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Found 10 results

  1. Don't Eat the Dead Ones

    January 2nd 5pm Hammer's Firearms Brow furled, tossing the shard of broken glass onto the floor with all the rest. Nobody could leave anything the hell alone anymore. ‘course, this could even be vindictiveness for disappearing on a dime from the mob, but he doubted it. Hands went to his hips as he surveyed his dusty shop, or what was left of it. He’d pulled all his inventory and left the empty shop with just cabinets and shelves, but even that had been smashed to hell. Who would feel the need to smash an old General Store style display cabinet? Bastards. Hiking boots crunched against glass and debris as his toe scuffed certain places, kneeling down and reaching through the grime, the pull rings still in place and undisturbed. They suddenly snapped up from the floor, the garage door opener type signal he blinked through his brain opening the lock on one. Pulling it upward, the floor storage with all his inventory was intact. Dropping the door back down, he locked it back up and kicked debris back over it. It would take him a couple days to clean, a couple days to stock, then reappear suddenly open like a phoenix. Damn he hoped there was no bad blood. Welcome “home”. Laissez and all that... Upstairs apartment was unscathed. Dusty, but unscathed. Hiker’s backpack tossed on the couch, he rubbed his scruff and started rummaging through the survival pack. Been gone a while, Nola still a giant lake with his angels barely peeking out. A few trinkets he was able to scavenge, but nothing in the grand scheme of things. Made for a melancholy return. Shower. Shave. Food. It’d occurred to him that the place was being watched. It’s not like he could hide the banged up 4x4 that was parked behind the shop by the loading dock. His real home was being house-sat by an adorable newlywed couple and he hadn’t been there yet so not likely a tip-off there. But… he’d been back in town long enough to hear Order bullshit. Same old, same old, with a bit more flair. Water creaked on, and he let it run in the stand alone clawfoot tub. Sputtering, somewhat iron orange for several moments, heating up eventually after he relit the water heater. Clothing was shed and he stepped in, yanking the curtain. Time to return to the land of the living.
  2. Bedknobs and Broomsticks....

    December 15, 2020 2pm - still under the ice age of fae fury event White curled from her lips in thick smoke rings as blue lips pursed staring at the crimson spattered snow. Omenwich was known as a haven for Outworlders and it seems the Outworlder violence had found its way here. Thick boots carefully picked over the snow as eyes magnified the ground to ensure she stayed out of the actual crime scene. Satisfied she wasn't intruding on evidence she released the magnification in time to hear the faint scratch at a window. Hazel lifted in time to see the eyes before the curtain fell away in the window. Residents were skittish. Likely as much by her presence as the crime scene she was investigating. Cops were usually the last any magus helped, so like her precinct family, she didn't have the "fortune" of wearing enhanced clothing against the cold. Instead she had done it the old fashioned way, merino wool long underwear wicked the moisture away from her skin and gave her a warm base layer. On top she had loose moleskin pants to trap the heat inside and a wool sweater on top to do the same. Last layer was a military polar parka that came well down on her thighs, fur lined hood snapped up and tied under her chin which was nestled inside a fleece balaclava that went over her head. She was dressed for the arctic. Yet all that didn't stop the crystals of ice from forming on her lashes as she focused on the crime scene. Fingers flexed in the double layer of gloves as she listened to her partners teeth chatter. Fingers lifted to pull the balaclava back over her mouth and nose before speaking. Lance... back to your car before I have another body out here. NPC:... am fine.....rrrreally... The unconvincing reply came as she watched his lips flush deeper blue. uh huh...... get going. You need about another two layers before you can survive out here for more than fifteen minutes. Go. Her tone made it evident she wasn't playing. Four officers had died in the last month from exposure. New York couldn't afford to lose any more. As he finally gave up and headed back to the vehicle that struggled to keep running as it was, she went back to the crime scene and the blood spattering as high as fifteen feet on the alley walls. Two victims. She was sure of it. But she only had one body. Something told her there was an Outworlder crime first... but that anyone stupid enough to attack in Omenwich had found themselves on the receiving end of revenge. She suspected her first perpetrator was the body she had now.... not the victim. That body was the one that had been dragged away from the tracks in the snow... winged perhaps based on the drag marks? Again she was acutely aware of eyes on her. Seemed she was the center of attention here.
  3. Blasphemy and Sacrilege

