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18+ 3/3/3

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.

JUNE 13, 2019 - Family emergency  took a bad turn so had to stay away but now things are finally calming down. Hope to get going again shortly. Thanks for understanding. ~ZEPH

Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

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198 One of Our All Stars

About Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Chris Pratt
  • RACE
    Shapeshifter, Metal Mimicry
  • JOB
    Accountant (public). Pharos Relic Hunter (and smuggler!)
  • 'SHIP:
    New York, N
    Boone, or “Paddy” as he prefers, is tall and thick. Careless strawberry blonde hair floats between being neatly shorn, or slightly longer and styled however he feels like on that day- usually not caring one way or the other. He takes impeccable care of himself, finding suits a bit tough to wear and prefers casual khakis and button-ups depending on whether or not he is at work. Either clean shaven or with scruff, it’s always manicured and never just a lazy hot mess. Eyes are light, playful, turning on a dime if his temper is tripped.
    Loyal to a fault, Boone is the Rottweiler at somebody’s side when they’ve proven they have his back. On his own, he’s incredibly adept at amusing himself, sliding just as easily into being the center of attention in a social situation. He has a great sense of humor, leaning toward playful sarcasm after a few beers. Oftentimes it comes off as arrogant, in reality he just doesn’t give a shit what people think of him. He does dangerous work, he’s been jacked up by the dice-roll that was the Resonance, and he has no time to make nice when he has a job to do.

    There are severe demons hiding under the surface- regrets and anger at the timing of moments in his fate. Sometimes he can be heard mumbling under his breath to someone named ‘Erin’, her identity known only to his closest friends. A vicious temper is layered on top of it. He has killed, as many post-Resonance have. His was before the world ended. Arrested, never convicted, justified and regretful because it didn't change the outcome of his crashing world. It haunts him, and he makes no effort to forget... cashing in on the pain at opportune moments to trigger viciousness he needs.
    Recently moved to an apartment in upper Manhattan. Simple and clean.

    Recently purchased bike workshop in the industrial Harbor District. Small and secure. Doubles as a "weigh-station" for Pharo business.

    Primer black AEV Brute

    Collection of motor bikes in various states of repair. Large collection of parts. A hobby, but again a cover for Pharo business.

    Firearms- Boone is a shotgun fanatic. Similar to "rat-rods" for a mechanic, he builds whatever suits his fancy and blows crap up. He's warned on a regular basis, but he knows what he's doing... for the most part. He'll know he did it wrong the moment one explodes. It hasn't happened yet, so... yay.


    Metal Mimicry- Iron and Copper

    Boone can shapeshift individual portions of his body to one of his two affluent metals for the purpose of personal protection. He CANNOT move that portion when it is turned. If he shapeshifts his entire arm, his elbow does not bend. His hand, his fingers will not close. Because of this, it is usually a quick change and release, and only small portions of his body. Forearms and hands are particularly useful, as well as his chest. In an occasional bar fight, jaw is a fun change of pace.

    His form can be entirely engulfed by Copper or Iron, essentially a shell- incredibly effective for personal disguise and protection. He can maintain it as long as he can hold his breath. He is conscious, alert, and can see, but cannot move muscles to breathe; eventually losing consciousness if he is unable to find a window to change back. If he is unconscious, he will revert to his human form and is most often presumed dead- something that has saved his ass more than a few times.

    When in Statue form, Boone can continue to shift and allow his entire form to become molten metal, flexible with vicious heat. He can puddle, squeeze through cracks, move and bend, but will retain the heat of the molten metal, burning and singing anything he touches. He is vulnerable to offensive attacks in this form, unable to defend himself except for the dangers associated with molten metal. When not shifted, he can withstand temperatures up to that of his molten form.
    Financial Genius- MIT grad, Finance and Accounting, was working on a PHD when the Nevus hit. It makes him extremely useful in the mundane business needs of Pharo when he's not being a gopher.

    Firearms Expert

    Survivalist- often is in the wild hunting for relics.

