would be a good match?

    3. Bo Salvatierra

      Bo Salvatierra

      I would say to look at the major site story arcs and figure out how your character fits into them- that will help guide which character he could interact with.  Meeting up in a "cold call" situation is great for conversation, but I've found it doesn't connect my chars into anything deeper that could lead to more threads.  I would suggest the Outworlder threads.  Calder, Durion, Rhyse are in that one.  He could also link with anything Pharos because of his artifact- Boone, maybe Darius as well.  The collapse of ARMA and rash of assassinations in the Order may also affect him if he starts to show any type of magic affinity- Rhome and Raeden are tied into that.

    4. Brandon Valosa

      Brandon Valosa

      Currently, he is in New York City. Brandon is working for a company that restores houses though he has a degree from Harvard, the new one so not nearly as good as it would have been before the Resonance, and has been looking for work with the police as a forensic scientist/investigator. 


      Writing with Boone at the moment and enjoying that. 


      If you have read any of the threads he has been in Brandon has just learned he is an outworlder.  Up until that time he believed he was an altered human.  The artifact he has will certainly place him in the magic area seeing he just used it in a bookstore, see "Words in Wax." There was somone from ARMA present when he did it as well.


      Hope this helps.


  2. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    Stunned to silence. Of the horrendous things he’d done in his life since the Event, everything he’d done to survive… he’d never done anything to hurt anyone who truly didn’t deserve it, let alone someone he loved. Thoughts that Gabe could and would eventually heal were little comfort. Words of encouragement that Gabe himself offered were of no comfort either. He was dangerous, unstable… with a wealth of knowledge that could be more than deadly. Catastrophic. A short sigh was quiet. He was dead in the water. “I want to go home.” The amorphous request didn’t specify where home was. To Prague? To Shadow? Did he really even have a home? He’d just blown up one, if that ever really was one. Prague was, nothing anymore but a vapid wasteland of broken civilization. So why home? He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to sulk in the privacy of somewhere where he didn’t have to answer to anyone. There it was, the recluse that had hounded him all his life. Be alone with his thoughts. Now, even he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. What would he do then? “I just want to go home,” the numbers in the monitor were already blurry, they began to blur even more. “…and stop hurting people.” It was the truth of a lifetime. Become, not him. Bury the scientist, become the book keeper and occasional drunk flirt when he’d had too much vodka. It was exactly why he’d withdrawn away from everyone, he didn’t want to exist anymore. Full circle. It had come full circle since the night the big brute had stuck a knife in his ribs. He didn’t know who he was, and in trying to find it, he hurt people he loved. It didn’t even matter that he’d saved so many, if even one was hurt… his work was… Side of his lip quirked upward at the brush of his collarbone and the goofy grin on the Spaniard’s face. Blink was quick away from the glowing blurry numbers to the bald soon-to-be husband. “Sorry… just zoned out for a minute.” Fuzzy. Everything had been fuzzy for a few moments. He still had a concussion, he was sure of it. He wanted to go home. He wanted Gabe to heal. He wanted to make things right with Jacob. “Better grow back…” the shy glance up at Gabe and back to his lap hinted of a joke. “Look weird in a tux without…”
  3. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    Lip quirked upward at the chuckle. He knew Gabe was upset, he wasn't ignorant to that... it was just, the man was really sensitive... and he had no other way to weasel through to him than humor. He wasn't used to people not knowing what he was thinking. It just meant, well fuck, they needed to really spend more time together. Cough shot pain through those thoughts, the compression of his chest welcome... bringing his breathing back to a normal flow. The visual of his Spaniard, was not. Brow furled at the man, taking in what had happened. Fire.. sun.. none of the above..?? Someone else while he was away? The expressions flickering over his face from guilty, to anger... revenge promised to whomever had done it... then back to guilt. "I did this.." Face scrunched tight as he rubbed his eyes, already guilty and on a teetering edge- he just knew. Brain put back together the time of day he'd fled the plane, when he started his 'cleansing' of his property, how long it would take Jacob to tattle, Gabe to travel. Sun or fire. Maybe both. "I'm always fucking things up." Fingers closed over the hand on his chest, the exhale a small wheeze. It wasn't true, he knew it wasn't true... even the inkling that he'd probably just helped save the eastern seaboard didn't make up for the fact that his actions had hurt Gabe. Face released, swallow thick. "How long will it take you to... get better..." They never talked about stuff like that... the Czech always burning with questions but never asking. "Lot less than my collarbone I would imagine.."