    November 8th, 2020. Upper West Side, New York City. 1330hrs. Fucking hell. This was suicidal and stupid, even he knew that. But he did it anyway, because he had become weak. His stockpile of alcohol at the house did not last for nearly as long as he thought it would, which forced him outside in the frigid cold to get more. Smashing the window of the liquor store was probably not the best decision the man had ever made, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? The beer was frozen and had destroyed their containers, and the liquor was already looted before from the other end of the store. He did eventually manage to find some rum stashed away behind the counter that was untouched, but it wasted valuable time that could end up damning him. The soldier had many layers of clothing on, but that only got him so far. A thick parka was his outer layer, which his heavily gloved hands tried desperately to find some small bit of warmth inside. A layer or two in he had a snub nosed revolver and his karambit knives, but they weren’t exactly accessible in his current state. The gloves that covered his hands were too thick for any real dexterity, even if they weren’t completely numb from the cold. He had never bothered to get any of his extremely thick winter coats enchanted, because he never had the occasion to really use them since he had joined ARMA. He always stubbornly wore his leather jacket or something lighter and just wore layers, but very little of his silver thread clothing was actually very warm by itself. It wasn’t like his chances of being shot at today were very high, and if anyone wanted to try and stab him through this many layers of clothing they were welcome to try. The far more immediate threat, of course, was the damned cold. He had assumed it was too far back to his house before some severe frostbite kicked in, and the bike that he tried to steal to expedite the process was frozen to the point of the pedals breaking off when he tried to get moving on the damn thing. That wouldn’t work, so he needed to find something else. He needed to force a way inside of a building, but if he guessed wrong and there was no heating he may just be fucked. He needed something with lights, because if they still had power it meant that they probably had heat. Maybe a store or something, because there might still be blankets left and if he was really lucky maybe a heating unit. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any stores outside of a bike store and a bunch of restaurants nearby… and none of the restaurants seemed to exactly be open. There was another option, the churches, and Gavin would not try that particular option unless he was desperate… and he was just desperate enough to do it. The nearest one was a Jewish synagogue, with big wooden doors and lights that were still on. No doubt there were people inside, and even if there wasn’t they had power and likely some material inside that the soldier could use to get warm again. The single bottle of rum that he downed earlier would hold him over, at least for now, so at least he wasn’t shaking at the present. Boots stomped against the snow coating the ground on the way, and hands desperately trying not to shake from the cold tried the door. Locked, predictably. The windows on the doors were opaque, and had the Cross of David prominently displayed on them. Gavin couldn’t see whether there was light inside of the door, which meant he had an interesting choice. He could break down the door with his powers, but if the heating was not on or able to turned on inside he would just freeze to death slightly slower due to letting all the cold air in. He could also try teleporting inside, but if there was not a connecting shadow that ran underneath that door… He wasn’t exactly sure what would happen, because he had never wanted to change materializing inside of solid material like a door before. The likely result would be instant death, but when the alternative was slow and withering death for the crime of wanting a damned drink it didn’t sound so bad. Since the light outside was still on, this was his best shot at not freezing to death. Steel gray eyes locked on to the door, and the man breathed deeply before letting the shadow over the door take him. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t close his eyes for it. A second later, he was just past the door no worse for wear. It was noticeably warmer inside, and the soldier immediately threw off his thick gloves and started rubbing them together furiously to try and get some feeling back in them. Upper West side was an affluent part of town, of course its infrastructure still worked. Thank God for the small victories. A cold, calculating gaze surveyed the entrance area… but it didn’t seem like anyone was home. After a few minutes, the man lost the parka to have easier access to the revolver in the jacket underneath it. If there was anyone in here, he doubted it was the actual men and women who came to this holy place. In an area like this, all the locals were safely in their homes and away from the danger of the outside. Unless they were goddamn alcoholics with no self-control, that is. Fucking hell. He hoped it didn’t come to that, killing people in a goddamned church. If he had to do it, he would… but despite the awful things he had done to survive in the past, something about even the thought of killing someone in the house of God revolted him. With any luck, he would just be alone with his paranoia and nobody else would show up. What were the chances, anyway? Looking around, with the scattered lights still on… he determined the chances were too damned high and activated both cloak and noise dampening. Pulling out his revolver from the pocket of his second jacket, he held out the firearm in front of him and started moving to search the building, starting with whatever room was directly in front of him. He would not be taken by surprise and killed like this, feeling naked without the protection of his silver thread armor. Trespassing on a church, lightly armed with the stench of alcohol over his body from the residue from the liquor store... no, not like this. Not here. If there was anyone inside of this place, he would know before they ever caught a whiff of him. No regular human, or even most altered, could detect him like this. If they did somehow manage to gain awareness of him, he knew damn well they weren’t human and could react accordingly. He would get them first, before they got him. Killing a monster in the house of God wasn’t sacrilege, was it?
  4. Reminiscent