    Mechanic- bike specifically, but not ignorant of larger vehicles. He can fix them, with mostly some MacGyver bubble gum and toothpick skills... duct tape my be involved, but they'll run.

    Brawler- Boone is big, and there isn't anything he won't do to come out on top of a fight. He does have some sort of honor code, if there is no weapon he prefers to keep the fight fair. The moment his opponent pulls crap, all bets are off.

    Bullshitter- most fights and conflicts never happen, he can talk himself out of almost anything.

    Beer Connoisseur- Boone's mother was Irish and owned a pub before disappearing after the Nevus.
    He was still sitting in the interrogation room when the world ended. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. Not him. He was guilty as hell. Shot two people in cold blood, after he’d beaten them within an inch of their life with a metal pipe. Everything, he’d told the police everything because he simply didn’t care anymore. He was numb, completely an utterly dead to the world as he stared out the window into the sky. He saw it coming, the Nevus. At least he thought he did in the death that he wanted so badly. If he had a weapon, he would have ended his own life. It was why he'd been handcuffed to the table. Mentally incompetent was being whispered everywhere around him as he remained unresponsive to everything and anyone.

    Truth, was that if they let him go he would kill them too. It was their fault. THEY didn’t respond to Erin’s calls for help. THEY lollygagged at the coffee shop (coffee still in their hands when they arrived). Nothing ever happened in neighborhoods like his, of course. A gated community. Security.

    Nothing was safe when the people who killed her WERE the security. Because of him, because of his money. Of course it would have to be in the house- or so they thought. Or Erin would know where it was. They shot her. For not being able to put in the code fast enough to the safe.

    Then the cops did nothing. Said she had let them in, or she knew them, or she was fucking them.

    He was done.

    He took it into his own hands. Knocked their smug faces in with a pipe when he returned home to key into the gate after he identified her body. When he killed them, he killed his existence

    Everything was once at his fingertips. Only child. Sports star, college scholarship. Degrees. Wealth. Even a white picket fence and a dog. They had taken everything when they pulled the trigger and now his world sat in the hands of the morons that failed him. If he was freed, he’d kill them too. The Nevus did it for him. Powers did it for him.

    Eight years a blur, he was approached by "Pharo". Believing he indeed was an artifact, they eventually employed him as a relic hunter. His unique shapeshifting skills, fearlessness and immunity to bullshit made him attractive for their field needs. It was hard to shoot someone that could deflect a bullet. It was even more difficult for zombies to bite through metal. Boone had the brains, brawn and rugged charm they were looking for to snag their wares.

    Recently he’s landed in New York as the world regains some sort of financial stability, "employed" on the budding baby steps of some sort of "Wall Street". For the most part, he’s found equilibrium again, but like anyone else… he struggles with demons- anger, guilt- hoping an old friend can help bring him back from the dead as he finds the interesting toys the changed world has given him to hunt for.

