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Brown Dynamite

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  • Birthday 11/16/1989

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  1. Thaelia took no time to contemplate Sekhmet's statement. Instead immediately and without question openly affirming it. "They are correct. Of this I have little doubts. The celebrations are festivities, true. Still. My uncles...and father... they give weight most assuredly so to shows of opulence and displays most ostentatious. It is all yet another field of battle." She was quite matter of fact on this. Though Thaelia did make note to release her grip on her trident when uttering the end of her sentence. She did not fear offending the giant. But the demigoddess really was here simply to enjoy the proceedings. So there was no cause to even give the impression that she would be entering a bar brawl. Though if prompted, she too similarly could not make any promises.
  2. Thaelia stepped forward. Momentarily she returned the many eyed giant's gaze. Thankful to not bear the ichor of Hermes as a patron. Even if her boisterous nature was curious at the possible plurality of the word gigantomachy. Unknowingly possibly reaffirming the idle thoughts of the famed right hand of Hera. Between the sight of the daimones at the port and Hera's guardian it became all too apparent that security was taken heavily into account. A smile forming upon her lips as she spotted Sekhmet, it had been a few years since they worked together to best a patchwork group of villains including the daughter of Star Khan. Though her stride never slowed, the princess attention shifted to the curtsying figure. To which the princess stopped to politely return a greeting, "Hail hail. Well met." Tapping her trident on the ground twice before continuing to step forward. Taking stock of the finely combed youth accompanying the polite young lady and the impressively domineering air of the woman accompanying Sekhmet. It seemed there would be no cause for concern at the possibility of her uncle's invitation being snubbed. Libations without a doubt would be had.
  3. Glamazon Thaelia was not a creature of wants. The privilege of her station and the birthrights conferred upon her through ichor were hardly shackles. She had no interest in contending for a throne. And was actually quite pleased with the freedom her diplomatic appointment gave. But, now more than ever she did feel a bit of envy for her friend Giang. If the woman known as Tsunami were here, she could make a grand entrance on a spout of water from above. As it were, Thaelia's options were less wonderous by her estimation. Having left Alexandroupoli a minute ago the Glamazon swam with the full might befitting a progeny of Poseidon. Crossing the distance with much the same time frame as it took one to open their front door and pick up a morning paper. Only when she approached the end of the dock, the Atlantean princess made no motion to stop her momentum. Leaping into the air like a missile gravity played its part as what came up soon came down. Thaelia's right fist slammed into the ground a bellowing tremor crying out as her left held her trident aloft. The pitch of her heels proving their worth as the statuesque woman balanced her weight with a slow but controlled raising of her body. As she stood, Thaelia took less careful measure of her surroundings than she did of her now soaked clothing. Considering for a moment if it would have been more prudent to simply walk across the water. Quickly waving the thought aside. Her assigned assistant was a nice Naiad that seemed more than ready to greet the Atlantean traveling outside of a traditional vessel. As such she had been briefed on the walk up the hill well before her landing. The information flowing from the river without spoken dialogue. As such Thaelia would provide her own. Calling out into the air itself. "At last, the Daughter of the Seas has arrived!"
  4. Glamazon - Still Waters “I still believe, this attire requires more armor. Perhaps a full helmet. That would be most fashionable,” Thaelia openly opined. The Atlantean princess was standing in the center of a raised platform. There was a semi-circle of mirrors giving her full coverage of her appearance. It was the tidiest spot in the room. As her surroundings were filled with stacks upon stacks of rolled fabric. Whose metric volume was only matched by in measure by the sheer amount of dust in the room. Clearly a large returning customer base was not expected. “And you would still be wrong.” An elderly balding man tutted. His silver hair and beard shined almost as brightly as the light of the single lit lamp in the room reflected off the man’s spectacles. He man loomed over the Atlantean demigoddess taking careful measurements. Or that’s what Thaelia presumed he was doing. As the soft tape measure that sat upon his blue button-down shirt as if it were a set of suspenders connected to his khakis never actually left his hands. Taylor the tailor’s weathered hands danced in the air as he motioned a loosening of fiber pills back into the attire. If Thaelia had a less trusting nature perhaps she would question if the man’s name was simply a pseudonym for the sake of business. But, it did seem a bit uncouth to question what was presented and open truth by family. And at the end of the day. Taylor was family. The son of Plutus; grandson of Hades and Persephone. Taylor, would ideally know what attire would meet the approval of her uncle. At some point in his life, Taylor had earned ambrosia gifted immortality. He was not a god yest still a capital I immortal. As such despite his already…venerable appearance Thaelia knew her cousin was older. His chosen vocation of tailor to dimensional travelers and the divine while fitting with his superpowered control of fabric was not exactly filled with tales of harrowing daring that one would recount over mugs of mead. Atlantean crownwork tended to have prongs akin to a trident. There was