  4. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    Quite the explosion. If he only knew. He didn't think Gabe truly understood the level at which he operated. It was only a short distance between safety and fury with him. What he said in Glamis had not been a threat. He could deliver everything he promised. At this point though, he wanted to disappear and leave it behind. Superficially, he knew he'd done that, truly... he knew he never could. Everyone else in the damn world had been able to reinvent themselves, why was he the only one that wasn't allowed to? Pale eyes flicked to him, hand patting the top of his head again to find his glasses. Eyes weren't much better, had he lost the damn things? Dull stare focused on the hills his legs made under the white blankets, fuzzy around the edges of his vision. Bad vision, meds, pain, exhaustion... yet he listened. Lashes blinked slowly and the quirked expression cocked his brow as he sought the man out in the darkness. Was he avoiding him because...? Because he thought the Czech wanted out? God damn it. The most hard headed, brilliant yet oblivious person he had ever met... "Jesus criminey Gabe..." He flopped back on the mountain of pillows with a defeated huff, followed by a pained seethe. Okay, the collar bone hurt a lot. Ginger temper and impatience. Eyes closed, back of his hand resting on his forehead. "Jacob wishes we were done... " He mumbled it under his breath. That was a shit storm they were going to have to bring to the table, soon. Jacob was like a damn guard dog that wanted to take a chunk out of his arm because the man didn't deem the ginger worthy. "I don't eat, sleep unless you remind me to and you don't even NEED to eat... your office is constantly covered in my paper crap. I drink from the carton, hide your booze and let you drive that French German Italian bastard car like a bat out of hell, and your best friend hates my guts. You shouldn't be putting up with me.: He paused a long time, dry throat finally cracking a quiet voice. It was becoming very apparent there was some serious friction between he and the bouncer. "My brain never stops moving. I run on a clock that nobody understands. Glamis feels like yesterday. The shit storm over the last few days in New York feels like forever ago. I didn't realize it had been so long since Scotland. I wasn't feeling like... myself at the cabin after Maree showed up." Hand moved off his forehead under his own power to take a drink. "Ten years of my life learning to be alone, okay with the idea of putting a gun in my mouth up until you stuck a knife in my ribs and... filled this... hole in my life. I almost didn't want her to be alive, then I felt guilty for that. I've only ever had to rely on one other person in my life. Now there's two... and I feel guilty I want her to stay in New York, and us here. Like I'm betraying her because I want to stay here with you." Glass clinked softly on the table. "I was avoiding. Sorry for that." Sorry didn't seem like enough... hi I ignored you for months because I couldn't get my shit together, then go on a suicide mission, come back alive and blow myself up. Sorry. Thumb wiped crusted moisture from the outside corners of his eyes. "I'm a nerd... you know nerds have no social skills until after a few whisky shots." Lips pursed up slightly, his quirky humor urging the older man to loosen up. They were oddly perfect together, two suns caught in each others gravity. "I'll get you something. It will take a while though, but that's the point. Not supposed to be easy. If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth fighting for.." Sigh was soft, met with a cough and sharp 'fuck'. He had to get out of this damn bed...
  5. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    His head was THROBBING, blurry eyes blinking down at the IV that was embedded under his skin. It all seemed so logical when he’d done it; the disastrous mess was slowly unravelling into a threadbare sequence of stupidity. He had to own it, he wanted to own it. He was by no means a coward, the Czech spitfire opening his mouth to serrate an ego more times than he could count… it also seemed, a little selfish. HE wanted to erase his past. HE wanted to set things right to make HIM feel better. And here he was. Was he better? Maybe. Eyes blinked at the shadow holding the book. Something was wrong. What the fuck had he done now? I might…… I might need some clarity on that last point. “Huh?” It sprouted from his lips. “Accounting? You don’t want me on your books anymore? I mean… I know Jacob and I don’t really get along but I can at least sit in an office and do them instead… I mean, I don’t know… my set of job skills is not exactly the safest most employable market at this point in time considering…” The huff was defeated, eyes again staring down at his hands. “Just no way to make any money and I’m not asking you to pay for your own damn ring… because that’s, rude.” Free fingers scritched through the mess of curls, a wince bringing his arm back down again. He hurt, the groan exasperated. Sedatives always had the opposite effect, they made him antsy and irritated when he was awake. “What did I do Gabe… I fucked everything up didn’t I…Jacob told you what happened didn’t he?” Sigh long, lashes lowered slightly, the soft beep of the monitor and darkness lulling to sleep, voice a little embarrassed, and a little defeated... “Never mind… it’s just a book, I’ll get you something better when I get the money.”
  6. Soooooo... I meant to write tonight but the storms keep knocking out the power. Good intentions....