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    Bodhan "Triska" Marin
  • Typist's Interests
    Cookie Dough Ice Cream
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since when most were in diapers
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  1. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    Beer belly…. all dudes had beer bellies in different states of “maturity”. Hahahaha…. his, was well a little underdeveloped because he went off to god knows where all the time and had to live off power bars, dirt and bugs.. Not really. Just power bars. Occasional squirrel. Moose. Moose and squirrel. Meese? Aw fuck it. Brow rose slightly under the guise of being focused and concentrated, he knew she got tipsy quick. Might need a chaperone home if that’s where she chose to go. He had a flop spot upstairs, but… man cave. True man cave. No girls allowed. Food delivered, he just bypassed the silverware and picked one up like a cheeseburger. They were fried, sorta.. but no greasy paws. “I sure wish I could cook but what I manage to do is burn my food though I’m better over an open flame like a campfire.” “That’s a skill, definitely a hard earned skill. Major props.” "I'm wondering if the way to a girl's heart might not also be food, I mean. These are really freaking good.” “Maybe I’ll start a cooking class,” he munched and flicked a quirked glance to Blue. Her perpetual state of annoyance didn’t change. *npc* You’d be awesome. The deadpan delivery of almost everything she said still made him snicker. He loved her to death. “Hear that? Accountant. Builder of fancy pants motorcycles and master chef,” he grabbed a clean dishtowel and tossed it at her playfully. She was going to clean his clock later hahahaha…. Then it came. The explanation that really… reallllllly tested his resolve. Sure, Altheia sorta knew what he’d been doing before he’d gotten shot when they first met. BUT, she didn’t really. Nobody did. Not Blue, not Bakkhos, not Pharos. Nobody except his buyers… sellers, err buyers. No fucking difference. So not Irish and has a fancy toy eh? He smoothly took a long tip of his mug, eyes glancing to Altheia, then to the room. Place was empty. Good. Not for long though. Dinner crowd, end of work crowd… Don’t say shit. Don’t say shit. Don’t say shit. Act cool. Boone is cool. Boone is awesome. “Brooch eh?” Mug clunked on the counter and he turned in his stool, both forearms on the counter as he picked apart his second potato cake like a piece of chicken as he ate it. His interest wasn’t ALLLL bad… c’mon now. It wasn’t like he was going to clunk the guy over the head, take it and sell it to the highest bidder. He HAD a REAL job. Like… taking it and giving it to Pharos. Neither of them knew that soooo… fuck it. Nosy it was. "Are we talkin' like cameo hoity toity or like..." his fingers flipped and he made a quiet explosion sound. "... kaboom kind of thing?"
  2. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    “No where near as much as Boone is” “I heard that,” he muttered. WHY did people think he was a lush?? …he was a lush. He was just a functional lush. Irish and altered seemed to make this AMAZING mix of functional drunk. He was never really drunk, metabolism burned too fast. He could just keep drinking and hope for the best?? "First of all. Who said that I will be falling down? Second of all. Who said I'll be getting up. Although. I am quite hungry.... I think I forgot to eat today...." There were few things that bothered him. That was one.. errrrrrr two? Cripes he was an accountant by day, he knew how to frickin’ count and stuff. Per se… He hated that phrase, it was a dumb phrase, per se… moving on. Two things. People that took advantage of those that worked their asses off and those that worked their asses off and forgot to eat. So… POTATO CAKES! "I'm so glad both of you know what that is and have something to bond over, I guess the way to a man's heart really is his stomach" “Darn right,” it was matter of fact. “Well we do like to eat but there are other ways to our hearts” His laugh was bright, the air “fist bump” at the man spoke volumes. Lotsa ways… "If you had spilled my drink....." “I’d pour you another,” the chide was sing song as he dictated how many potato cakes the world needed. Everybody needed potato cakes. “It’s almost as if… I have unlimited access to alcohol…” "Um.... Okay.... What if I don't want that many" “I’ll