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Desdemona Kilgore - Suburbs of Empire City "Dessssdyyy!" Her mom had squealed as soon as she had phoned home for the first time in month to announce her arrival. Desdemona hated the nickname, almost as much as she hated her full given one. She had scanned her parents' Panopti-book account to get a good idea of what she was in for. Her mother had been holding up well; tidal-waves of wine aside, she had stayed relatively healthy and whatever surgeon she had gotten to inject neurotoxin into her face had nailed the forever smiling, mildly wrinkled plastic doll look whereas many of her peers that had gone for budget options looked closer to something that lurched up at you on a ghost train. The neighborhood looked much the same, the yards impeccably kept by the abused undocumented immigrants, and driveways filled with SUVs and sports cars, one for every member of the household 16 and up. Not that she could complain, she herself was now driving something bright red with a stupid amount of horsepower that screamed "Hello I am under 30 and am massively overpaid." She pulled into the drive, strode up to the door, entered and instantly regretted it. Lying on the living room floor was the dog from her childhood, still alive and obviously wishing it wasn't. Obviously the maid had been given a day off or some dumb bullshit like that because it smelled like he should've been let out, or dragged out, earlier. Welcome home indeed. The situation resolved, she went up to her old room, now mostly an office space with a bed in it, she had been told. The suitcase hit the ground..."Arrgggghhh." It had been turned into a shrine. There were pictures of her from all stages of life, sonograms, baby pics, school plays, graduation photos, pictures of her in uniform. Underneath them all was a artisinal bespoke piece of driftwood on which "~Baby Girl~" had been carved. It looked like they had gotten it shortly after she first deployed, since her birth year had been inscribed underneath, and a dash. Presumably they were just hedging their bets and would just fill in the current year if she didn't come back. Buy a memorial ahead of time, before you need it, that scanned to their thinking perfectly. She looked through the refrigerator. Dad had had a health scare a couple of years ago and all the red meat had been replaced with weird exotic vegetables with too many spikes you bought at organic bodegas for 10 dollars a pound. Mom's booze on the left. Seemed like a lot of dry whites, mid range. Desdemona thought it would be less shameful than just boxwine but it was still pretty morbid in their quantity. Desdemona pondered what she was going to do before the reunion, and decides, well, best to research the opposition. She opens up social media profiles of people she'd ignored for the past 10 years. She expected doctors and lawyers and people cooing about their gross newborns, but it was time to get specifics. A gameplan was needed. Seeing who in this town, both in general and going to the reunion, is worth talking to/might make a good future contact. Desdemona is experimenting to see if her newfound abilities translate into...what did nerds 10 years ago call it, ah yes, "Cyber-space". Super-Charisma+2 to see what mental effects I can apply via tweet/like etc. quote:Mundane Qualities Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 00:24 on May 22, 2018 |
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May 21, 2018 06:34
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Desdemona Kilgore - Suburbs of Empire City There was nothing to it, time to get ready. Choosing an outfit was always a predicament for her. At least in the military and at Gethsemane there were official uniforms to wear. Here in civilian land it was difficult. The main problem being that the normals treated her like poo poo for being taller than the vast majority of men, and her athlete's build wasn't helping. Ordinarily she'd flaunt it, but she was there to make "friends", so a subdued look was in order. Some inoffensive number with covered arms and going down most of the way down her legs. And flats. The "Atlantican princess-in-waiting" look she heard it called, when the reverend of her church had been pressuring her dad to take her to a purity ball... No. No, this was not the time to get angry. Desdemona cleans up and walks out to her car and gets ready to leave. She mentally wills herself to the last time she was happy, a few months ago some hell hole that had three whole apostrophes in its name, gunfire and smoke blacking out the view... Time to network! Going to this thing. Casually hammering these pukes with a combo of [Merchant of Menace+2] and [Super-Charisma+2] to both test how the ability works face to face and also to build a contact network with up and coming members of the Atlantican technocratic aristocracy. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:50 on May 23, 2018 |
