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Praetorian

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Praetorian last won the day on May 31

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About Praetorian

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    Hero of Daydreams

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    Male
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    Nouns.
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    Everyone's favorite something.

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    Praetorian #5153

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  1. "My arm?" The question rolls across his lips, as if he hadn't considered an answer yet. "I fell?" The words are spoken before he can fully appreciate the depth of her statement. However, he catches himself and smiles. "Joking about that." The reply is quick and effortless, but also an effort to afford him a few seconds longer to think. "Anyway, it's a minor injury, nothing to fret over. Should be good as knew in a few days." He settles on avoidance and deflection, rather than a flat out lie. "Some minor open wounds. Need to keep it immobile so that I don't reopen them." He nods in agreement with himself, if only because there is some truth to the statement. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Asher is saved by the sudden appearance of a deckhand announcing the arrival of an unsolicited visitor. For a moment the knight takes comfort in Garcia's line of questioning, appreciating the fact that she has enough common sense to do some basic information gathering before consenting to a meeting. The comfort is short lived and as Lucinda departs the room he buries his face in his open palm, tears running down his face as he half cries and laughs into the open hand. "Are you kidding me right now?" The laughter becomes borderline manic, crescendoing as he throws his head back. "She's going to get us all killed." As the statement is made, his thumb runs across his cheek, just below his eyes, flicking the stream of tears away. "Oh man, fuck basic security practices, am I right?" He briefly turns to look at Garcia and then turns toward the chamber door. "I have no idea how you deal with this. Anyway, we should probably follow after. Might need those angel lady powers again." Holding the door open for Garcia to chase after Lucinda, Asher stands off to the side, not particularly looking forward to getting into another engagement so soon. @Lucinda Valentine
  2. Praetorian

    Need Help!