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Gabriele Salvatierra
    3. Gabriele Salvatierra

      Gabriele Salvatierra

      ................much much better.

    4. Gabriele Salvatierra

      Gabriele Salvatierra

      ..much...........much........................much......better. *wiggles brows*

  7. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    He could feel the apprehension. He’d felt it for some time. The Czech hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with anything lately. Hightailing it across the country, jumping on a plane at a moment’s notice at the mere whisper of a phone call. In truth, he was floundering...lost... jealous. Jealous of the relationships Gabe seemed to have with everyone around him. Connections. Friends. He had none. Jealous the most, of Jacob. He didn’t know why. There seemed to be a bond there that he felt like he’d never come close to cracking. He wasn’t sure exactly what the bouncer did, but he knew he wasn’t human. Is that why he was trusted on his own? No. Jacob could kick someone’s ass at the drop of a hat. He needed to learn. He could throw a punch, shoot a gun, had enough ginger anger to bring down a mountain- but he was only human. Hand patted absently on the top of his head, glasses. He didn’t know where they were. In his bag? If they were in his bag they were probably toast. Blurred lashes watched the Spaniard come closer with his bag, and he searched the pockets… gently… for glasses that he couldn’t find. Even gripping the zipper was difficult- finding it easier to turn the bag on his lap than to lift his arm to unzip things. The first, the dirty box. [bodhan]This is research I took from Medi*Corps. It might… help. It’s all I have left. The rest is in my head.[/bodhan] In truth, he really didn’t want it in his head either, the flicker across his brow saying just that Sigh pushed it down, hand reaching into the bag to pull out his book. [bodhan]I burned my place. Nothing left. No past. No nothing. I don’t want to do this anymore. All I’ve done is just, make the world worse. I just want to be... just be...[/bodhan] He held out the book to the figure that was just out of his sight in the shadows, blurred further by the darkness and lack of glasses. Had he lost them at the hospital? He’d lost them at the hospital…. [bodhan]So… this is all I kept. I wanted you to have it… parents gave it to me after I learned Spanish.[/bodhan] He was quiet a moment. [bodhan]Don’t have a ring anymore, so this will have to do…? …at least until I make some money working your books so I can get something.[/bodhan]
  8. Crazy week is over, will catch up this weekend

