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About Wade

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  • Birthday 08/27/1996

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    Dimension C-137
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  1. A Chance Getaway [Palgard]

    I thanked Cora with a silent nod, then held up the lighter. It flickered to life at the turn of my thumb, giving birth to a small flame with the curiosity of a three-year-old. It licked at the air excitedly under the protection of a cupped hand, searching, feeling, until it found the butt of my cigarette. All at once the flame magnetized. Wisps of smoke wafted in response, and a soft orange rim burned in its wake. I took a long drag as Cora proceeded to steer the conversation, and bittersweet relief settled in my hot, acrid throat. You might not know this if you don’t smoke, but cigarettes kill your appetite. Completely and utterly. Mine took off faster than a toupee in a hurricane, and it wasn’t coming back for a few good hours. Not because smoking’s gross- actually, that might be part of it -but because nicotine doesn’t play nice with your stomach. Or your mouth, for that matter. It’s all dry and pasty in the aftermath, and the simple thought of eating a shawarma at two in the morning makes you wanna gag. Watching Cora showcase her supplies, I didn’t feel the slightest stir in my stomach. And that’s when I thought to myself, Hey, if we ever run low on food, I know just the trick. When Cora was done, I meant to shift my gaze away. There were dumpy reeds to look at and a lonely toad in need of my attention. Before I could, though, Cora spoke up again. This time about the elephant in the room, the one called ‘Lunch’. I perked up slightly, intrigued. Meanwhile, you didn’t need a PhD in body lingo to know Cora was perking down. She couldn’t seem to finish her sentence at first, and I didn’t blame her. Words are hard. I waited patiently. For an extra long three seconds, she refused to make eye contact with me. Then, where I was expecting an apology, I got this: "... I got real sick. I think it was the soup. Didn't want to puke everywhere, you know?" You did’t need a PhD in body lingo to know I was unimpressed. I was on the verge of raising an eyebrow when she saved herself with this: "It was good, though. The lunch, I mean. It was, just ... it was nice." I eyed her evenly, weighing her statement. Under the exhale of a grey cloud, I replied, “Yeah, I guess it was.” I tapped some ashes into the water, and flashed her a tepid half-smile. Not the kind that forgave and forgot, but the kind that said, I get it. At least in terms of what she meant. “Look, I’m not going to ask what that was really about, but if you ever wanna talk, I’ll be right here. Literally, I’m not going anywhere.” I motioned to my half of the skiff. “Anyway,” I continued, moving past the topic. “Let me know when you want to switch off rowing. I might take a nap soon."
  2. The Lich Isles: Necropolis Rising

    Consider me AFV up until ~Friday~ I don't have enough time for Valucre right now between work and two essay finals, sorry
  3. The Cardwell Masquerade Party OOC

    I'm going to skip my turn. Between work and two essay finals, I won't have much time for writing during the next few days
  4. The Cardwell Masquerade Party

    You had me at “I’ll give you a few moments to prepare yourself.” Like god damn, I’m so wet- Seriously though, that was a bad move. Like ‘I can’t believe they didn’t run the ball’ kind of bad. Everyone knows you don’t announce yourself to the enemy, let alone hand them a freebie. Except this guy, apparently. I’m guessing he didn’t watch a lot of TV, ‘cause he was all up in that bad guy routine. Slow march of doom (check), arrogant underestimation (check), chihuahua-style grrr (cheeeeck)- it was all there. You could even see his poodle-sized brain from how far back his nose tilted. It was almost comical. I couldn’t help but grin a little in spite of the warning bells blaring in my head. In fact, I was almost tempted to sprinkle more cliché on the cake in the form of witty banter. Sadly, I didn’t get to fire off so much as a quip. Moon Moon over there decided it was a better idea to make a beeline straight for me, no questions asked. I repeat, not a single fucking question. You wanted last words? Well, tough shit, those don’t fly anymore. Neither did the fact that you were staff. To Moon Moon, it was okay to just eat your coworkers even if they had a valid excuse for being downstairs. Normally my first thought would've been, BATTLE STATIONS!, but here it was more along the lines of, Zip zoop, it’s dinnertime at the Cardwells’. And then, Wow, did this guy miss orientation or something? I had more than enough time to whip out my revolver (Hello!), and take aim. Moon Moon's warning got me kicking into high gear, and there were few things quicker than a gunslinger’s hands. The corridor was long and narrow, and the space between us, approximately a dozen meters, lessened with each ferocious step. No matter how speedy his reflexes, I couldn’t see him dodging six deadeye shots at this range- each of them fired in lightning succession. The .45 rounds would tear through his armour like a hot knife through butter, then handicap him if they didn’t outright kill him. At least, that was my assumption. For all I knew, he wore adamantium or could catch bullets with his teeth. And if that was case, I was pretty much boned. I shrugged inwardly and fired.
  5. The Cardwell Masquerade Party

