Dark*Matter: Discovery
Entre'Acte 2
Meredith went to bed early, but couldn't sleep. Her slashed arm was hot. The rest of her was cold. Well, not cold exactly...but kind of shivery and goosebumpy. Feverish. Maybe some water...
The light in the hall outside seemed too bright at first, wringing a wince out of her. In the middle of the corridor were a couple of vending machines, a drinking fountain, and some restrooms. Meri paused, then went to the drink machine. It'd be nice to have a bottle of water she could take back with her.
Something was wrong though. It took her a second to realize it as she scanned the drink names on the bottles. Meri blinked, then looked again.
No way.
She'd left her glasses on the little table beside her bed. It hadn't seemed important, since at first she was just going to the fountain. But she realized she could -see-. The words stood out clearly. Not a trace of bluriring or smearing. For a moment, she laid her fingers on the glass, then hurried towards the elevator, leaving only smudges behind.
----
"There's nothing wrong with you."
It was late. The infirmary had a night shift doctor on duty, and he sounded a little tired.
"But my eyes," Meredith complained again, "It just happened out of the blue. I went to bed with everything fuzzy, and woke up with everything crystal clear."
"Hmph," the doctor mused. "Any other symptoms?"
"No...at least I don't think so."
He shuffled some papers in front of him. "Now...I see you just returned from a field assignment..."
"Yes..."
"...in which you were exposed to some magical forces. Including a slash from an enchanted sword, yes?"
Meredith nodded. "Well...yes." Then she perked up. "That could be another symptom! The arm that got hurt...it feels like it's burning." She paused then added, "And it's spread a little, down my side."
The doctor rubbed his forehead. "I'll check your arm...make sure there's no lasting curses or damage from the sword. But as for your eyes...I've been here for awhile now. It's not actually that unusual for an agent to experience certain...lasting effects, from long term exposure to...let's say 'otherworldly forces." He yawned. "Aside from the burning, there's no negative effects?"
"No," Meri admitted. It was freaky as hell, but she couldn't pretend to MISS those glasses.
"Right then. Now roll up your sleeve and we'll take a look at that wound of yours..."
---
(still more coming!)
Meredith went to bed early, but couldn't sleep. Her slashed arm was hot. The rest of her was cold. Well, not cold exactly...but kind of shivery and goosebumpy. Feverish. Maybe some water...
The light in the hall outside seemed too bright at first, wringing a wince out of her. In the middle of the corridor were a couple of vending machines, a drinking fountain, and some restrooms. Meri paused, then went to the drink machine. It'd be nice to have a bottle of water she could take back with her.
Something was wrong though. It took her a second to realize it as she scanned the drink names on the bottles. Meri blinked, then looked again.
No way.
She'd left her glasses on the little table beside her bed. It hadn't seemed important, since at first she was just going to the fountain. But she realized she could -see-. The words stood out clearly. Not a trace of bluriring or smearing. For a moment, she laid her fingers on the glass, then hurried towards the elevator, leaving only smudges behind.
----
"There's nothing wrong with you."
It was late. The infirmary had a night shift doctor on duty, and he sounded a little tired.
"But my eyes," Meredith complained again, "It just happened out of the blue. I went to bed with everything fuzzy, and woke up with everything crystal clear."
"Hmph," the doctor mused. "Any other symptoms?"
"No...at least I don't think so."
He shuffled some papers in front of him. "Now...I see you just returned from a field assignment..."
"Yes..."
"...in which you were exposed to some magical forces. Including a slash from an enchanted sword, yes?"
Meredith nodded. "Well...yes." Then she perked up. "That could be another symptom! The arm that got hurt...it feels like it's burning." She paused then added, "And it's spread a little, down my side."
The doctor rubbed his forehead. "I'll check your arm...make sure there's no lasting curses or damage from the sword. But as for your eyes...I've been here for awhile now. It's not actually that unusual for an agent to experience certain...lasting effects, from long term exposure to...let's say 'otherworldly forces." He yawned. "Aside from the burning, there's no negative effects?"
"No," Meri admitted. It was freaky as hell, but she couldn't pretend to MISS those glasses.
"Right then. Now roll up your sleeve and we'll take a look at that wound of yours..."
---
(still more coming!)
Last edited:
industrygothica
Adventurer
He stood on the balcony of his Boston loft, somewhere he hadn't been in years. The doors were caked with dust, neglected for years in lieu of his research--research that had led him to this, standing here with his hands on the cold iron railing with the wind blowing through his hair. A bird, a hawk by the looks of it, swooped in and out of the concrete valleys created by the surrounding buildings; Nick found himself captivated by its intricate dance.
He'd never believed in fate--always thought that man made his own destiny. But what was it, then, that drew him to that downtown Chicago library? He'd spent thousands of hours researching, looking for something that would lead him to Cliff Kenzington, but it was the events in that library, seemingly as random as they were bizarre, that had put him on track. The research had done nothing, had served no purpose other than to put him in that library at the right place and the right time. How could that be anything but destiny?