a famous tale told in Atlantean nobility about her adoptive mother, aunt by blood, in which Queen Ariallis fended off three Atlantean raiders using her crown after the King had actually talked her into leaving behind her staves on their honeymoon. The crown that Taylor had procured for Thaelia was hardly a weapon. There was nary a sharp point. In fact the way it wreathed upon her hair was more akin to a diadem. Thaelia had no say in the chosen color scheme. White represented her Olympian heritage. Blue for Atlantis. And Gold for her nobility. Though Taylor had corrected her. Gold was for the ichor that flowed through her veins. Blue for Poseidon and the sea of which he held dominion. And the white garbs represented herself and respected her mother. It was the orichalcum that would represent both Atlantis and her nobility. Though Thaelia was quick to note that Taylor had not acquired real orichalcum. This was the manufactured fool’s orichalcum that the surface had prided itself as a successful recreation. Which was either a matter of scarcity or a hidden insult. Thaelia had chosen to lean to the former conclusion. Her arms were adorned with false orichalcum armbands and wrist guards. Mystical engravings on the orichalcum sat inert. Thaelia’s own education in the arcane told her they were to call upon a tremor within a limited range. Likely for a grand entrance. Though, she could create a more vigorous showing by merely stomping her muscular legs down with enough force to create seismic activity. An act she had been able to manage since at least her junior year at Claremont years ago. Which brought Thaelia’s attention down to those very same legs. And the pair of blue heels waiting in front of her feet to wear. A similarly colored blue tunic, a chiton, was fastened to her shoulder by a shoulder guard, a gallerus. The gallerus had an azure corusqua gem sitting in the center. Matched only by an ostentatious corusqua that the demigoddess now adorned on the center of her chest taking the place of a strophion. Coupled with a himation it was clear the Ancient Greek inspiration Taylor had carefully crafted was not limited to the actual fashion of the day. Nor was it limited to surfacer fashion with the inclusion of the Atlantean gems. Still the footwear had no place in the ocean. Even if Thaelia could not help but appreciate the color scheme darkening the lower on her body ones’ eyes traveled. Akin to the depths of the ocean itself. “I still do not abide by this. I still have to swim to the other side of the country to attend the libations most exclusive.” “I thought you would enjoy wearing knives on your feet,” the elderly man mused. Kneeling down to reach for the heels. But not before Thaelia quickly slipped her feet inside. The strength of her digits allowing her to actually manage to force them inside without having to move from a standing position. At the cost of stabbing into the platform. For his part, Taylor simply smiled. Knowingly manipulating the woman known as the Glamazon into wearing the heels without further rejection. “My trident is blade enough. However, I do not which to trample upon your kind intent.” Thaelia rebutted. As she was incapable of lying the words were either spoken with a measure of truth. Or much more likely with a measure of belief. The lies one tells themselves and all. Thaelia spun around capturing the sight of her clothing twirling as she did so. She could not raise much more in complaint the more it became clear that her tailor would not be fashioning up a helmet. Though really, what kind of tailor would double as an armorer? Thaelia’s hair was worn up. Rather than the wild mid length appearance that screamed of battle this was more restraint. Even if it took half a day of convincing from Nereid to allow a stylist to touch her hair. “I suppose even a daughter of the seas has to accept that sometimes water does run still.” A smile crept up on the demigoddess’ face.
  5. GM The crowd began whispering in hushed tones as people actually stepped forward to tell the robbers to stop. Four muscular women all snapped their heads in surprise from inside the bank as they were being taunted. Despite the complete lack of care they took into hiding their presence. People weren't exactly lining up to step in and stop crimes in Bedlam. The police sure weren't getting paid enough for this level of response time. Tilting into view one woman stepped forward. Their faces were all obscured by Balaclava ski masks. Their matching leather jacket and pants was equally masking in the dead of night. Even their dark combat boots didn't scream flashy. If it wasn't for the fact that they each had a grey shirt that had the words 'Con Furia' emblazoned on it, it'd be hard to identify them as members of the Los Furies. But here they were with their identification plastered across their chests. "Didn't you see the ATM. It's twenty four hour service." One of the robbers called out. A hockey stick pointed at the pair who had initially spoken. She walked out in a rather threatening manner before continuing. "How about you both go back home and sleep off this hella day. Or I'll make sure to nap ya real good." The sound of her boot crushing glass as she stepped out to smack her hockey stick over glass. The bank that they had broken into had a front facing curtain walling. At least at one point. But the entire wall, and not just the window pane but brick paneling and all, had been smashed open. The door was in shambles. And the bank vault had been dragged into the lobby in the small interval since the sounds of glass smashing could be heard. Sure the back window wasn't the most secure structure to begin with. But, as the other three robbers were armed with a crowbar, a steel chain, and a baseball bat. There was something about the scale of the damage that didn't add up. That was for those not as fortunate as Liam and Dead Head to instead have their senses bombarded by the sheer might of the magical presence this improvised weaponry was giving off.