eat ‘em,” he rubbed his stomach as he cooked. “Gotta keep my beer belly fluffed somehow.” He reeeeeealllly wanted a cook that could make traditional Irish food. Blue had been looking, but passively. “Not sure if that’s necessary, there probably isn’t that much demand for potato pancakes.” Eyes flicked to Blue as she continued prepping for the evening crowd. The “pin-up girl” was often mistaken for his girlfriend, but she was very much like a sister. She didn’t take his shit, and she could throw a punch with the rest of them. Sometimes, she even rivaled his wit but could do it with a straight face. *npc* There isn’t. She agreed with Brandon, casting Boone a glance with a lick of sarcasm to annoy him. “Traitor.” "I.... I didn't have that bad of a hangover. I mean.... I've had worse hangovers...Probably will have a worse hangover...." “Nah, food during helps.” He glanced out over the counter as he asked her friend if he was kin of sorts. Apparently Altheia didn’t know either. What a curious dude. “I got some secrets on that, but food does help.” He flipped his creations… “Tell you what, you come out with those boxties and I’ll let you decide.” The “humble accountant” chuckled to himself as he plated his masterpieces, totally blasé about grabbing things without a potholder. To Altheia and Blue, it was normal to see. To anyone else, the usual reaction was to freak out that he was going to burn himself. Hell… at first his normal reaction was always to freak out that he was going to burn himself. Now… picking up a griddle not by the handle was the norm. Silverware. The best cool looking stoneware plates anywhere in the world and they were slid in front of the two with the grace of a master chef… or just someone that worked in a bar all his life. Sliding glasses down the bar was actually a real thing too. He poured himself another beer and sat to dig in. “Do you cook?”
  3. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    “do you have bacstaí?” His head cocked slightly, the arch of his eyebrow completing the look of a confused puppy for a moment… then the grin, and the murmur of lips trying to figure out just what the fuck he was talking about. They had a real name, he forgot sometimes the food his mum made wasn’t just potato cake. “Bacstai…? bacstai… bac-stai… BOXTY?” He clapped his hands together and pointed at the man. “Yes! YES!” He literally vaulted over the counter. “We need to get someone who can make this stuff… besides me,” he chirped to Blue, grabbing a towel, wiping his hands and then washing them all proper. “I told you people wanted it. Bangers… farl…. real bar food, not just that chips and spinach dip crap.” *npc* Dinstinct lack of Irish at the moment to make it to your liking Paddy. They’re all in Ireland freaking out about Outworlders. Boone didn’t frown often, when he did it was startling. Puppy to Rottweiler in less than a second. “Ain’t the Irish doin’ that,” he was not happy. “Some other fucked up shit going on there… English. It’s the fucking English. Can’t fight dragons so they jump onto my fucking island and get all shitty with Outworlders…” The rant continued into the back, pots clanging, random swear words as he lit the griddle. Face peeked out from around the corner. “How many you want mate?” he asked Brandon, whose name he didn’t even know at the moment. Mate. His name was mate. He pointed at Altheia, spatula in hand. “You get four.” Not even caring one bit in the slightest she probably had no idea what they even were. “See, if you’d had these that night you stayed at my place…” …the pause was poignant. Shit. Um. Shit. SHIT! “…because I got shot and called your boss who was a friend of mine and he called you and you came over on a favor and healed me so I didn't get perished and I was the perfect gentleman and let you sleep on the couch.” Pause again, a quick peer around the corner to make sure things were okay as food began to sizzle. “You wouldn’t have had a hangover.” The clack of a mad scientist in the kitchen was bright, he truly enjoyed cooking. "You Irish mate?" he asked Brandon, flipping something that was starting to smell amazing. Distract. Distract and charm from the fact he probably just totally sent the wrong message about that night.... yikes. It'd been the first time in a long time he truly thought he would die, smuggling illegally was dangerous... but rarely did someone get the jump on him like that. He really did owe her a debt he couldn't repay. So he would make... PANCAKES! err... POTATO CAKES!