  9. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    "It’s a safe house Bodhan….. the doctor is Sheut… we are safe here. You are safe here…." He didn’t know anymore. Who was safe, what was safe?? Was there anyone to trust… good god he sounded paranoid. He’d been paranoid for years, apparently now he knew there was definitely a reason he should have been. Water… water water. Eyes flickered upward in the darkness to the Sheut, lifting a hand with a grumble to tepidly take the glass into his own control. Could he even move? He felt like he’d been asleep for years. He’d miscalculated the explosion. When had he gotten so sloppy… hence the worry about his backpack. It was one of the only things he’d bothered to save from his hideaway lab. "….you made the world in seven days too?" It stopped his rambling tirade of flipping through everything he’d ever done, trying to find clues to sinister intentions that he’d missed. Blink was quiet, the words rang true but the heaviness remained in his chest. "…you know….. the viruses…… they predate all of us….. predate our wars….predate your science…." Mouth opened to say something… most sort of did, sort of… he listened to how the world worked, eyes on the darkness of the water in his hand. He’d pretty much figured it had to be that way. "…. but truth was they had gone dormant…. waiting…. damn Nevus woke them up again… twisted them… strengthened them against what had killed them off in the first place.. at least…. we think so." Had the Nevus done it? It made him even question what the world knew of these things prior to the world going to hell. Was it just a helpful coincidence? He had no idea, and it made his brain hurt to try and think about it, telling his thoughts to shut the fuck up. [bodhan]…my backpack,[/bodhan] he said again. Thoughts were clearing, panic subsiding, the reality of what had happened over the last week settling back down around his shoulders. Gabe was sharing all these things with him, things he probably shouldn’t be sharing, and he didn’t want to hear any of it, talk about any of it. …it felt very empty. Without his science, his constant thought process, what was he? He didn’t know anything else, wasn’t an artist like his sister. The side of his hand rested on his thigh, water obliterated again, the hum of a touch on his IV giving him a long sigh. He wasn’t good at anything else, no idea what to do now. What could he do now? It was obvious he was just a danger to himself and others. [bodhan]There’s two things in it for you. One needs to be locked up immediately, the other… is for you.[/bodhan]
  10. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    His backpack had floated to the front of his mind, almost an obsessive point of interest. It had to be protected because of what was in it, but the most important thing to him at the moment wasn’t a decade of research in old composition notebooks…. "…shhh… I got it… don’t worry… its here..take it easy.. you have been out for several days." Days… Days??? Head shook gently as the fingers lightly pulled through the bangs. "It can wait Bodhan…." [bodhan]No… no..[/bodhan] It couldn’t wait… everything though, fucking hurt. The only thing that didn’t was the ruffle of hair on his forehead. Calming, pushing the obsession back for a moment only to allow other worries to seep in. Breath started to regulate, reality, the reality of what he’d done. Nobody would ever forgive him. Head lay back on the pillow with another sigh, a burning moisture from his lashes leaking down his temples to pool on the pillow beneath. He’d screwed up… so badly. Horrifically... "…no…… I wasn’t there for you…." He went to protest, the “no” never quite cracking through a dry throat, filled with emotion that was going to take forever to get over. Sniffle was soft as he took another long breath when the Spaniard stopped him from trying to get up. "… I got some water for you… hold on." Wince was deep as the bed was raised, he was afraid to ask what else was wrong; flitting panic of danger mixing with pain and self-loathing. They shouldn’t be here, they shouldn’t be trusting anyone. [bodhan]Can’t stay… we shouldn’t be here…[/bodhan] …but water, water was something he would stay for. Hand came up to try and take the glass, groan again sharp. Was his arm broken? No, maybe… something in his collarbone as well. He was caught in the explosion, it was the only explanation. How had Gabe gotten there? Jacob. ….water….. withered throat swallowed eagerly. It hit a dead stomach that hadn't eaten in days of unconsciousness, and not well before that... "… have pain killers for you…. can give it now if you need it… the sedation is all wearing off…. IV is just fluids at this point…" Eyes fluttered at the touch, playing with his hair was always calming. Always had been… fond memory of the man giving him a haircut after being sprung from the wild woods. "… this is a private clinic… we are the only ones here. Doctor finally went home after you were stitched up." He was quiet for a while, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fingers worked up the gumption to reach up and wipe the moisture from his lashes. He didn’t even know where to being to explain what he’d done. [bodhan]…backpack, I have something for you in my backpack.[/bodhan] Voice was stronger, but still ravaged by lack of use and dehydration. [bodhan]..it’s the only thing that matters anymore. Not my science, or my mind… or my work.[/bodhan] Heel of his hand rubbed his eye sockets, throat constricted to the point where it was difficult to breathe, to keep from breaking into a full rash of sobs. [bodhan]…never going to pick up a pencil again..[/bodhan] Sniffle broke the shadows, the crash of guilt prickling from head to toe… sobs controlled for the sake of not completely losing his shit, but it hurt, ragged breath brought in. He was trying to stave off a rush of self-loathing, it wasn't working. [bodhan]..this… what happened in New York, this world… it’s all my fault.[/bodhan]