    Help with character idea? A country bumpkin garden gnome named Percy; he ended up fumble fucking his way through an intergallatic adventure that resulted in him crash landing in Valucre. In a few days he want from knowing only his his garden to having seen the vast emptiness of space and even exploring a few plants. He isn't particularly strong or smart, but he's lucky as hell, and his can do attitude keeps him giving. Kidding, maybe.
  3. There is some instinctual part of Asher that wants to sink his teeth into Garcia’s arm, bite through the bone, and sever the hand that grasps his collar from the rest of the limb. In part to make a point but also, because at this point, Garcia’s arm smells delicious. Fortunately, if there is anything he has in abundance it is self-control, and so he only smiles, a pinched lipped toothless smile. “I see neither of you can take a joke.” His right hand rises up and gingerly grasps at Garcia’s wrist, pulling her hand every so gentle from his collar. “I can assure you, your relationship with one another a piece of trivia that I have little concern or need for. It’s none of my business.” All at once, Garcia’s hand falls through Asher’s. Not as in he releases his grip on her, but rather his flesh physically passes through his. What once stood before Garcia, a solid man of muscle, bone, and flesh, is now a translucent specter that seems out of phase with the world, shimmering as reality tries to make sense of his current state. With a step, Asher passes through the woman, as if one of them were a hologram, or an illusion. Now back to back with her, his body resumes its normal solid opacity. “I don’t much care for being touched, and you’re assuming a level of familiarity and comfort with me that is not reciprocated.” He takes a few steps away before turning to face Garcia again. “You don’t see me running around grabbing you like property, or striking you out of anger.” He pauses for a second and offers up a smile once again. “And I can assure you, I am not your property to be touched, grabbed, or assaulted as you please.” With both his physical and emotional composure once more reinstated, the knight pivots toward the duchess, who admittedly has been ignoring. Perhaps he is being rude and unprofessional, it’s hard to say in the moment. “Anyway, Lady Valentine. I thought the fact you had a female significant other was common knowledge? I can’t remember where I heard it from, but that’s certainly the rumor being passed around.” He pauses for a moment and then shrugs. “I suppose it isn’t a very well-kept secret then. Not entirely sure why it would be a secret. Regardless, a word of advice. Just because someone levels an accusation, doesn’t mean they actually know anything. Sometimes people fish for information with baseless accusations, just to see what sticks. Also, freaking out at the notion of impropriety certainly further solidifies the notion that something improper has taken place. There may be a valuable lesson here that you can apply in your political career.” He takes a few steps, negotiating further from Garcia, who seems incapable of controlling herself when presented with the slightest provocation. “Anyway, all things considered, I’m rather fearful for my life. It seems Miss Garcia aims to maul me. If you don’t mind, I’d much like to flee before I lose another arm.” @Lucinda Valentine
  4. Asher stands frozen for a moment, appreciating the situation for what it is. Clearly, he’s interrupted something, something that perhaps he shouldn’t be privileged to. “I can come back.” He offers up, his voice increasing an octave as something of an impish grin moves sheepishly across his face. “Although,” He pauses, his right hand tapping against the side of his chin as he feigns consideration. “I don’t think I realized just how… intimate… your relationship is with our fair duchess, Garcia. That does explain a good bit.” He pauses and starts to turn as if to walk away, only to pause again. “Does Lady Valentine’s girlfriend approve of this?” Mock exasperation, offense, and shock briefly appear within his visage, in quick succession, before his features tighten up and settle back into a more mundane arrangement. “Truly, it’s none of my business.” He finally remarks with a dismissive shrug. Kings with concubines, queens with harems, he’s seen it all. There is no reason why he should be surprised that the duchess might have a few side pieces, to include her… nanny – maid – bodyguard – nanguardaid? Whatever the hell Garcia is. At the invite, Asher slips past Garcia and into the room, his right hand raising as he shakes his head to decline the water. “No, no thank you. I’ve had more than enough water for today, and perhaps tomorrow too.” His hand falls to his side, and he momentarily finds himself perplexed with it. With his other arm in the sling he’s unable to grasp them together behind his back, meaning he’d need to find a new general posture to assume. Maybe he’d stand in the mirror later and try some poses until he finds one that he likes. “Anyway, I just came to check in, or rather to see what the damage was. Although, you look brand new, so it seems my concerns were misplaced.” His head cants ever so slightly to the side, his nostrils flair, and his pupils dilate. He isn’t entirely sure how he missed it before, but the ever-distinct smell of blood calls out to him. His gaze shifts as he inhales deeply, his senses sort through perfumes and other overpowering scents, eventually homing in on the ferrous odor. For a second, he steals a glimpse of Garcia’s towel covered arm, however quickly averts his eyes, training them back on the duchess. “Perhaps it isn’t my fault, but plenty more could have been done to resolve the situation faster. I can assure both of you, the same mistakes will not be made twice.” He pauses and swallows, clearly his mouth of the building liquid. He hadn’t realized that he’s started to salivate, up until this moment. Although he’s been contending with a persistent nagging hunger for some time now, it’s never been this bad. His eyes momentarily divert to the sling as he puts two and two together. Well, this is problematic. The thought is subvocalized, his lips miming the words even though he doesn’t speak them. “Regardless, I’m happy you are okay. Even if it a fluke or a matter of luck, rather than because of our ineffective efforts.” He looks from Lucinda and then to Garcia, his gaze hovering over her for a few seconds. “I suppose we have much to discuss, to include retaliation and future tactics, but I also suppose that can wait.” He musters an insincere smile, half hearted at best. “I’ll let you two get back to your… obligations. By your leave, Lady Valentine?” @Lucinda Valentine
  5. Having doffed his armor for something more casual and comfortable, Asher makes is way through the passageways of the Georgina until he finally arrives in the medical bay. His right hand rises and taps against the hatchway before dropping to the quick acting handle, undogging it with a single spin, before stepping over the knife edge. Securing the opening behind him, he approaches the onboard staff, motion for one of the nurses to come over. Although he’d surveyed his arm, while changing into a loose fitting white shirt and leather trousers, he still doesn’t have a full appreciation for the damage. Admittedly, the fact that he still can’t move it has him mildly concerned. “Uh, yes, how can I help you?” “I think I hurt… broke… burnt… Uh fucked my arm.” He replies as he situates himself on the edge of a bed and begins to unbutton the blouse. With minimal struggle he partially disrobes, and if it weren’t for the oozing and charred flesh, with exposed muscles, bones, and tendons, being in full view, the sea of scars that decorate his back and chest might have drawn attention. “OH MY GOD!” The nurse’s immediate revulsion and panic prompt Asher to raise his right hand and press his index against partially pursed lips. “Shhhhhhh.” Inhaling deeply, the nurse regains her composure. “You’ll need surgery, skin grafts, physical therapy. I’m not even sure we can save your arm.” Crimson locks of hair sway from side to side as Asher shakes his head in disagreement. “No. I need you to wash it out and bandage it, and provide me with a proper sling, and perhaps a splint. Maybe even a cast?” As he makes a series of suggestions his eyes lock with hers. His gaze melts, going from a frigid blue to something warm and tropical. It draws her in, causing a surge of confidence, assurance, and compliance to wash away doubts and trepidation. Her mouth, parted and ready to voice objection, slips shut and she nods her head in agreement. Compulsion drives the evolution without incident, and within a few minutes Asher’s arm is washed down with sterile saline, dried, coated in ointment, and then thoroughly bandaged from mid-bicep down to his fingers. With a little assistance from his attendee, he is able to get his arm through the shirt sleeve, rebutton the shirt, and then rested in a proper sling. “Thanks.” The comment is made as he stands up, the hues of his eyes slowly freezing into something deeply chilled. “One last favor, forget I was here, please?” The nurse’s expression momentarily goes blank. She blinks a few times before suddenly looking at Asher. “Oh, uh… what… hmm.. oh wait… no.” She murmurs to herself for several seconds as she struggles to remember what she was doing. “Excuse me, ma’am, I asked if you’d seen Lady Valentine.” Asher’s voice snaps her to the present. “Oh, no I haven’t. Sorry about that, my brain is so flighty right now.” “No worries, thank you anyway.” Departing the medical bay and navigating through Georgina, Asher prepares himself for the bullshit that’s to come. He steadies his breathing, fortifies his mind, and dissipates his residual anger and frustration with a single deep inhale and then exhale. Stopping at the entrance to Lucinda’s quarters, he taps against the door with the back of his hand, pauses for a second and then announces his presence. “Good Afternoon Lady Valentine, it is Asher, I respectfully request permission to enter.” Although his request is directed toward Lucinda, he has no doubts that it will be Garcia and her ire that greets him. Something that he has already steeled himself for. @Lucinda Valentine
  6. The South: "Good Morning Mr. Cody, it is good to see you today."