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May 23, 2018 04:32
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 Gethsemane Global Operations HQ "Oh, Kiki! You look great..." She didn't, there was about 40 extra pounds there. The little ski-jump nose her daddy bought her had been balanced out by a second chin. A lifetime ago, back in junior year, Kimberly Kellerson had complained bitterly about her huge beak of a schnoz, but her parents had given her that hilarious line about her being beautiful the way she was and they weren't going to pay to fix what wasn't broke. Upon hearing this, Dedesmona took her friend to an isolated stairwell and immediately delivered an open-palmed blow to her face (sideways, the women's self-defense class her mother has insisted she take had informed her a straight on hit would potentially drive boneshards directly into her brain, and Desde wanted to help, not hurt after all.) She informed a hysterical, crying Kiki that she had a reason to get her nose fixed now that was bending at a 45 degree angle. Additionally, she should phrase this as having tripped or something. It wouldn't be very seemly if the whole story got out. From Desdemona's perspective, her friend still owed her, all these years later, at least in the sense of hearing her out. She ignored Kiki's dilated pupils, increased respiration, and other signs of a fear response and asked her how she was doing, how the new job was working out, and started with her. Once they were all caught up, she moved the conversation to an idea of a professional association. The proles had, or used to have, unions to advance their concerns. Yes, lawyers and doctors had the bar association and whatnot, but she was proposing something more concrete, a PAC of sorts to advance the causes of the almost-but-not-quite wealthy. Junior bankers, lawyers short of partner, and, yes, security contractors. Soldiering was venerated in the Atlantic Federation, at least to the extent that it was a great way to get proles to shut up and not protest whatever forever-war Atlantica was engaged in lest the dread accusation "DON'T YOU SUPPORT OUR TROOPS?!" was levied at them. In practice, amoung the elite, it was an economic death sentence. Even as an officer, you'd miss out on years of raking in money hand over fist, forever falling behind your peers. There was also the whole "service to a higher concept than yourself" that seemed hopelessly naive. Desdemona hoped to counter that, as security contracting seemed to be the natural marriage between the state and the market. Desdemona dropped the idea to as many people as she could convinced, stayed awhile as seemed socially polite and left. To sell her concept she was going to need influence within Gethsemane. She needed, in other words, to work for it. Desdemona leaves the reunion, returns home, spends a painfully awkward evening with her parents before returning to her place of employment. Gethsemane Global Operations was situated on Empire Isle, in the middle of the city. Appropriately enough in the building that used to house the Atlantican Union of Industrial Workers, before, well, unfortunate things happened to most of the leadership and their connections with the mob aired out in public. Desdemona didn't warrant an office yet, but with her newfound ability she doubted it would not be long before she headed up this entire monstrosity. She checks a list of contracts, downtime was over, it was time to earn her future. Setting the seed of an idea for future political action with a few peers and then coming back to the job. Using [Super-Charisma+2] along with [Merchant of Menace+2] to try to get a juicy contract that focused mostly on earning prestige and direct control of some minions. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 20:20 on May 28, 2018 |
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May 28, 2018 20:17
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Gethsemane Global Operations HQ> Nystria Desdemona drools over the possibilities. In addition to the one-two punch of utilizing her talents and allowing her to indulge her natural shithead tendencies, the contract allowed something tantalizing: the ability to help another struggling nation into the modern economy by systematically looting the thing like it was a firesale measured in hundreds of square kilometers. Still, she isn't going in blind: Desdemona spends her time researching Nystria, its history, its factions, who the hell has hired her, etc. The who's and why's of why these people are killing one another were always complex as they were petty. Using [Merchant of Menace+2] to use GGO resources to research this place and then heading on over to play Jagged Alliance 2 for real.
