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Twitterpated

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Twitterpated last won the day on January 5

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  1. Twitterpated

    Fade Out

    "Знаешь..." The Meta responded with some amount of confusion. Ever since leaving his home world, he had grown used to people not speaking his language. His native one especially. This particular guy however, was more interesting than he appeared on the outside, even with the evidence of his body modifications. The mind of a Hyperkinetic was something special. To Bishop, not only did everything appear as if moving in a slower motion than it really was, but he could make out most if not all the minuscule details of something provided he can pick it up with his inhuman senses. He easily projected the distance of his opponent, estimated how fast he'd have to react at a moments notice whether his body was capable of keeping up or not. While the illustrious Compound V coursing through his veins helped to that end, though he was deep down inside still only human. Bishop's arms formed some semblance of a boxer's guard as the Enforcer's legs opened up, and as his engines started and launched him at Bishop, Bishop stepped in as his right fist closed tightly and launched at the Enforcer's head in the form of a haymaker with nigh the full force he was capable of mustering in a single blow. Bishop's strength was tremendous despite his rather small frame. With a single blow, the Meta was capable of denting or even outright penetrating some of the densest metals known to man. Had the enforcer been ordinary, it's likely he'd have been easily flipped, his jets carrying that momentum forward and up as the head went back and ultimately down. As if the brute strength of the punch alone wasn't enough to shatter a skull and literally knock one's face into/through the back of it, the act crushing it to the ground was necessary overkill considering his opponent wouldn't likely be so easily thwarted. Just because this guy's head likely wouldn't pop like a squished grape didn't mean he couldn't try it. Regardless, he answered the man's takedown with a punch to the dome, his steel cleats digging into the concrete beneath them. Even if Bishop couldn't man handle him so easily, the Enforce would learn that even without cybernetics, his method thus far was best compared to the act of a small child illogically smashing one action figure into another yet neglecting to move the other in any realistic manner. All the while, the Meta began preparing his super breath* . @danzilla3 @Yoko
  2. Twitterpated

    Fade Out

    "Tch." He audibly sucked his teeth as he refused to move out of the way, yet made no attempts to stop Tak from leaving when he did. Shortly after him, the Meta made way for the door. Without looking back over his should, he gave the woman some parting words. "Take care of yourself Cici..." Despite realizing what he'd said after the fact, he refused to correct his error, instead choosing to walk away. Bishop recalled the strange looking kid with blue hair. He looked like a bass head, certainly that little punk knew where to find some tranq. Searching the kitchen and even the freezer, the kid was nowhere to be found. Asking a few of the employees, one said that he'd seen the kid take off through the back door minutes ago. Grunting in mild frustration, the Russian Meta needed another drink. As he inevitably went to return to the bar, he could see a man near the entrance gathering energy in the palm of his hand. Despite his hyperkinetic, there was nothing he could tell about this foreign energy other than it seemed to host some hard to see waves permeating from it. Heat... Inhaling deeply, the Meta chest swelled preternaturally in likeness to the circumference of a barrel as his steel cleats locked into the ground beneath him by nothing more than the strength of his legs alone. As the gathered energy left the strangers hand, Bishop exhaled a breath of frigid, gale force wind. Blasting the kitchen door open and likely off it's hinges if it didn't outright shatter from both the immediate drop in temperature and force alone. Between the aggressor and Bishop himself, the breath swept the room and left a shimmering thin layer of frost in it's wake due to the hot temperature of the incinerating wave it contended with. Though not as wide spread, the breath's more cone like shape of projection threatened the offender with the widest end of it's ranged prowess. It was maybe just enough spread force to knock him back out of the entrance. It was possible that Bishop might have saved a life or two, though it was quite obvious that he hadn't intended to save anyone other than himself. With his ectomorphic frame returned to it's normal state, Bishop stepped out into the bar. His steel cleats crunch into the frosty, charred floor as he looked around the room to get a good idea of what actually just happened. Thanks to his experience, it was safe to say that whoever that was, was sent here to kill someone. That, or they had a personal grudge to carry out. Either way, he had no plans of getting involved anymore than he had to. Little did he know that he was the mark. It was sad when a life was lost, though Bishop only truly seemed to care when it was a life that was close to his; That he favored. Still, to some degree, all life was precious. No way he'd find a dealer here, not now. His clue should have been the staff continuing to clear out. Perhaps the cop was right, and Bishop knew better than most that the streets demanded respect. "Yo, cyka!" He called out to the prick that just fried the bar before stepping out the doors himself and into his view. "I'm lookin' t'score sum good shit. I was thinkin' I'd find sumthin' her', but y'kinda messed tha' up. Y'look lik'ya know y'way 'round her', wher's th'next best place t'ave a good time?" @danzilla3 @Noko
  3. @Peach You still with us bud? As bad as I want to continue, I want to be sure whether or not the reporter roasts while sitting at the bar or not. 😅
  4. Twitterpated