    With my swanky new uniform, I was nothing more than a boring ad in the Blairville Daily. Flickering gazes skimmed past me without looking back, and not even the guards, ever so vigilant, suspected the handsome blonde caterer making his way to the staff area. And why would they, when there were a bunch of drunk yahoos to watch out for? They were the real problem. I was just another guy getting paid by the hour on a Friday night, except I dealt in wine and cheese instead of lead. Just as I was starting to feel invisible, a certain someone bumped into me. I turned around expecting a guest; you can imagine my alarm when I found the big bad wolf instead. He towered over me by a solid four feet, like I was some six-year-old who had ‘till puberty before he could get on the rides. As a guy who was used to doing all the towering himself, it was a strange feeling. Mildly degrading, as well. Shit, was this how dwarves felt? Was I a dwarf to this guy? ‘Cause if he so much as pulled a midget joke on me, he’d lose his cojones by the end of the night. I didn’t let him know that, though. As far as he was concerned, the polite smile on my face was the genuine article. He mumbled a quick apology and something about a patrol, and then he was off in the same direction I’d been headed in. I slowed my roll and watched him disappear through the staff doors, which were located west of the grand staircase in their own corner. At that moment, Dryston buzzed me about his plan and the lady friend (I assumed he was straight) who’d be tagging along. “Copy that, Dryzzy. One of the mutts just went in, so keep an eye out for him.” Walking up to the doors, I slipped the keycard out of my pocket. A faint glow pulsed on the lock when I tapped it, followed by a click as one of the doors swung open to let me in. I stepped through, and on the other side was an empty hallway branching off into various different rooms. The faint smell of something delicious wafted in the air, and I had the sneaking suspicion that the kitchen wasn’t too far away. I was tempted to grab one of the food platters I’d find there and hog it all to myself, but a staircase leading downstairs quickly robbed me of all distracting thoughts. “I found the basement,” I said over comms. “Dryzzy, you close?” In response, there was a quick knock on the door. I unlocked it and let him in, along with his dark-haired catch of the day. “Alright, I’m going downstairs. You two have fun.”
  6. The Cardwell Masquerade Party OOC

    Quick update, home-skillets. I'm gone to a cottage this weekend, from Friday evening to Monday. Presumably, I won't have access to wifi. I won't be able to post until I get back, so if the thread somehow fast tracks its way to my turn, you can either vote to skip me or gimme the extra time to scramble some words and shove them down your throat like an omelette. On that note, I will try to get my post up (it's my turn right now) Friday morning/afternoon before I leave. Basically, sometime tomorrow. If that's not possible, I'll be sure to post here again to let you guys know. Anyway, cheers. Dab on 'em or something like that.
  7. The Lich Isles: Necropolis Rising

    Quick update, fellas. I'm gone to a cottage this weekend, from Friday evening to Monday. Presumably, I won't have access to wifi. I won't be able to post until I get back, so if the thread somehow fast tracks its way to my turn, you can either skip me or gimme the extra time to scramble some words and shove them down your throat like an omelette. Anyway, cheers. I hope you all have a shitty time without me <3
  8. The First Of Many