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Jun 4, 2018 03:54
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Nystrian Badlands It was a new turn of events for her to be sure. The Worm had Turned and now she was the one teaching an insurgency how to kill mercs instead of the one they were trying to kill. She hoped they were desperate enough they wouldn't give her lip for being a woman, and besides, she had her new skill now. First on the list was finding out who was still alive, linking them to other cells, teaching the rudiments of shoot, move, and communicate, and how to keep their heads down. Next was getting them armed with appropriate tools and weapons. It was a lot to take in all at once, but this was not a simple task. Using a combo of [Supercharisma+2], [Right to Bare Arms+4], and [Merchant of Menace+2] to start to organize, train, and supply these guys in that order. I had like 200+ words about trying to start a cult but that's putting the cart ahead of the horse, let's get basic functionality with the people we have at this point. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:50 on Jun 12, 2018 |
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Jun 12, 2018 05:28
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Nystrian Badlands Well, it was a start, she supposed. This wasn't the legion of thousands sweeping down from the mountains and into the cities and the bodies of their enemies swinging from lampposts, but it was a step toward that direction. Having established the most basic of unit organization, Desdemona turns her attention toward stealth maneuvers and recon gathering, while trying to get enough supplies to keep them going. To even know where to strike, they needed to be able to talk to people and recon the countryside and roads leading to urban areas. And, hell, forget guns, these people needed calories. Even if she was extremely fit and powerfully muscled instead of bloated with corn syrup like the typical Atlantican, her mere appearance betrayed her as an overfed outsider. These people needed three squares a day and antibiotics and other extreme basics. She grumbles as her sat phone punches out orders directly from her personal bank accounts for rations and medical supplies. She had no love for these people, but they were going to be the base of her future, and she needed to cut down on the starvation. Also the alcoholism and substance abuse, but one thing at a time. She takes time to start learning their individual histories, their families, and perhaps most importantly, the story of Nystria. There was a ton of folklore that shaped a people's consciousness and sub-consciousness, and if she were going to pull off the next part of her plan, she would need to know it. Using [Merchant of Menace+2] to buy food and medical supplies for the village(s?), [Supercharisma+2] and [Right to Bare Arms+4] to start training reconnaissance, intel gathering, and secret squirrel tactics. Trying to learn more of the secret history of Nystria, folklore and whatnot. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:19 on Jun 19, 2018 |
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Jun 19, 2018 04:15
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Temporary Base, Nystrian Badlands Good, good. Nothing killed morale like watching a comrade die of an easily treatable malady. Granted, the knowhow to use these medical supplies was probably a bit beyond the locals, hell Desdemona only knew straightforward first aid from combat related injuries and such, and illness was likely beyond her, but this created at least the potential for hope. Oh well, bad comes to worse, she can just search battlefield surgery vids on Panoptibook. The extreme basics realized, now she could specialize. "Okay boys and girls, we're going to learn to move, communicate, scout, and act. Before we can take on heavy infantry and vehicles, we need to be able to know where they are..." [Supercharisma+2] and [Right to Bare Arms+4] to start training reconnaissance, intel gathering, and shadowrunner style tactics. If you permit, [Merchant of Menace+2] to buy them appropriate gear for this role. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 04:38 on Jun 27, 2018 |
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Jun 27, 2018 04:26
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Temporary Base, Nystrian Badlands She had an ace in the hole and intended to use it. Desdemona sends word she's willing to meet with the heads of the other rebel groups, or at least their representatives, in exchange for some of the more valuable meds, antibiotics, insulin, etc. Using some of the med supplies to bait the local leaders into meeting with me and discussing strategy, and also to expose them to her power. [Supercharisma+2] for the social skills to pull this off and even her modest salary with [Merchant of Menace+2] for supplementary bribes.