  4. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    Chuckling to himself at both of their crankiness, he tinkered a little on the jukebox. They alllllllll said they weren’t going to drink any more at some point or another. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow…. but it would happen. He hated this damn thing… Steel toed boot kicked it slightly, the stink-eye toward the two at the bar. He grumbled like an old man sometimes. Crap, he just wanted that fucking song out of the thing. Soft sigh was like the kid that couldn’t come out and play, kicking it again softly with his toe as if to communicate his displeasure with the thing. He hated this machine. Blue’s idea. Blue annoyed him sometimes, but she did remind him to eat. There was no reason in hell he should be able to survive out in the nowhere, but for some reason when he was surrounded by civilization he got lazy. Out in the crazy it was keep up or die. He kept her around because he’d probably die of starvation with the civies… hahaha “Stupid piece of crap,” he mumbled. He HATED Journey, glancing up as Brandon beckoned him back over. What the fuck was people’s fascination with zombies? Other than… well zombie grossness. He fucking hated zombies. Like rats. He hated rats more. He glanced at Altheia with the wary eyes of a puppy trying to be lured to the vet. He was being drawn back over. Hahaha.. TRAP! Nope. Nope…nope… he wasn’t falling into the ‘I told you so trap’. He should have stayed upstairs, peering behind the player of bad music to see if there was some kind of control to program the songs there. Nuuuuu of course not. He would have to pass them to get to the stairs up to his office. Internally he was rolling around like a two year old having a tantrum. There was no way out of this…. ARGGG “You know what helps with the tipsies? Bar food,” he chuckled to himself. “There’s a reason bar food is hearty. Eat some food before you fall down. Not everyone is a functional drunk like me.” Wandering back that way, he stayed on the other side of Blue as she did her prep rounds for the impending dinner rush; make sure taps were full, peanuts were stocked. He kind of… helped her, and the eye roll from her was profound. Keeping busy and responsible and stuff gave him a reason not to look either of them in the eye. HA! Then he didn’t have to engage at why his face looked like a great bar fight had taken place… but he could still tell crazy ass stories if they asked.
  5. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    Hahahaha…. the eeeeeeevil bitch glare! He was used to that one, deflecting and ignoring grouchy pants bullshit with his ‘I don’t give two shits about your fucking feelings or propriety’ face was pure talent. “Well I had planned to find a great place to kick back and down a few beers, thought I might make some new friends, shoot some pool, drop some money in the jukebox and have some great food for dinner, but I don’t accept drinks from people who insult women and the rest of what I came here for is the good shit and I save that for friends.” His sudden laugh at the comment was adorable, this guy must have been Irish in a past life... uptipping his own mug as a glance to his shit-kicking bouncer in disguise gave him an invisible signal to chill and not throw them out. He downed the glass without taking a breath, or a break, or answering the giant elephant in the room and then slid the empty to Blue- who caught it and set it in a sink like it was a regular occurrence. Which it was. Not the elephants… maybe… but whatever. He also didn’t piss alpha, people could stare at him all they wanted… he held up a finger for him to hold the cranky-pants thought, sliding the 2nd glass he’d just offered back and uptipped that too until it was gone. The second empty glass slid to Blue and he motioned to her to toss the empty coke bottle over, which she did. He caught it, spinning it in his palm and clinking it on the bar in front of Altheia just as Mr. Sassy Pants finished his huffy “I’ll go someplace else as if Boone really cared" protest. He just needed his teacher glasses and a nice tight bun and ruffle collar for the next few moments of edification. It was a hilarious vision in his head at least. Completely bypassing the obvious customer dissent because well, he didn’t give two shits, he