    Fade Out

    When Tak patronized him over his revelations of his plan, Bishop grinned stupidly ear to ear and snickered a bit to himself. At the utterance of look man, Bishop's face changed, as if he was truly invested in what he was hearing. He listened without interrupting in the slightest. "I get it- big man, big guns, big whatever, but you just got here and you're already stepping in shit. Could you maybe tone it down a bit and learn the road before you start trying t'take shortcuts? This city's got it's own personality; it's way of doing things and its people, their expectations, the way the game is played, and you're really taking the piss on that." "Nah, y'don'get shit! I got m'own personality, m'way o'doin shit. I got m'people, m'own 'spectations...Th'way I learnt'a play dis gam, ther' ain't no right way. Fuck this town!" He exclaimed more in excitement than volume, his blue hazel eyes growing wide with a wild look in them. He pulled an unmarked pack of smokes from his pocket, and from it he plucked a non filtered cigarette from it. Placing it twixt his lips, he pulled out a zippo and struck the flint while flipping the lid. Slamming the lighter shut, he took a reassuring drag and inhaled deeply, pocketing his belongings. His right hand plucked the smoke from his lips, and an odd scent filled the room as he exhaled blue tinted smoke. "Y'know, I heard y'daddy was a tough mufucka'. If he as tough as folks make'm out t'be, then why it loo'li sumbody tryna play'em f'a bitch? If this was m'town, you think ther'd be bodies droppin' this much wit'out me doin' sumthin'bout it m'self? Maybe he is bitch made, but I'm not. Tha's his pro'lem, tha's th'pro'lem wit' you justice nuts, you think tha' legal an' illegal means right an' wrong. Y'wrong. If th' good, th' bad, an' th' ugly o' thi'city all 'ave certain rules t'follow, then th'city will be mine in no time." As he took another drag on his lho stick as they were truly called, the Russian Meta stepped into Tak's personal space before plucking the stick from his lips again; Inhaling before speaking, and blowing a plume of smoke in Tak's face after his words. "I ain't tonin' shit down, if y'smart then you'd begin investin' in th' version o'ya'future wit' me in it." @Noko
  5. He feigned stupid for a lingering moment, as if he hadn't, couldn't, and wasn't reading the man's surface thoughts. He was fine letting the man leave on his own accord, yet just as pleased when the man sat back down to his mostly finished spread. He questioned Alistair again, aloud this time. Refreshing his grin, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter behind him. "Your mistake is in assuming, Ira. Humans are a diverse bunch are they not? Is it not so easy to assume the same about Vampire kind? For instance, though a dhampir, don't you notice some subtle differences between he and us? How about between us and the late vampire families of Tia? Simply put, we're not all the same." His smile grew warmer as his eyes watched every last drop roll into his mouth and down his throat. He wouldn't feel much immediately, perhaps just a subtle migraine and waves of mild nausea; Things explained away by his existing conditions such as hang over. Otherwise he'd begin to feel great, his best ever even. He wondered though, as he felt his hypothesis was correct, just how long Ira would hold out before the thirst set in. Just how long he could resist the thirst. Was Ira proud enough to resist into his own demise, or would he slip and fall down the same slope his scorned beloved had? What happened with Quin was special, a ritual of a turning. This was a more veiled equivalent, save for the willingness of the subject. But of course, had he have asked for Ira to cooperate, the answer would have certainly been no. "Oh, an while you're out, check the perimeter for tracks of recent activity and any off shoot camps will you? If anyone decided to permanently take residence in the Glen I'm sure the Master would love to be informed of it before he figures it out for himself. You make leave at your leisure, I however, have work to do. If you're not back within 48 hours, I will personally come retrieve you. Depending on the circumstances, I might even kill you." He delivered with a wink. Turning on his heels, he began out of the kitchen. A casual hand raised as a silent goodbye as he left the man to it. Seemed easy enough right? Foolish too. If in fact Ira wanted to run and be free, this was his immediate opportunity to do so and have a two day head start. Thanks to Alistair's methods, he was nigh certain that he wouldn't have to worry about Ira wandering too far. In any case, he would bet that regardless of when, he would in fact come trotting right back regardless of his grasp on obedience. @Greenmntman
  6. I'll note that currently his blast knuckles don't work.