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Jul 8, 2018 05:31
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Nystrian Badlands Alright, next step. She needed to win the support of these hicks, which means she needed to show she could win, which means she needed a place to run to if they got caught. Her major strength so far was the urbans didn't know she was there, but that would only last so long before reports of reports of 'clandestine' operations with locals around the country complaining of distinct individuals, blonde, 6'5", 17inch biceps, female, running around. She would make a fallback plan, and then take the offensive. Right now, she prepared a place to catch a second wind if needs be. Leaving enough mooks to guard the remaining medical supplies, she takes the more adventurous underlings on a tour of the Nystrian countryside, searching for a suitable safehouse in case things went tits up. Using [Right to bare arms+4] and [Supercharisma+2] to lead a team in scouting the countryside and identifying places they can hide if needs be. This is a post not-soviet hellhole so I assume there's all sorts of STALKER type bunkers around, hopefully. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 18:24 on Jul 14, 2018 |
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Jul 14, 2018 06:26
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Nystrian Badlands - Outskirts of Civilizaion Now that they had a place to retreat to, Desdemona planned to turned words into actions. She was going to try to have her cake and eat it to, by striking somewhere unprotected to get the goons used to the idea of winning, and showing the populace she was the real deal. Her and the lads spend time scouting areas close to towns and cities that look like they might go under with a fight, ideally some place they can rob for resources and retreat back into the hills quickly. Using [Supercharisma+2] and [Right to Bare Arms+4] to find soft targets to rob and steal, ideally ones that can be blamed on others, potentially urban criminals instead of tipping our hand that we're here. Not actually attacking it, just finding it
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Jul 17, 2018 13:45
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Nystrian Badlands - Ambush Junction And now they had come to that...river? The one the long dead guy had to cross with his army to eventually become emperor: A monumental, single decision that would change the course of the rest of her life (hopefully without the part of the story where you get murdered for it). Desdemona decides they're going to act. "Men, today we are taking vengeance on the Jimoza's personal monsters, this is the first step on the road that see's him hanging from a meat hook with his throat open. Listen carefully..." She quickly divides the men into two teams. The ones with rifles get broken up into shooter/spotter groups and ordered to take position inside cover and concealment, within hunting rifle range but outside of carbine range. Those guns had one advantage over modern automatic firearms, two if you count the larger rounds being able to push through body armor better, and she intended to make us of it. Initially, the teams have two targets: on her signal, as the convoy passes by a nearby rock formation that makes maneuvering difficult, they are to fire on the driver of the first vehicle, and the driver of the last one. After that is fire at will, focusing on anyone yelling orders or anyone with a heavy/squad support weapon. Anyone with an automatic or shotgun is with her. She checks the ancient gun one last time; despite their legendary reliability she had made sure to keep hers in perfect maintenance to the extent she could in the field, and the moving parts glistened with the first lubrication they had probably seen in years. Her assault team will hide nearby until the convoy is near. Once the long distance shooters start, she plans on hitting the Presidential Guard from the other side. This would probably be most of her men's first major firefight, and in addition to the training, she hoped her power would be able to see them through the worst of it. As an afterthought, she ties a mask around her face, bandito style, and has her men do the same. It wouldn't do much, and it wasn't like there were a lot of individuals like her in the world, but it would have to do. Oh well, nothing to it, time to earn her pay. Using [Supercharisma+2] and [Right to Bare Arms+4] to set up an ambush as described above. Desdemona will use Supercharisma to hold her men steady during the combat.