opened his mouth to speak… "We aren't friends?" …closing it. A cocked eyebrow flashed at her. He opened his mouth again, then closed it. Him being him, what was that supposed to- make him mad? … aw fuck it. Guilty? Lesson time. The laugh came again as she huffed at him. It was actually the most sincere thing about him, he was always warm. Laughing for him was all he really could do in his life to not go insane and strangle people. Or punch them in the face.... "So what's up with you today? Hiding because you got ruffed up?" He pointed at her, expression playfully quirky, “no.. and we’re not gonna talk about that…” He really didn’t want to talk about how the artifact got away from him even AFTER he got into the brawl. Finger moved back to the empty bottle of Coke. “This…” he picked it up slightly and clinked it back on the bar counter, “is Mexican Coke. As you know, Mexico, or the ability to get to Mexico or even WANT to go to Mexico because it's zombie-land no longer exists… The ability to bottle this shit, no longer exists. It’s bottled in glass, which preserves the flavor bite, and it's slightly sweeter. It’s preferred for Jack and Cokes, and rum and Cokes. You add a spiced rum and it’s arguably better than drunk sex. There are a half dozen bottles left in the known world. One of which, you… Altheia, my dear, just drank. Which means, if you followed the math I mentioned just moments before I poured you a glass of my mama’s Irish beer instead of getting all cranky-pants...” ..the playful cranky glare was brief… “…you would know the GOOD shit, is what I just gave both of you.” He tossed the bottle back to Blue. “You… yourself… Altheia, and only Altheia, can order five more. Half dozen left, minus the one you drank, is five. There are only five more left in the world, and Blue here will save them for you. Unless you don’t want them. In which case I’ll sell them to someone. For a lot of money ....because I don’t really feel like going back to Mexico. And I still owe you, so... we're even maybe.”” His bartender gave him a bottle of water, which he opened and drank some of, sucking air through his teeth and a quick tongue over his split lip to check if it was bleeding. Smirk was calm, easy, followed by the laugh that seemed to indicate all the grouchiness was forgiven or at the very least not even cared about in the slightest. He took another drink of water, brows coming down and annoyed for the first time. If one didn't know him, he seemed... unstable. Or, just a jerk. “There’s zombies there, and one bit me.” He got up, the stool spinning under his hand before he put it back in its spot. “Anywho, I’ll leave you two to your date. That beer,” he pointed at the tap he’d poured from. “is the tap only I give permission to use. Mama was Irish. This was her bar, and she made the best beer in the world. There’s not much of it left and it’s the best shit in the house, only for friends. But, if you don’t want to be my friends, I get it. I’m an unapologetic asshole... but at least I'm a dick with great booze.” Eyebrows wiggled. His phone rang and he flipped it open and put it to his ear, giving Blue instructions to get them anything they wanted on the house as he left them to their date. He retreated to the jukebox, trying to figure out how to undo what Blue had done to get it running again. Except he was trying to get it UNrunning. Break it maybe?
  6. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    He physically turned toward the office door at the sound of music, bottle in mid-tip and boots clunking to the floor. What the hell....? Who the flip fixed that damn thing after he'd yanked the plug? Aw shit... if he heard 'Don't Stop Believin' one more damn time he was going to take an axe to that fucking thing. Thankfully, it wasn't. Blue. It was Blue that fixed it. Dammit. Huff soft, feet went back up and he squinted at the closed-circuit TV. So they knew each other.... If he'd been in his right mind, he would probably consider this spying. Aw cripes, it was spying. The security system was super important, it was never really intended for this but he didn't give two shits... it was kinda like caller ID, swipe left for call ignore... usually it was some crazy byotch that had too much to drink and thought he was her new beau that he had to make himself scarce for. This was different.... he just, was self conscious??? Fuck that. He was self-conscious about his black eye. Self. Conscious. A guy that told jokes so dirty it could make yo mamma blush... When did this self-conscious shit start? Blue poured Altheia's friend something... not a bad choice. "I don't really know. I just felt like getting out of the hospital and my apartment. Being in my apartment all the time, aside from the hospital, is getting kind of boring" His laugh was audible from the office and down the stairs after Blue hung up on him. Of all the places she came... this was one that was never boring. Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke? Bottle finished, it spun in his palm and was placed on his desk to take care of later. He got up and brushed himself off. "Use the Mexican Coke," voice was strong enough to carry down the stairs. He peered in his mirror a moment, rifling his hair forward. Yep. Shiner. Nasty one too. Busted lip. Nasty as well. Brick walls and handle bars don't do the body good.... the other guy looked worse. Nothing better than a good all out brawl. Footsteps were heavy as he 'jaunted' down the stairs. He hurt in places people shouldn't hurt. *npc* "Only got half a dozen left," Blue called back up. "Then Altheia can only order five more," he stepped off the bottom stair and behind the bar counter. "Save the good shit for friends." He dragged a stool from the cash register over across the bar from both of them, pouring himself something from the tap. "Try that one," he slid it over to Brandon and then poured one for himself, leaning his forearms on the counter and downing half the mug in one swig. There wasn't a blink of a care whether or not the guy already had one to finish. The more the merrier. "So what brings ya'll here besides boredom?"
  7. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    Coin flipped in his fingers every second or so with a 'ping'.... ..nap time it issss.... He plopped down in his office chair on the second floor, swiping a stack of papers to the side and put the heels of his boots up one at a time onto the desk. Looooong stretch of arms then fingers intertwined behind his head, leaning back, eyes checking out the closed circuit TV to his left for a quick moment. Empty.... no wait. One. Blue could take care of him. Mehbe he should actually be responsible... heel slid over the stack of papers slightly. Just bills. Bills sucked. Even in the post apocalypse there were fucking bills... his pub tended to be a bit more loosey goosey than his own place. Projects were meticulous, his bachelor pad was meticulous, this place... meticulous. Except his office. It was his version of "under the bed". Nobody ever came in the office anyway. Well. Only if they wanted to clean the place, then he got pissed. Things got cleaned, he couldn't frickin find anything. Stupid cleaning... moving on... motion on the TV brought his attention back. Well I'll be damned... She always seemed to know when he got roughed up... and she knew the other guy. Always interested in that gossip... The laugh to himself always was on the border of inside joke or naughty internal monologue. Most of the time a little of both. It kept him from going completely crazy. Maybe he already was. He leaned over... almost tipping the chair because he refused to take his feet off the desk, picking up the phone to ring once for Blue just before she asked the duo what they wanted to drink. The bartender picked it up, casting an annoyed glance back at the security camera. *npc* What? Her answer was snarky. It was always snarky because she knew he was watching the bar from his office. You tell them I don't want none of them healer kind 'round here unless they order some expensive shit. The chuckle to himself brought a roll of her eyes and a curt smile to the two as she listened to her boss. *npc* I'm not going to tell them that. You can get your ass down here and tell them yourself. Awww Blue. C'mon... *npc* Yes yes I get it... you don't want friends to see you got in a fight. Get your pansy ass down here anyway, you're being a dick. She hung up on him, then turned to the two with a bright smile. *npc* What can I get ya? The harumph was almost audible, busted lip in a bit of a pout for a moment as he leaned over and opened his personal cooler and pulled out a beer. He'd drink his beer. Then he'd go down... tipping back the bottle and watching the screen with interest.
  8. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Roll With It