  11. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    Everything was so heavy, incredibly groggy and thick. At some point, a woman’s voice. It wasn’t Maree’s or Eris. Someone he didn’t know. It should have alarmed him, the questions… ones that would have been frantic if it weren’t for the assistance of a body full of strange drugs. Was he somewhere? Had he been captured? Kidnapped? Dashed. Shadows and light through blurry lashes, the beep of a monitor. He was in a hospital. Gabe’s voice, tangled with another’s. Had the plane crashed? Jacob? He heard Jacob’s name. The movement of a chair, the feel of something in his hair. Time was always warped in subtle consciousness, drifting somewhere between reality and sensory images of memories brought forth by extreme stress. It may have been minutes. Hours. Days. Hearing was a slight static, crackling every so often, pressure on his skin. Memories intense heat, sound, sliding. Sudden. Everything was so sudden. Frustration. Anger. Guilt. God, the guilt. Explosion, sound of glass against bone. It took a moment, zeroing in, the pressure of trying to remember his last seconds of consciousness finally coming forth from oblivion. He’d fucked up. Jacob had probably tattled. Gabe had gone after him. Now he was in a hospital, he shouldn’t be in a hospital… too dangerous now after the shit he’d pulled in New York. Throat cleared slightly, dry and thick, lashes moving in a slow blink. His head hurt. Everything hurt, head rolling slightly to look across the shadows of the room and the figure in the chair. Blurry. Dizzy. Throbbing on the back of his skull. [bodhan]..Gabe.. backpack…[/bodhan] Words were quiet, only breath. In grogginess, nothing was ever logical. [bodhan]…have something.. for you..[/bodhan] His backpack had the notes he’d kept from the world, buried almost a decade because they were in his head. Also… meager clothes, weapon, and a book. The only one he’d retrieved. Time was lost again, a long sigh in a tired state. [bodhan]…I screwed up.[/bodhan] Swallow thick, he tried to move, a groan erupting with more timbre than his voice could muster to that point. [bodhan]I screwed up…[/bodhan] he said again, content to be still until he could shake off the grog, pain starting to clear it up rather quickly.
  12. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    It was warm, and quiet… the edge of dusk as the sun twinkled through trees that lead to the silent highway. Dishes washed, turned over in the tiny strainer on the side of the sink. Hair ruffled quietly from the breeze shifting through the screen, warm as well over the long grass around his haven. Dishes dried and squeaked, put away, button up shirt rolled up to his elbows allowing him to dry his arms off and toss the towel over the rack next to the window. He stood there a long time, breathing in the warmth of darkness rolling in for a few moments before he would have to shutter for the night, bits of long curls tickling across his forehead again. Lanterns were turned off in almost all the rooms, one in his bedroom turned as low as it went. Windows were closed and shutters clicked. A spoon, a jar of peanut butter, and a whisper of a rocking chair on the tiny ranch porch were found. The undernourished, yet incredibly strong Czech sat in his favorite chair, feet up on the railing as he watched the sun go down, drinking vodka from the bottle and a spoonful of peanut butter on his tongue every so often. Darkness came too quickly, the scientist sequestering himself into his haven. At first, it was a nightly danger, hiding from the things trying to kill the world. Tapered. Then eventually, nothing. It had been… years? Still, he couldn’t be too careful. The one time he would try to feel the breeze in the middle of the night was the night something would try to eat his face. Locking the door, he thought he’d left the lamp on. Small cabin was dark. Pitch. Lighter was pulled from his back pocket, spoon and jar tucked in his elbow, vodka bottle in his other hand. It flicked, then flicked again. Finally, a wane light. Cutting through nothing. Darkness pressed in from everywhere, a twinge of panic as the further he walked, the more empty the darkness felt. Dropping the bottle and jar, it made no noise and fell into darkness. The smell of smoke ticked at his temple, lighter becoming too hot to hold and flickering out to leave him in the heavy and disorienting darkness. There was another presence... "It has been a long few days and I am in no mood for games." A terrible breath sucked into the deathly silent form, the heart monitor beginning to scream as its rhythmic blip suddenly burst into arrhythmic cacophony cutting through the calm of the room. Muscles were rigid, then moved in rapid seizure. [bodhan]I don’t know the answers your other questions.[/bodhan] It barely left his lips, long exhale as muscles released and went completely lax. Beeping halted, then slowly began again. The darkness screamed at him, his voice in his head. Silent fists beating on the shutters in the pitch of a cabin that no longer existed. Lashes were fluttering violently… fighting unconsciousness, fighting hallucinations, his head felt like it was going to explode. Muscles twitched across his cheek every few moments, lashes parting slightly for the first time. Breaths were in paced heaves, eyes staring at the ceiling for a long moment, one pupil a pinpoint, the other other eerily engulfing the light jade before closing again. It wasn’t real. He was trapped. Where…? Darkness? [bodhan]… duchové….není reálné... upíři nejsou skutečné...[/bodhan] ((..ghosts… not real… vampires are not real…)) Everything went silent again… [bodhan]…siguiente vez ... una cama ... te prometo..[/bodhan] Words were almost silent, no voice behind them, only air as it breathed out of a chest that was barely moving. Lips remained parted slightly, a twitch across his cheek lifting the corner of his lips up briefly, then falling again to silence. Trapped in a different darkness.
  13. Bo Salvatierra