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Jul 28, 2018 19:24
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Nystrian Badlands - Ambush Junction "PITIER, PAULO, TIME TO AVENGE YOUR FATHER AND BROTHERS; MOVE TO THE ROAD, FIRE ON THE LEAD WINDSHIELD AND TIRES, GO!" Every ounce of her power is invoked into it. The brothers would most likely die in seconds, either through gunfire or underneath the wheels of the lead vehicle, but she needed space to maneuver. The vans were bullet resistant, but to a sufficient torrent of lead, not proof hopefully. As they close, she puts careful, short bursts at any one trying to fire back. An instinct hits her, lunacy, but it might just work. A nervous energy comes over the men as she bellows at the top of her lungs. "FOCUS FIRE, KILL THEM." Her voice is joined by others as they shriek in unison, a united field of voices, bolstering her own and freaking the other side, breaking their initiative. An old, old tactic, obsoleted by machine guns 150 years ago, but with her talent, it might work once again. [Right to Bare Arms+4] to assault the column and [Supercharisma+2] to motivate the men and also to disrupt/intimidate the shooters, hopefully. This is a battlefield experiment as much as anything else. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:42 on Aug 7, 2018 |
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Aug 7, 2018 05:19
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Nystrian Badlands - Ambush Junction> South Nystrian Cave System Good. Good. The underlings had performed their function. "ENOUGH" she bellows, when she spots some of them hacking at a very dead, very dismembered corpse. "Triage the wounded. You, find which vehicles are still running. The rest of you that can still move, strip our dead of their gear, strip the guards of theirs and any mostly intact uniforms. Move quickly, we don't know where their reinforcements may be." The single running vehicle was loaded with the nonwalking wounded and whatever crates from the other vehicles she could load into it, including some of the presidential guard uniforms. With a good cleaning, she could hopefully assemble a few intact uniforms from the dead. The walking wounded and healthy troopers carry whatever crates as well was the quality gear stripped from the guard.It was time to take a look at what they had won. Taking as much as we can from the scene and moving to the cave system. On the way getting whatever medical supplies we need as well. [Supercharisma+2] to organized this and also reinforce the idea we can win into the heads of the men.
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Aug 20, 2018 00:25
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Nystrian Badlands - Ambush Junction> South Nystrian Cave System Desdemona had a brief moment of that awful etiquette class her mom made her and her sister attend, to more properly ape the behavior of the upper class. She brings forth her full knowledge of decorum for this situation. "Holy Good-goddamn Pigfucking shiiiiit" The opportunities opening before her eyes still paled to the potential for treason. Her mind raced. This could set her up for life. If converted and properly invested, this was true "Money that just sits around making more money" level of bullshit. But no, whoever this belonged to, and she doubted this was only Jimoza's wealth, would come looking and never stop. She'd spend all the money running, and her life would only last until the money ran out. She lays it on thick, her power oozing out of her, full throttle, seeking to put the greed genie back in the bottle. "I see that look in your eyes, boys, but let me stop you there; until this is moved out of the country and turned into cash, these are just pretty yellow bricks. Jimoza's men will come into the hills looking for anyone trying to hand out ingots for goods and services. We're going to move this into hiding. We're going to bury what we can't. We're going to start a real war now, this can hire a thousand more like myself. Food and medicine and schools for your families, and this is just the start." Desdemona checks on the readout of the truck what the max capacity weight and does some math while searching for tracking devices. Time to move out. The broken but still breathing joined the gold on the truck. Healthy and walking wounded got loaded up with a combat load of gold bricks and looted weapons. As much as they can carry without slowing down significantly. The rest....Desdemona gathers a few of the healthy men, the ones most suspectable to her power.... Loading up the working truck with as much as possible, using Right to Bare Arms+4 to quickly put together a moving convoy. Carefully selecting a small team of healthy and then gaslighting the poo poo out of them with Supercharisma+2 to make them forget exactly where they buried it*. Moving everything we can carry to the cave systems. *Really, she should supervise a burial detail and then shoot the guys who did it so she's the only one who knows where it is. Its very classically villainous in a Long John Silver kind of way. The thing is, I don't want to actually write that. Instead she's just going to try to brainwash them into forgetting. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 05:29 on Sep 1, 2018 |
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Sep 1, 2018 04:45