    Slainte 7/8 2021 2:30pm Crazy ass mofo... *npc* Paddy... The woman's voice snapped him out of his grouchy face at the stupid piece of equipment, Blue always snapped him out of his moods... she was like a sister. *npc* You got shit to do. Stop screwing around with the sink. I'll get someone on it. Lips pursed, then smooched her on the cheek. It was quiet always right after the lunch rush; a little bit of a lull before the dinner crowd and all out race to last call. He needed a nap or some shit, still pretty banged up from his last escapade. He sported a shiner, bashed knuckles or a bruised jaw more often than he'd like to admit. Someone getting the drop on him made him pissy. Granted, he dealt with assholes most of the time and it was rare they had a one-up, it still annoyed him. He was alive though, he'd heal. I'll be in my office trying to be responsible. Let me know if anything interesting happens. With that, the quirky Pharos employee made his way up the stairs. Nap maybe. Responsibilities... nap... responsibilities, nap. Aw hell, he'd flip a coin.
  9. Hay Boone


    Want do a thread with Brandon? Right now he could go for a beer. lol 


    Just finding out he's not human has left him in a funk and, well, he likes bars anyway. lol

    1. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

      Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

      Should do a pub crawl and come to Boone's pub! 

  10. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick


    *SMOOCHES* cause I can!
  11. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    Like that do ya... stick around, I have plenty more thigh slappers... His response to her laugh was a quip, almost snarky at her doubt. Fuuuuuck he didn't like mixing work with business... errr... business. Work with work? ....awww fuck it. Leprechaun….. Got a helluva Lucky Charm at that... Eyes flicked toward to pool tables at the ruckus. Awww fuck off Joe, stop bustin' my balls! A few hoots and a lotta laughter trickled his direction before they again were intent on what seemed to be a wicked competitive pool game. Need one?.....I mean I figured if I wanted to see the place.. needed to come first night in case didn’t make it to the second… So that's your game then.... run me out of town... wait, was that doubt it'd be successful I hear in your voice? Somehow I didn't think the stuffy butt brigade would give two shots, but hey... leprechauns got gold, pretty rainbows and bad movies. We be psychotic little bastards... His smirk and sarcasm were wicked, again the mug was pushed away and slid back. Another roar from the pool table brought a slap on the bar from him. A handful of honest to god unshelled peanuts was scooped up by the meta and chucked at the pool table followed by choked laughter as they plinked over the loser and onto the floor. I bet on you Joe! Now I gotta win back my money, I'm too drunk for that shit! Oddly enough he played off the stereotype well. Part of the charm he supposed... Whoever has the balls to win me back my money gets free drinks and a shag!
  12. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    Quite the little bar….. for a leprechaun…. “Them’s fightin’ words…” Mug tipped up and he put away another. He was a drinker, sure. Sometimes it felt bottomless, and himself no less drunk than if he’d only had a sip. He missed it actually, but the fact he didn’t get shitfaced anymore because of some kind of crazy hoodoo took hold with the end of the world did have it’s advantages… especially in drinking games. People said the worst shit when they were drunk, including secrets. “Seems people that drink alone get called, mmmm…. functional drunks?” He cleared his throat and quirked a brow at her as he slid the mug toward his Blue. It was filled and slid back. A dig for a dig was only fair. “Then of course there’s me, not sure there's a word for that yet.” Smile curled his lips as he surveyed his kingdom. “Suit at the cleaners, eh? What’s the occasion then?”
  13. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    "When would you ever need to blow something up?" He blinked at her, eyes widening slightly… fuuuuuuuuuu “When would you not?” It would seem like the comment would be in jest, but it truly wasn’t, hard to tell from this encounter whether he was a free spirited survivalist with a dark sense of humor… or a complete lunatic. Probably a bit of both. "I really don't want to spend the night here. I'm going on the move, either way." “Nothing would happen to ya, ya got me,” smile was Cheshire, quickly followed with- “I get it though. I really need to get home. Things to deliver and I work tomorrow. Wouldn’t be too seemly of me to be late to work.” Superglue was taken back and tossed up once to catch nimbly before it went into the side-bag. "Let's go. If you're up for it." “Up for anything,” he really was, but damn his poor nose. Fingertips rubbed at it a bit before climbing back on his favorite beast and kicking up the stand to right it. “Got no helmets… so it’s a ride at your own risk kind of party.” Kicking it to a start, he waited for her to climb on. They would be close to dusk when they arrived, but it was doable. “Where in New York are you going?”
  14. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    "Well shit." He stifled the shit grin on his face as boots hit the floor from their perch on his desk. Eyes took great care peering closer to the monitor, the laugh to himself amused. Fingers caught the mug off a pile of papers, leaning back in the swanky leather office chair to stare at the ceiling and spin in the chair lazily, finishing the pint. He got up, the slight stagger not from the booze, but the twirl. Stairs were quick, finger to the side of his nose when he emerged from the polished swinging door on the side of the bar. Murmurs and cheers, many glasses finding their way into the air and a full mug immediately in his hand. He took a long drink before climbing up onto the bar, looking out over the small sea of soon to be drunk and happy patrons… some of which came just to catch a glimpse of him and play a round of darts. “Here's to all my friends and lovers. May all your ups and downs be under the covers! But watch it my dears! No matter how beautiful, smart, and full of class… to somebody, somewhere, she’s a pain in the ass.” His blown kiss seemed to be at nobody…. seemed to be. The room lit up with laughter and silenced as the drinking commenced. His boots hit the floor and he slammed his mug on the counter, the amusement again diving into a fun loving laughter, then back to the murmur of personal conversation. He wove through the crowd, greeting, laughing, slapping the back of a few shoulders, until reaching the relatively silent end of the bar… up on a stool next to the offending foot and leaning backward on the counter with his elbows. Attention surveyed his domain. “Nice suit,” he said quietly, sarcasm of course. He nodded toward Hagan, another beer was already sliding toward his hand.


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