  7. Is this a more recent up to date version of this thread or is this the most recent one?
  8. I'm looking for potential candidates for my Bishop to squabble with, canon or not. Perhaps if canon is the option this can be incorporated somewhere in a way that is helpful towards one's IC goals. 🤔 Have a peak if you're curious. I don't really care to see anyone else's before hand. 😁
  9. Name: Alistair IstrefiMethod of Combat: N/ADate of Birth: -- (approx. 400 years ago)Place of Birth: Eurasia, Earth*Race/Ethnicity: Indo-EuropeanHeight: 6'2"Weight: 158lbsReach: 38"Body Type: Lean, athletic build. Runners physique.Other: ________________________Equipment+.] Weapon 1: +.] Armor: ______________________________Abilities +.] [Passive] - +.] [Active] -
  10. "Sounds like some sort of disgusting foreign vampire food that is fit for only the vermin of society." "I assure you it human food, other than quin the only one of us that has made use of this stuff is Martis." By now, the smell of the batter hitting the hot pan upon melted butter began to fill the kitchen and radiate down the halls. Opening a cabinet he pulled out a plate and a glass. Darting over to the fridge, shuffled around for a few thing, stacking some fruit into the glass and grabbing a bottle of orange juice in the process. Darting back to the counter he rolled the fruit onto the counter and stood the glass up. Returning to the pan Alistair moved to swift and precise that to the gaze of a human, he perhaps simply shook the pan. And yet, with practiced perfection of centuries, he'd flipped the perfectly cooked crepe, the first of several he'd make. Ira seemed to be a a healthy boy after all, a real meat and potatoes kind of guy like that would need more than two mere crepes to fill his stomach. "I'd love some, I'll try almost anything once." "I'm almost certain this will be one of few things you'd be willing to try more than once." He darted to the fridge once more, fetching whipped cream, then molasses from the pantry. Placing the contents with the rest of his arrangement on the counter, he placed the finished crepe aside and began on the second one. As it began to fry, Alistair artistically rolled the crepe with an assortment of berries. Considering this bizarre world, it was hard to come by the exact same fruits they had been accustomed to on a world apart from this one, though he could surmise the sweet from the bitter, the ripe and the not; The poisonous from the nutritious. "I get it, really. However, it is the Master's calling you answer, not mine. I can perhaps fancy you with some, as you humans like to say, bullshit work in the mean time if you really want something to do." "I'll bite. What's the bitch work?" 'I am most certainly hoping you will...' he thought with a grin, his back turned to Ira. Using his middle finger to poke a small pot open on the edge of his thumb, he poured the orange juice over the surface of the tiny incision. Just a few drops should have been more than enough to taint Ira, assuming he had truly stepped into the shoes of a Master Vampire. Was he older than he'd thought he'd accounted for? Or perhaps their was a larger underlying reason why he managed to be able to turn Quin prior to really becoming and Elder by the Choisel standard. Flipping the second crepe, he started the third. As it fried he rolled the second one with fruits all the same. A light drizzle of molasses skewed in revered zig zag fashion from one end to the other. Finally he flourished crown of the crepes with whipped cream, and places a bit of juicy cut up fruit on top. By now his finger would be healed with no evidence of it having bled in the first place. Refreshing his grin, Alistair turned around and in his hand he harbored the plate and the glass of juice. Placing them before Ira, he returned to flip the third crepe without over cooking it. "Once you've had your fill, I could in fact use your help with something. Not long ago, the city of Tia met it's untimely demise. The survivors of the terrorist plot were originally camping at the edge of the Glen. It's been some time since I've heard anything about them, perhaps you can swing by and see if they are still hanging around, and if they are, for how long. If not, then perhaps you can find a lead as to where they may have migrated to." An honest task, though one that Alistair knew he couldn't accomplish without in turn becoming one of them, or dying prematurely. That is, assuming his little experiment went as planned. Sure he might stir the rage of Quin, though she literally had an eternity to forgive him. Small loss like that of Ira's would become less than even an after thought in the grand scheme of immortality. Or at least, that was what he would tell her. @Greenmntman
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