    The cabin was an unlikely, albeit pleasant, surprise. When Gekko left for his search, Alice’s expectations had only run so far, the furthest step being a solitary cave large enough to fit half of the crew. Now, they stood in a little piece of manmade shelter, safe from the roaring wind at their doorstep. Most of what Alice read in the basement fell flat the way a boring math lesson did, but she wasn’t stupid. The information here was valuable. Sensitive, maybe. The eggheads back at HQ would have a field day with this, and it was Alice’s intention to make that happen. She started by handing Dingo what seemed important -maps, books, charts- before deciding after an ungodly amount of sifting that all of it was important. “Suck it all up,” she told Dingo, with a round twirl of her finger. And sure enough, he did. Not in the vortex-like fashion her finger had implied, but in the age-old process of grab and drop. It was kind of fascinating, seeing stuff disappear into that tiny ring of his. A little cathartic, too. She imagined anyone who had pushed a pen in their life would be enthused to see all that paperwork magically vanish. Except maybe the owner. There was that to consider. Technically, what they were doing was on par with breaking and entering, followed by theft, and vandalism (things which Alice was already well-acquainted with); they could be court-mortadella'd for this crap. Question was, would they? Alice very much doubted it. She had come to a similar conclusion to Gekko’s, also believing the owner was long gone judging from the information she’d gleamed. And if they weren’t, well, tough luck, Liz. You’re not gonna do squat. 'Cause I'll burn you before I go to jail again. Court-mortadella my ass. Once that bit of business was done and over with, they retreated to the cozy upstairs of the cabin. Cozy being a relatively loose term here. It was nice and dry, there was no rain spitting on their eyeballs, there were even couches and chairs to sit on. Really, the only thing lowering the cabin’s status from four to three starts was its size. The whole crew felt cramped in this small living space, to the point that body odour hung in the air like a damp musk. Alice, being the only woman, felt particularly out of place. She could see more clearly now the glances some of the men gave her, and the cabin only offered so much space for her to wander away from them. Fortunately, Garkarat, Stumpy and Dildo Doe had formed a bit of a barrier around her as they stood by a window. “It’s still pouring,” she commented, more to herself than anyone else. “I think we’re going to be stuck here for a while before we get moving.” Alice glanced at her watch. The day had trickled into late-morning territory. “If it lets up within the next two hours, we move. Otherwise put on your PJs, ‘cause we’re camping here for the rest of the day.” From her pack, she produced a map of the island. “We don’t have a lot of ground left to cover before we reach the mountain. Two days at most. From there on, it should be smooth sailing unless we get struck by more bad luck.” She shrugged, as if to say c’est la vie. “We’ll still make that pit-stop in the village I mentioned, if only to grab a decent meal and a hot shower before bedtime. Unless you have any objections?"
  9. A Chance Getaway [Palgard]

    “Bounty hunting, eh?” I nodded, as if to help digest the information. It wasn’t something I expected from our spunky sailor, but I could see it no problem. She was tough, fearless, a wee bit knife-happy. Surprisingly strong. I was still trying to wrap my head around how she had pinned me to floor earlier. It was like she had Lord Thunder Thigh’s blessing imbued in those little legs of hers, the way she jettisoned me with a single foot. I was afraid that if she flexed her quads, she might rip up her pants Hulk-style. “Moving up in the world,” I concluded, my tone slick with approval. Little did she know that I was picturing her green and angry and yelling ‘CORA SMASH!’ in an apocalyptic bellow. A familiar itch crept up at that moment, and the grin I’d been holding back died a little because of it. Without thinking, I stuck one hand in my pocket and produced a pack of smokes. Thankfully, Palgard didn’t seem to care if you got lung cancer, so there was none of that icky grey packaging to remind me I was slowly killing myself, all so I could look cool. Flicking the top open, I plucked a cigarette. Only as I was about to light it did I remember that I wasn’t the sole passenger on this boat. I looked at Captain Cora (whose last name I realized I didn’t know), and reluctantly withdrew the cigarette from my lips. It rolled between my index and thumb, unsure of itself. May I? it asked. Then, as an afterthought, I don’t suppose you’d want one? “No and yes,” I answered in order of her questions. “At least, I don’t think that’s all of them. They’d have to be a pretty miserable bunch to send all their boys after little ol’ me. If that back there was it, then I guess I’ve got bragging rights on wiping out a whole gang.” Right, because you did all the work, I heard Carter say from the murky depths of E. coli central. I ignored him, focusing on the second question instead. “As for how I’m feeling, I’ll be fine,” I said, an honest smile on my face. "Getting shot at is my bread and butter, remember? You get used to stuff like that, though it sucks that I can’t show my face around Palgard for a while.” I considered that statement for a moment, then decided I didn’t agree; Palgard was a dump I’d be glad to never see again. “On the bright side, I’m not full of holes or missing any fingers.” I wiggled the ones on my right hand in a ‘Look, I can’t believe they’re still there!’ fashion. “To be honest, I’m surprised you’re doing okay. Most people would’ve shat themselves, but you didn’t even’t scream.” The wiggling fingers promptly curled into a thumbs up. Meanwhile, the ones on my other hand rolled the sheepish cigarette impatiently. “Anyway, how far north are you thinking of going?” I asked. “‘Cause if we follow this river, we should hit Tia eventually. Maybe even a town on the way.” I brought forth my pack, and started rummaging around with my free hand. It scooped out a water bottle, then a few snack bars. I held them up briefly before dropping them back in, showing Cora that it was all the food I had. It would probably last two days at most.
  10. The Cardwell Masquerade Party OOC