    Me: "But that isn't my last name."

    Literally everyone: "Anyway Corey this is what we have for today."

    Me to myself: "Who even am I; what is me?"

    My crisis of identity is becoming very real.

  7. “Understand?” Asher motions to the numerous guns aboard the warship trained on them, and then motions to Garcia. “What I understand is that you are unnecessarily keep the duchess in the danger zone. Do you think maybe you can set aside your prim and proper sensibilities and I don’t know, do something to keep her from dying?” Garcia finally vacates the area, taking to the sky and abandoning the knight with the warship. “Gaia, fuck me sideways.” He huffs in exasperation as he brings his attention back to the vessel. For the briefest of conceivable moments he considers taking out his frustration on the vessel and its occupants. However, mental and physical exhaustion compound with the growing sensation of pain, forcing him to reconsider. Canting his head just enough to look at his left arm, he concludes that he is in no condition for multiple engagements. Turning from the vessel he raises his right hand, middle finger raised, as he treks away from the docks and begins to negotiate his way through the city to find some secluded alleyway to go die in. A few turns later he finds himself in the perfect garbage ridden location, damp, pungent, and dark, shadowed from the sun by tall buildings, and otherwise untraveled by the common folk. Propping his back against the wall, he slides to the ground, his right arm furiously working to unclasp the armor on his left arm. As the chunks of metal fall to the ground, hints of smoke whiff up from singed cloth, hair, and flesh. It’s the first opportunity that he has had to survey the full damage and his expectations are thoroughly met. Charred flesh and exposed burnt muscle tell volumes of the agony that awaits him as soon as the numbness ends, if the numbness ends. The absence of feeling suggests that the nerves are damaged, which is supported by the fact that he’s still incapable of engage the muscles or compelling the limb into motion. “Fuck everything.” The words are muttered as he leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes. “This day sucks.” A nap, and some hours later, Asher eventually shows back up at the gangway to the Georgina, his left arm carried in an ad hoc sling. Not bothering to check in, after boarding, he makes his way to his room, hoping to avoid Garcia so that he can finish recomposing himself before having to deal with her misplaced juvenile beliefs. Contrary to what Garcia, or even Lucinda, might think, as far as he is concerned neither of them are his employer. For the time being, as far as he can tell, he works for Addison who has loaned him out duchess. Whatever thoughts of authority Garcia thinks she can exercise, or respect she is entitled to or can command, is probably misplaced. And although he’s largely resigned himself to submitting to their general requests and eccentricities, the keeper of the duchess was going to be unpleasantly shocked if she thought Asher was going to be subservient to her.
  8. Lucinda falls and within those first few moments, Asher feels the muscles in his body swell as he prepares to try to intercept her, not having fully processed the situation. However, before he can move, Garcia appears beside Lucinda, catching her… prompting two thoughts. The first, Wow, she’s fast. Followed almost immediately by, Why the fuck didn’t she do that earlier? The muscular tension has dissolved by the time they hit the ground, and as the plumage settles, he treks toward the pair. It isn’t until Garcia’s outburst that Asher ceases, if only for a moment. “Really, angel lady? What the fuck is wrong with your priorities? Yes, I get it, royal boobs. But you know what? Breasts are breast are breasts, and honestly it’s been one hell of a day and I am out of shits to give.” The arming sword is sheathed, his now free hand running up along his scalp to brush the flowing red locks from his face. “So either you can get up and fly her back to the ship with your goddess powers. Or, I’m going to throw her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and haul her through town back to the ship. But this?” His hand drops as he motions to them. “This shit needs to end. It’s better to get her out of here, wardrobe malfunction, nip slips, and all, than to cuddle her in front of a warship with guns trained on us. So, move your fucking asses.” Did he have no respect? At the moment, the answer is heavily leaning toward yes. @Lucinda Valentine
  9. 👁️🌊U

    U R 😭

     

    1. Show previous comments  7 more
    2. vielle

      vielle

      Careful, now; tread lightly. 😂 Hope you're all doing well, and know that you've all been missed. I'll see you guys around sometime soon — perhaps. 😊

    3. L E V I A T H A N

      L E V I A T H A N

      AAAAAAAAAAAAA SHE SPEAKS 

    4. SweetCyanide
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