    Scotch & Speed & Zombies, Oh My

    His fault. His fault. His fault. The words kept repeating over and over in his head, a throbbing annoyance that quickly fell into a self-loathing mantra. On the way to Eris’ runway in the dark-windowed cars of the Sheut. On the plane when the catastrophe was over and everyone’s blood pressure was back to normal except his. He knew Jacob was trying to talk to him, mend a rift somehow…. he didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like much of anything. His sister, he’d never seen anything like it. She was mum in Glamis about being changed no matter how much he alluded to wanting to know, not really responsive to his questions. Nobody was responsive to his questions. Gabe hid shit, even about his sister. Maree hid shit about herself. Eris hid shit… hell even the meathead across from him hid shit if Gabe asked him to. Even his employers. All his life. Had he really been such a complete fool? He wanted to destroy the whole damn world for being against him, using him for whatever purpose because he was too kind to say no. In the years following the end of the world he had become a cynic, someone who was so careful about not being caught in any trap. Brutal to the rest of humanity to maintain his safety… the wall had come down, and people had taken advantage of him again. Why did Maree not tell him about this doctor that seemed to have some sort of attachment to her? Why had Jacob even come? The bastard hated the Czech, barely said two words to him in the last year. Was his brain all that mattered to anyone? And now, it was all his fault, the vastness of it crushing. All this was on his hands. Without him, would they have had the puzzle pieces to put this together? Perhaps. It sounded so arrogant in his head. So arrogant, but he knew his work had been specific in this field. He recognized markers, bits and pieces. It was all of his colleagues. But him, HE had been the one to fix their calculations, their mistakes, finish their work. Blood was on his hands. He’d been studying the viruses for years in his cabin after the end of the world. He’d studied and MADE them before the end of the world. How in the hell had he let this happen?? Now, he’d exposed himself. Ran off into the fray without anyone to back him up. Endangered himself and his sister by being together, but he’d also helped save them. To what end? They knew he was alive now. Anyone with a brain or a stake in the game knew he was alive now. Could follow his chemical trail. Jacob had either followed him or had been sent. Gabe too busy to come himself? He would have been pissed if he had, wouldn’t he? He didn’t wait until the plane had been chocked on the runway of L.A. or the door was even set down. He didn’t answer Jacob and he didn’t want to be followed. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Exactly. Irrational, angry, broken. He was fucking broken. What was the point of being able to save the world if you couldn’t save the god damned world? You contributed to its downfall? The hours north ached from the ordeal of the last three days, muscles protested the anti-viral like a tetanus shot. It was normal, but didn’t make for a comfortable ride. Anger kept boiling, bubbling, burning over. Betrayed, and hurt and lost. Gabe had nothing on him. Nothing at all. Executioner. The Czech was a damn executioner too. Jesus Christ he’d contributed to the death of the entire world… Thoughts wandering, he almost spun out on a curve. The bike was going too fast for his reflexes, righting out on a straightway and pushing it even faster. What was the point? What was the fucking point?! He’d destroyed the world. Distracted brain missed the minute break in the wall of massive trees lining the side of the highway that signaled the path to his clearing. Bike screeched to a halt, spun around and pushed into the woods with no regard. None. If there was a fallen log, he was going over it, debris, he’d hit that too. It seemed to take forever to pass the thick of trees, finally sprouting out into the clearing where his shuttered cabin and buildings were nestled. Bike skid to a halt and he let it flop over, never stopping until