    Extension is a go. What's going to happen here is that NeonDragon'll post next, then Robbie, then we restart the order like it was before. Wade Bee Neon Robbie Abigail
  11. The Cardwell Masquerade Party OOC

    Post now then, sorry about the mixup
  12. The Cardwell Masquerade Party OOC

    Sorry to hear that, man. Hope things get better soon. If you're not up to posting, then not a problem. We can skip you for now, and you can take all the time you need to recover
  13. A Chance Getaway [Palgard]

    My parents weren’t proud of what I did for a living. My grandparents even less so. Had Grand-Mère been there to see me gun down those guys with that cold, cold look in my eyes, her tiny little heart would’ve tuckered out like the engine of my jet ski. Buh-bump buh-bump buh-bpptthh. Then I’d have Mom yelling down my throat, telling me I have a problem. And maybe I did. It was entirely possible, all things considered. Back there, I’d been singing in my head while I was, y’know, killing people. Not for the first time, either. Probably sixty percent of my shootouts had me dropping a beat, and it was always something you could tap your foot to. DANGER! DANGER! WOULD YOU LIKE A SONG [Y/N]? [Y] ACKNOWLEDGED. LOADING… LOADING... I SAID A HIP HOP THE HIPPIE THE HIPPIE TO THE HIP HIP HOP- You get the point. Anyway, I’m not gonna say killing’s an art (even though it really is), ‘cause I’m not a high-functioning sociopath. I swear I’m not. But to me it kinda felt like… I dunno, sport. That’s what it was. A test of skill that satisfied both the recreational and the competitive. As far as I can remember, I’d always been the latter, and sought the former. Volleyball, badminton, locker room wrestling, the hundred meter dash; it was all for the sake of challenging fun- to prove myself as Numero Uno. Blasting gangsters was no different, and either that was the product of a warrior’s mindset or there really were a few loose screws somewhere in my noggin. For now, let’s just assume I’m a well-oiled machine. I watched Palgard from the same kneeling position, gun loaded and finger on the trigger. When it became evident that we’d made out of the woods, I relaxed and flopped onto my butt, resting my back against the stern. Cora sighed, then turned my way. "So, Teddy," I looked up. "Uh." Raised my eyebrows. "What the fuck?" At that, I couldn’t help but smile. Laugh a little, too. “What, you’ve never seen a cowboy shoot before?” I twirled the revolver for emphasis -a flamboyant loop de loop back into its holster- and winked at her in good fun. Then I remembered everything else, and my smile fell a wee bit. “By the way, sorry about dragging you into this mess,” I shifted, on a more serious note. “And thanks for pulling me out. I don’t have a lot of cash on me right now but I’ll pay you back when I get the chance. Promise.” I huffed comically. Here I was, in Cora’s debt once more. “I had a run-in with those guys about two weeks back,” I continued. “On the day we met, actually. The Pink Spoon Bandits, you might’ve heard of them before. I took out their leader but they caught a glimpse of me when I was making my escape. I’m guessing that’s how they found me." I shrugged. Suddenly, “I thought you were poor?"
  14. The Cardwell Masquerade Party