    Abby sat outside at one of the wrought-iron tables in front of Boheme's Coffee House. Proclaimed as Mid Town's best, Abby couldn't disagree. The service was top notch for college-age employees and they were particularly bubbly despite exams and such coming up. Fall had graced New York, and with that flood memories of the holidays. While mom had found love again, Abby and Margie missed their dad. He'd been a grade A toughass, but loving and protective of his girls. Didn't complain once about having girls, where most men like him would wish for boys. Ghost was stretched flat on his stomach, tail wagging with a plate placed before him by one of the employees. He'd licked his bowl clean of doggy treats and a doggy-frap. A new thing that Ghost had grown extremely fond of. Sated, the beautiful husky yawned and lowered his head on two fairly large paws by Abby's booted feet. The detective was off today, though a badge still hung from the lanyard around her neck since she'd popped by the precinct earlier to review some cold cases. She got booted for coming on when she shouldn't have. Abby working as usual, even on her day off. So, she decided on hanging out with Ghost since Margie was working. She'd gotten much better with handling her situation, and was much happier working her old job. Teaching children had always been a passion of Margie's, and Abby wanted nothing more than to support her. Though, Margie tried to convince Abby to leave the precinct and obtain a much safer job.... Of course, Abby refused the notion. She was too much like her dad. Always wanted to be in the force, and wouldn't change her passion regardless of the world having changed. Amazing, how time flew. Abby had adjusted to the changes, but the memories of normal days still haunted her. The holidays were just around the corner, and thoughts of her family and how whole they'd been drifted in the dark corner of her mind. Ghost lifted his head as if sensing her sadness, and nudged her shin gently with his snout. He wuffled, before resting against her, and she reached down with her free hand to scratch behind his ears. "I'm fine, Ghost." She said, and propped her elbow on the table. She had finished her sandwich, which left a slice of pickle and a few crumbs. Her coffee was half drunk - black this time. Usually, there'd be whip cream and loads of sugar until it was close enough to hot chocolate (why not order a hot chocolate, Abby?) "I'll be fine." She added in a soft murmur, and then looked about, observing the day. Fall had come, with winter fast approaching. She did love the snow. But it was always around this time that the crimes grew more violent.
  5. Grand Opening

    Owner: @Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick This is your hometown bar. The one you are comfortable coming to after work or after a day out on the lake fishing. Six pool tables line the exterior walls. Games are free so long as you're drinking. The walls are decorated with an assortment of hunting heads and old photographs of movie stars. Brick and beams gives it an old pub feel right in the middle of New York. Stools line all the pillars as well as the thirty foot long bar with twenty beers on tap at all times, at least six of which are Irish. This bar is being opened to help ALL players have an easy place to have single and group threads - don't need to wait for "permission" or an invite from the owner to use it. This is an OPEN thread for anyone and everyone to join! Post order not required since multiple conversations, groupings can happen in the same thread here! NPCs - Please do not abuse these NPCs as they will be further developed as staples by Boone to run the bar Behind the Bar: Hagan "Hawk" Monroe - Retired Boxer - Powers TBD Don't fuck with the bartender. Attempting to mess with his shit will get you bounced by him personally - possibly through a window rather than the door. Behind the Bar / Waitress: "Blue" - Powers TBD Like something out of a retro diner she is a sleek painting in the moose head on the wall bar. Like Hawk - messing with her will likely lead to pain... lots of it.
  6. Lost as Alice of Wonderland Fame

    November 2nd, 2020 There was so many people. She knew her eyes were darting everywhere just out of fear, so many people meant she was more hidden but it also meant more danger. She couldn't say which this situation was but she figured 50/50 was a decent ratio. Specially since in Europe it always seemed more 70/30 in favor of her pursuers. She wandered the docks in something of a haze having left Calder behind. She didn't want to risk his life again and besides, this was her job to figure herself out not his. At least there was some hope, she had recognized the skyline of New York after all so maybe there was something here. So far she was batting zero as she walked around the harbor. The voices sounded more familiar than in Europe at least but she wasn't seeing anything that might trigger a bigger memory. There had to be something though she wasn't born a handful of months ago here. She had a few scattered things that had to be real....right? They had to be real. With her skull already hurting from mattered she marched on, a strange woman in clothes to large staring around her like she was a tourist of some kind. More than a few people eyed her but no one bothered her for now. Lost souls wandered through the harbor on an almost daily basis after all. What was one more?
  7. Silence, My Brother