  6. Hellhound Hellhound had heard the commotion. He had been suggesting to a dealer working for the Davalos family find a spot less convenient than Hardwick to sell his wares. Quite convincingly one would say the whole affair was going rather smashingly. That was until he heard actual smashing nearby. The dealer practically relieved himself as the bipedal man wolf took off on all fours towards the sound. From Óscar's perspective he was arrive on the scene. Which is how he liked to make a threatening entrance. What would have been a growl turned into a series of sputtering coughs as he tried to stop himself from expressing his surprise. There was an odor wafting through the air. He wasn't sure if it was the two taunting the four women inside the bank. The female robbers. The crowd circling around. Or maybe it was just taking to big of an inhale of that natural Bedlam smell. But, it was foul. It wasn't that Óscar couldn't speak while in his manwolf form. Heck, he could speak in his lupine form if he wanted. It just being a growling mass of fang and fury tended to carry a lot of weight in the conversation. But all that consideration for appearances had gone slightly out the window.
  7. Alrighty, before I forget to roll for nightmares Fatigue (Nightmares) Results 1d20: 8 [1d20=8]
  8. GM The Chilliarch gave a bit of a harumph sound. It wasn't clear if he was reacting to the idea that once upon a time the Lor did not have the military might it carried now. Or the question as to whether the mission's purpose was to be rescue or research. But the gruff Lor officer did not give much time for open contemplation before speaking. "Three probes were sent ahead of the exploratory vessels. One came back. The lookie-loos in the drone bay have been combing over the hunk of metal. It doesn't even have any recording data. Lot of good that looking at water and mud will do. Official mandate that the ships and any research material that may have been acquired during this voyage. No one can say if it will continue to be as stable long enough for a new leg of research. I couldn't give two blue suns whether the shipyard is a little lighter or not. But I do need a full personnel for the next regiment roll call. Take that as you will." It wasn't directly said. But Chilliarch Dettinson had made his position clear that he wouldn't care if the Lor's research efforts were a wash. His personal priority being the missing members of the Star Navy.
  9. I'm still good to go if y'all are now that my PC and external hard drive situation is completely sorted. Just checking if interest is still there! @Electra @Avenger Assembled @RocketLord
  10. I'm still good to go if y'all are now that my PC and external hard drive situation is completely sorted. Just checking if interest is still there! @angrydurf @Tiffany Korta @Thevshi
  11. @Kaede Kimura @RocketLord I'm still good to go if y'all are now that my PC and external hard drive situation is completely sorted
  12. Belated answer but I'm still good to go if y'all are now that my PC and external hard drive situation is completely sorted @Tiffany Korta@Kaede Kimura@RocketLord
  13. @Dr Archeville @Nerdzul @Tiffany Korta I have two working PCs and am good to keep going if y'all are (Also how is this the most recent Bedlam thread).
  14. She does indeed have the time! I'll even play with the rules a little. Instead of stunting for the low low price of that HP Rocket Lord, Ghost can essentially do the Aid on the task and I'll give the +5 circumstance bonus instead of the +3 that would've come from allowing a Power Check/taking 20 to be the basis of the Aid bringing that Arcane Lore total to 35!
  15. GM Foreshadow took a step back before the live water show occured in Gilles glass. Staying silent as both members of Vanguard and the 'former' criminal engaged. Before finally letting out a small chuckle. "Okay that's enough. As much as I would like to see how long it would take a one legged man to go down in a butt kicking contest. I assume being humiliated isn't why you asked for help" Gilles for his part was lividly patting his clothes. Mumbling to himself in French as he tried to dry himself. Before finally tossing his arms up in the air declaring a common French expression about pushing grandma into nettles. <"Tell those two not to exaggerate, Oui> I do need help"> The man returned to his stool this time keeping his attention plastered on the three. Ocassionally making childish faces as he spoke. "I come from the 93. Opportunities are limited and many fall into shall we say alternate means of employment. Parisians turn their nose at our problems and blame us for theirs. But lately the children..." As he pause and visibly began to think of how to continue, the older French man made no attempts to agitate either Mermaid or Shadowborne. But his eyes definitely lingered on them. "The youths are engaging in dangerous fights nowadays. They want to protect their banlieus from those who wish them harm. And have started a movement. But I worry they have become the enemy of the people. Violence has increased. And at the center is some miscreant who bats no eyes when someone is hurt or arrested in his name. Sevran alone had 3 fires caused by your fancy computer weapons." By fancy computer weapons, it was obvious that he meant Computronium weapons. An illegal arms market that has existed since the Communion attack still festers in Europe. And it was one of the known issues that often pulled Vanguard in to investigate.
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