    This wasn’t Gatsby’s mansion, but it sure could’ve been his party. There were people everywhere. And I mean everywhere. It was like I’d waltzed into a school of fish, except the fish were drunk, and hot, and good lord I didn’t want to be here on business anymore. Within the first five minutes of navigating the place, I saw a performer belch fire in the shape of animals, tasted the best antipasti this side of Terrenus, snagged myself a fantastic cocktail of yellow and purple proportions, and played a solid volleyball match with an oversized balloon. Bands around every corner pumped out fast, rhythmic jazz; the kind of music that was perfect for long nights of Swing dancing. On numerous occasions I nearly got dragged away by an eager hottie, and you don’t understand how god-awfully tempting it was to just forget about the job, and dance those pretty little heels off ‘till everything else followed suit. I almost wanted to get drunk to avoid the suffering. Sometime later, I took up residence on the third floor. There were fewer people here than anywhere else, since most rooms were dedicated to sitting and legitimate conversation. Wild shenanigans were restricted to poker games and pool tables, and that volatile hum in the air dimmed to a soft whisper. It made it easier to think. To plot out my next move. As I did so, the mansion’s layout stood at the forefront of my mind. Specifically, the missing bits. Down the hallway past the next room, two sentries flanked the stairs leading to the top floor. It made sense because that’s where the bedrooms were located. As it stood, there were too many eyes to climb out a window. Forcing my way past the guards wasn’t an option either. I imagined the only way upstairs was to be a Cardwell family member yourself, or at the very least you'd have one of them escort you. Unfortunately, the Cardwells were spread like needles in a haystack- four in total, all wearing masks. The other subject of interest was a set of doors downstairs. They blocked off a section on the first floor, and staff wandered in and out of them freely with the help of magic keycards. If I had to make a guess, they led to the kitchens. Maybe even the elusive basement I couldn’t seem to locate. Getting in there didn’t seem too difficult, so naturally, I felt a plan hatching. Rising up, I made my way to the nearest washroom: a powder room, unlike the public toilets by the ballroom. It was occupied when I got there but luckily there wasn’t a line, also unlike said public toilets. I waited for its occupant, a mustachioed, grey-haired playboy, to exit, and then waited for a suitable caterer to make their appearance. When a tall, young man crossed my line of sight, I waved him over, appearing concerned. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” the man asked, a polite smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, actually. Y’see, there’s uh…” I scrunched up my face, then lowered my voice. “Well, there’s puke in the toilet.“ “Really? I’m so sorry to hear that, I’ll-“ “You’ll take care of it?” I cut in, suddenly firm and insistent. The caterer paused. “I mean, I could but-“ “But?” Another pause. He looked trapped. But it’s not your job, right? You’d rather let the next unlucky sap clean it up. I eyed him pointedly. Finally, in a reluctant tone he spoke. “…I’ll have a look.” “Thank you.” I nodded, smiling. The caterer bent down to rest his platter on the floor, then strode past me. Quickly, I followed him inside and closed the door. A silent click locked us in. “It’s clogged pretty bad,” I said, reaching into my jacket. Meanwhile, the young man was slowly lifting the toilet seat, delicately balancing it on the tip of his finger. When its shadow receded to reveal a pristine white bowl, he stood there staring, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, there’s no puke in h-“ In one savage motion, I struck him across the head with the butt of pistol. His knees buckled instantly. I whipped him a second time for good measure, and his skull issued a nasty crack. He fell to the ground, eyebrows frozen in place. Dude looked like he was having a bad dream. “Sorry, bud.” A little later, I emerged from the powder room, dressed in the red-black colours of a caterer’s uniform. Resting on the floor in my black tux was our newest member of the Concussion Crew. Spinning a story about a passed out guest was easier than Lindsay Newman in the eleventh grade, so I had two fellow ‘coworkers' help me drag him outside, and they didn’t even pay me a second glance. Once the guy was on the street, I started winding my way towards the locked doors, feeling just a teensy bit guilty. The keycard sat comfortably in my left pocket, and my gun weighed happily against my ribs, bulge-free. “Currently dressed in a caterer’s uniform,” I said over comms. “Moving in on the staff-only doors, first floor.”
  15. The Lich Isles: Necropolis Rising

    Alice followed Pierce inside the bar, along with the rest of the crowd who’d fought on the docks. There, they formed a modest circle around the captain. Alice swung a chair so its back was facing her, and sat down in a forward lean, elbows propped. She accepted a mug from the captain with a silent nod, and drank without so much as a slurp. It wasn’t terrible. Not really bad either. Just mediocre, she decided a third of the way in. Wine wasn't high on her list of favourite drinks- it was actually very low, if she was being honest. Had it not been for the dessert rich berry sweetness, she would have numbered Port among the double digits, way down at her memory’s end. As it stood, she was more of an icy-hot girl. That meant hard liquor and sugary cocktails. Anything in between was a cheap excuse to get drunk, and Pierce’s generosity simply went a step further. Whiskey or no whiskey, free booze was free booze. As the captain told his story, she felt her blood cool down. Not in reaction to the chill of his tale, but to the magic slowly trickling out of her system. She had run hot for the duration of the battle. Feverishly so, in fact. Pinpricks of sweat had gleamed their way onto her forehead (just enough to warrant a wipe or two), and strands of red hair clung to her skin and frizzed up slightly as if she’d gone for a light jog. And why not? It might as well have been a light jog. Fighting undead was thirsty work, and the empty cups around her were evidence of that. Should this city on monster-back actually exist, taking it down would be a fucking marathon. Alice raised her eyebrows sardonically at the thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. A final tilt of her mug and the wine was gone. “I’d like to know that too,” she said, breaking her silence. “Because if there’s a way to avoid that…” Her hand searched for the word. “…aura, it’d be useful information to share."