    Mon Aug 24, 2020 6:13 PM Blue. A single finger was held up. Johnny Walker Blue Label, already fine whiskey, was still scarce. The distillery had not had time to produce yet another batch since re-opening its doors. In other words, it would be a miracle if this bar happened to have it. Then again, Boone was nothing if not resourceful. The mage glanced around. Any familiar faces? Any faces best forgotten? That would remain to be seen. After all, it was only a little past 6 on a Monday. *Can you believe the balls on this guy? *I know you’re pretty much made of steel, but who the hell tackles a tiger? What? The man looked almost offended. It spilled my beer. Was I supposed to just let that go? Light glinted off the second speaker’s forearm, exposed under the shredded layers of green cloth that had once been a zookeeper’s uniform. Alec shrugged off their presence and turned towards the other side of the bar. Oh come on! What? Was it something I sai… Boring. ARMA was quiet these days. Could there be anything more obnoxious than quiet? He had nothing to do except handle paperwork. Why couldn’t they have some kind of scandal? Where had the false mages gone? And where the hell was that drink?
  8. About time I put this up!

    Heyo! Back after a roughly 2-year hiatus! I now have two characters: Abernathy Wynn - a detective who specializes with violent crimes and is now getting involved with special cases. She currently works in the Central Park precinct, and has a younger sister who is also a lycanthrope. She is your goody-two shoes. Doesn’t discriminate, and believes in doing better for the present world. Angelina Vitale - a former professional kickboxer and personal trainer, she now frequents Bakkhos nightclub as a “hidden” bouncer - meaning she blends in effortlessly with the crowd, ready to subdue any problems at a moment’s notice. She is a little less goody two shows than my detective, not so much a bleeding heart. She is, after all, a part of the biggest crime syndicate in the world. These two are open to various Plots - establishing any sort of history is welcomed. It would be great for Abby to meet diverse groups, being that she is only human. As for Angelina, of course writing with other Bakkhos members are much needed!
  9. HOME | RULES | PLOT | COLORS | WANTED
  10. Shadowboxing

    Abby was small compared to most who worked in the force. Short, and easily underestimated. The ordinary beat cops had it worst when it came to gender discrimination; Abby rarely put up with sexist remarks as a detective, and since she specialized in Violent Crimes, not a day passed that something violent wasn't going on. Only this time, she had supernaturals to worry about, not just bad humans. Something was out there attacking and destroying the community that her baby sister was essentially a part of. Just because these people were different didn't mean they weren't innocent. The news hadn't gone quiet about these incidences and Abby had been working hard on trying to figure out who and what were behind these crimes. She couldn't linger on old and simpler times anymore, not with the present being the way it was. Two years ago a huge event had taken place, in which she and a group of extraordinarily gifted individuals had to find survivors within a dangerously collapsing building. In most cases, Homicide and the FBI were on the scene. Abby knew she had to be there, even if the current Chief didn't quite agree. She was as stubborn as they came, a Brooklyn kid through and through. To relieve all the tension that'd been building her back, Abby was spending her late night at the gym, after a day of cracking cold cases. She wished it'd been beer, but her devotion to her job had her hard at work. Margie was worried about how much sleep Abby was getting, but sleep wasn't exactly important to Abby. Too many things were going on, and since she didn't want Ghost to worry either, she had them spend the evening together while she hit the gym. Her tiny fists balled and bandaged up, she started first with shadow boxing in the corner. At this time, it was quiet and Abby was pretty happy to indulge herself. The gym was often packed in the mornings and afternoons, so coming in this late gave her the silence and space she needed without anyone disrupting her. She threw sharp clean jabs, counting 200 for each arms. Her muscles began screaming at her after a hundred since it'd been a while, but she kept going, the sweat forming across her forehead and between her shoulder blades. Abby only wore a black sportsbra, and navy blue spandex that clung to her waist and ended at her ankles. Tiny feet were fit in swift all black Nikes that allowed her quick pivots as she continued her jabs. Dark chestnut hair was pulled up in a high ponytail that swung back and forth with her quick movements, large eyes focused on an invisible opponent. When the 200 finally came along, she added a couple more jabs over and bounced lightly in place from one foot to the other to keep her heart going. Suddenly ceasing activity wasn't good, and while her muscles burned she started shaking out them out before balling them back again. She counted to three - right jab, left, then pivot with the hip for a strong finish with her right. 200 more, and Abby wasn't going to stop until she was utterly exhausted. It didn't matter that she had an early morning tomorrow. She wanted to clear her mind, get rid of that tension, so that she could focus.