he was on the porch and pawing for a key to the padlock. He’d cleaned most of it out, locked up everything he could. He rarely came out here anymore, only if he needed silence to work on something that itched at his brain or supplies that were still growing or stashed out there. Being at Shadow, he could get virtually anything he needed now through runners and various sources so he never had to risk showing his face again. Again, that trust. The trust that was betraying him. Door pushed open, darkness of the cabin even in daylight was pressing, all the windows with their protective boards closed and locked. He’d made himself a fortress away from the very things he’d been responsible for creating. Glass twinkled slightly from his work tables, the chair which he sat and stared at his worn whiteboard drawing a long round of attention… the little frayed wisps that he used to twist and flicked while he pondered a question, or tried to avoid dying by pissed off vampire. It should have brought a smile, it didn’t. He made short work of the place. Everything in it he either had duplicates of at Shadow or didn’t want anymore. The pile of books next to his bed so worn he’d found new copies of them as well. Almost satisfied he’d had it all, pausing, kicking over a pile with his toe to pick up a copy of Don Quixote he’d forgotten existed. Snort soft, he leafed through it, father’s handwriting on the inside cover. Stuffing it into his backpack and slinging it back on his shoulders, he set to work. It was caustic, and entirely something only his brain could concoct. It would burn the place completely to the ground, nothing would be left but a scorched field. Once finished, two small vials were filled with a clear liquid from a dark bottle, stuffed into his back pocket. Old water jugs were filled, splashed everywhere around in the cabin. Trotting down the steps, he opened his greenhouse, pulled a shovel from the corner and did the same coating of liquid, throwing the jugs inside. He could have secrets too. Heading toward the side of the clearing and a familiar pile of stones, he began to dig. Once the place lit, the blast and subsequent smoke pillar wouldn’t be able to escape attention for long so he had to retrieve everything first. The small metal box was pulled out of the earth. Notes. Notes that didn’t have context until now. He’d glanced through the bag that his sister had come out with before handing them over to Eris. His were always one side of a coin. The glance at the doc’s… seemed at first look at the other. Stuffing the musty smelling things into his backpack, he dumped the box back in the hole and covered it up. Backpack was wiggled off and hooked on a handlebar of his bike at a safe distance. First blast came with a delayed pop, the small vial tossed into the doorway. Fumes had become hair-triggered, and the mere clink of the glass on the floor started the spark. The building seemed to implode in onto itself with the suck of oxygen it suddenly grabbed to complete the process, the windows blowing outward in billowing splinters. He’d lit the very air on fire… knowing someday he would have to completely scour the earth of his damnable tinkering. Who knew what else he’d created. It was all going up in smoke. Shovel was placed back in the greenhouse, and he started trotting backwards before tossing the other vial into it. There was silence, only the small rain of wood from his cabin that had been launched into the sky, now ash. Brow crinkled slightly, still trotting backwards toward his bike, maybe he hadn’t… his gas pump. Fuck. FUCK! Air was sucked from his lungs, the world began to loop- an ethereal, disorienting float. Ears rang, flesh throbbed, the back of his head seared in pain. The explosion had paused, mixed, and doubled in intensity; shaking the ground, knocking him off his feet and sliding him backward through the tall grass almost thirty yards. His bike, was only twenty away. A bike headlight versus a skull? All bets were on the bike- bike, backpack and body coming to a halt near the treeline in the sudden silence of crackling fire. No signs of life from any of it.
  14. Bo Salvatierra

    Emergency Quarantine!