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South Nystrian Cave System The booty buried, Desdemona leads the little convoy into the hills. Making sure nothing as amateur as tracks or tire ruts would reveal their location, she sets up shop, triage for the wounded, inventory to take stock of her new property, and most important of all, guards for the bullion. Desdemona had been devoting the majority of her mental processes to figuring out how to keep her own men from giving in, grabbing as many bars as they could, and running for the border. Then inspiration came. Some of the men had been clearing out a back cavern. They called her back. At first, she thought it was some trash peasants had dumped. No. No. They wouldn't have gone this far for simple litter. Curiosity piqued her interest, plus, poking at this find seemed to be less work than hauling a bunch of metal bars that weighed around 12 kgs a piece. Once excavated, she wracked her brain. The few liberal arts and history courses her major required of her kicked into place. A quick search on her phone seemed to confirm it... Pre-ice age Europan cultures. Conservatives in Atlantica pictured "the good ol days" as some 1950s hellscape of soft white wives and docile minorities who knew their place. Desdemona pined for 1950 as well. 1950 BCE. She dreamed of stalking through a fog filled forest wearing nothing but dreadlocks and woad, blood and brain spattered axe in hand. An age where you got hosed up on a pig's bladder filled to the brim with half-fermented mare's milk. Yes. This was perfect. The scant conclusions archaeologists could make regarding these long gone people was rectified by consulting the site of the New Infernalist Church of Atlantica and pirating those awful elfgame supplements her little brother read. Whatever theosophical knowledge had been lost in the past 4000 years could be papered over by skimming the fluff sections featuring images of naked ladies chained to altars, gilded frog idols, and steroided him-bos waving phallic weaponry at overgrown lizards. A theme is chosen and a plan set in her mind. Normally, she kept strict control of her men's booze intake. Normally, she made sure nothing harder than her orders got through. Tonight would be different. They had won a great battle. She personally laced the godawful local moonshine with every pilfered narcotic she could find. Desdemonda let them get good and wasted, lets smoke and laughter fill the camp. Then it's time. Desdemona enters, stage left. She'd put those girl scout years of of craft workshops and macaroni paintings to good use tonight. Her outfit was improvised, to say the least, but the booze moonshine smooths everything in their minds. Sharpens their experience. Emergency flares, stolen from a kit, vomit white-red light over a cheap stage. Their smoke mingles with the camp fires, making wisps their addled minds confuse for spirits. Long skirt smeared with occult symbols, sports bra, and a feathered headdress, jutting antlers dangling with the dog tags of dead soldiers finish the image. Desdemona didn't care for what the satanic website or her brother's nerd books thought about what a mystic should look like - "Vampire hooker chic" was never her thing. So instead her makeup is something more familiar to her. A horizontal smear of blue paint across her eyes. Half antediluvian war-goddess, half football star. "In the pits of the earth, the first people were born, clawing their way forth, and taking the world for their own..." She chants; bad Latin from horror movie exorcisms, half remembered Iberian from her highschool language class (Previously employed only to yell at the gardener and to order from food trucks), and various made up fantasy novel drek that sounded pretty cool. Lots of strong vowel sounds and Ks. The flares bathed the cavern in red light and dramatic shadows. It was all bullshit, of course, like a kid holding a flashlight under his face to make a ghost story more evocative, but on some level it tickled something inside people's monkey brain that made them go "YES, yes, this is how it is!" We're all joking here, but you know, not really. The warrior queen, from across the sea, who came to liberate the people, and also make them obscenely rich. "We will spill forth from these caves. Our wealth turned into more warriors, more guns, we will take the cities, we will split Jimoza's head like a rotten gourd. What we took today is only the start. We will live like kings and queens when this is done..." Bolo in hand, Desdemona opened the throat of the goat beneath the restored shrine of the Queen of Swords. An appropriately spooky looking deer skull and various bird parts were mounted at the top of the mantle, tastefully balanced out with a dozen-odd fingers, wedding rings, and ears the boys had lopped off the dead presidential guards. As the arterial spray blasted her chest, ran down her abs and dribbled onto the pile of gold bars forming the altar, Desdemona murmurs the last of her incantation and busts out in unrestrained cackling. "At last," she thought, licking the blade clean and shoving the exsanguinated corpse off to the side for a flunky to butcher and barbecue "They'll start taking me seriously!" Using [Super Charisma+2] and [Right to bare arms +4] to start building a mystic cult religion around wealth, physical prowess, and military power. Thanks to the Unlife Aquatic for help with editing for this post. Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 06:50 on Sep 16, 2018 |
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Sep 16, 2018 06:26
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