    Not pleased was an understatement. Skipping off half way around the world to answer a cryptic message from his sister without a second word to anyone seemed insane, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Arriving to find a babysitter had been sent again to save the Czech from whatever dangers lay ahead only added to the frustration that was building to a boil within. He had a hand in this, his work, his blind work. Enjoy himself more, take away the stress… work with a suit and tie instead of in the thick of things in deadly and dangerous countries. It had just made him a patsy, a mouse, a workhorse for those with obviously sinister intentions beyond what he could fathom. …and this fucking doctor. The ginger had a temper, he’d always had a temper where Maree was the gentle and happy soul of the two. Yin and Yan. But this guy, something about him was making him the focus of the Czech’s ire… and it could be vicious when the safety of people he loved were threatened. But, they seemed to work like a well-oiled machine, after the doctor had started to get with the program. Suddenly he was grateful for Jacob’s intervention, and the availability of Eris’ sidekick that could only stay with them for so long. He would have to find another way out. It was doubtful that Ahanu had stuck around. The man was like Gabe, resourceful with the options he was given. He wasn’t worried for Eris’ employee. He was however, worried as the “CDC” decided to take off on his own mission… they had to stick together, the two on point couldn’t protect them all if variants kept changing the game. If they left, they were on their own… "⚖ Good luck." NO! God damn it! There was no way the two fore and aft could cover the man as he took off toward the door with the canisters, he was on his own now. DAMN IT! The moment Maree spoke however, the world changed. It always did. What he was not expecting was the seeming prick of a doctor suddenly mirrored his own relieved expression. Trying to ignore what was buzzing through his thoughts as the flip through the keys halted their escape by only a matter of seconds. He’d also become very acutely aware that the man was showing signs of infection. The doc didn’t trust the scientist. [bodhan]The anti-viral works, just take the fucking thing,[/bodhan] he snapped to the doc as they all piled into the elevator and he keyed for it to go down. Missing it. Missing IT! Hand slammed the doors after him as they closed beyond what he could grab the doc through. He'd decided he hated the ass, but it didn't mean he deserved to die. Maree’s sudden inhale gelled the realization just how infinitely dark the situation had become. Her fingers snapped closed on the glass vials, clink gentle. The doc had passed off the vials, at least there were less than there were before. The man wasn’t a complete idiot, but he hadn’t looked good, and he, like the “CDC” had chosen his own fate. [maree]No. No… no..[/maree] She was coming around. Eyes flickered to Maree as the elevator moved, it was so damn slow. Freight elevator. Something was happening. She was so fucking warm. Was she infected too? Hands grabbed one of the vials from her lucid fingers, tossing it to Jacob, Toby… one for him but the man didn’t need it. The doc or CDC wouldn’t have known anyway. Jacob wasted no time, the ass was fearless. He flicked one for Maree, finding the vein quickly. Remnants were put into his bag. Nothing could be left behind. Could she even get sick? He had no idea. Then her weight on his shoulder was light. She was standing on her own, forehead tilted slightly downward as she stared at the door, her palm suddenly on the elevator door indicated she knew what the doc had done. They opened, the empty, dim hallway waiting for their escape. Jacob first, Toby, then himself, turning to help her out. Keys snapped into her hand from his a foot away. No. How the fuck had she done that?! [maree]I know what to do now. Wait for me in the boiler room.[/maree] [bodhan]NO!! MAREE!![/bodhan] The door groaned, snapping shut, his fist slamming on the impregnable doors, leaving the three of them to their dim hideaway. She had done that. SHE had DONE THAT.


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