In his obsession to create his own truth Nick had overlooked the obvious one: Cliff had simply gone bad. He'd seen all the artifacts, studied them right next to Cliff, but Cliff had somehow discovered their truth. Nick wondered how long Cliff had been doing his own research, without him, and why he hadn't shared any of his discoveries. They were suppose to have been like brothers, at least that's what Nick thought. Cliff had watched Nick's daughter grow up beside him; they'd spent Christmases together and shared secrets, and now the only man Nick had ever truly trusted had betrayed him absolutely. He'd tried to convince himself that there was something else going on, something out of Cliff's control; he'd gotten into something, somewhere, and only needed help. But there was no denying it now, Nick knew.
Cliff had known about the Hoffman institute, had known about Nick's recruitment. He wasn't at all surprised when the group had stormed Dikaro's apartment, and he'd even known that they'd kill Xeria. Nick suddenly felt used, like an insignificant pawn in a larger game--one that he hadn't asked to play in. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather coat and pulled out a small leather-bound book. The cover was blank, as had been the pages until an hour ago. It had been a gift from his daughter Rebecca some years ago, and lay on the shelf all this time. He rubbed his thumb over the crisp leather binding, hardly believing it had come to this. Never in a million years, he thought to himself, and tucked the book back into its home inside his coat.
He turned and walked back into the loft letting the dirty glass door close behind him. He turned the lock and picked up a small bag in the middle of the floor. The ring of candles was still burning and Nick found himself lost in the flames for a moment. Be it fate, destiny, or some intricate leading-by-the-nose by Cliff Kenzington that lead him to that library, that put him on this path, Dr. Nicholas Wells would be nobodies pawn. He knew that he'd see Cliff again. He also knew then when they met, one of them would kill the other.
"It's time," he said in a hushed whisper; there was a finality in his tone. He raised his hand over the ring of candles and made a gentle sweeping motion and the tiny flames each flickered out. He wore a proud, if not disbelieving grin beneath his thick moustache. "Let's go, friend." Nick closed the door to his loft and didn't look back.
The hawk climbed higher and higher out of the concrete valley, leaving its playground behind. It headed west instinctively, to another concrete valley--to the rooftop of the Hoffman Institute.
[sblock]I have absolutely no time to stat out the familiar right now, and probably not for a few days, so unless a kind-hearted soul does it for me, it may be a bit. Hopefully you won't need it before then.[/sblock]
He'd never believed in fate--always thought that man made his own destiny. But what was it, then, that drew him to that downtown Chicago library? He'd spent thousands of hours researching, looking for something that would lead him to Cliff Kenzington, but it was the events in that library, seemingly as random as they were bizarre, that had put him on track. The research had done nothing, had served no purpose other than to put him in that library at the right place and the right time. How could that be anything but destiny?
In his obsession to create his own truth Nick had overlooked the obvious one: Cliff had simply gone bad. He'd seen all the artifacts, studied them right next to Cliff, but Cliff had somehow discovered their truth. Nick wondered how long Cliff had been doing his own research, without him, and why he hadn't shared any of his discoveries. They were suppose to have been like brothers, at least that's what Nick thought. Cliff had watched Nick's daughter grow up beside him; they'd spent Christmases together and shared secrets, and now the only man Nick had ever truly trusted had betrayed him absolutely. He'd tried to convince himself that there was something else going on, something out of Cliff's control; he'd gotten into something, somewhere, and only needed help. But there was no denying it now, Nick knew.
Cliff had known about the Hoffman institute, had known about Nick's recruitment. He wasn't at all surprised when the group had stormed Dikaro's apartment, and he'd even known that they'd kill Xeria. Nick suddenly felt used, like an insignificant pawn in a larger game--one that he hadn't asked to play in. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather coat and pulled out a small leather-bound book. The cover was blank, as had been the pages until an hour ago. It had been a gift from his daughter Rebecca some years ago, and lay on the shelf all this time. He rubbed his thumb over the crisp leather binding, hardly believing it had come to this. Never in a million years, he thought to himself, and tucked the book back into its home inside his coat.
He turned and walked back into the loft letting the dirty glass door close behind him. He turned the lock and picked up a small bag in the middle of the floor. The ring of candles was still burning and Nick found himself lost in the flames for a moment. Be it fate, destiny, or some intricate leading-by-the-nose by Cliff Kenzington that lead him to that library, that put him on this path, Dr. Nicholas Wells would be nobodies pawn. He knew that he'd see Cliff again. He also knew then when they met, one of them would kill the other.
"It's time," he said in a hushed whisper; there was a finality in his tone. He raised his hand over the ring of candles and made a gentle sweeping motion and the tiny flames each flickered out. He wore a proud, if not disbelieving grin beneath his thick moustache. "Let's go, friend." Nick closed the door to his loft and didn't look back.
#
The hawk climbed higher and higher out of the concrete valley, leaving its playground behind. It headed west instinctively, to another concrete valley--to the rooftop of the Hoffman Institute.
[sblock]I have absolutely no time to stat out the familiar right now, and probably not for a few days, so unless a kind-hearted soul does it for me, it may be a bit. Hopefully you won't need it before then.[/sblock]
Friadoc
Explorer
OOC
Falkus, during the month long downtime, how many more modified PDA's could Cade make for the team?
Also, I'd like for Cade to be able to create a secure RFID tag that each member of the team could have on them. They wouldn't be sub-dermal, mind you, but worn on a necklace, in a watch, or some other secure fashion.
Basic ID, during sweeps, searches, and what not, that the friendlies would show up on the display.
Falkus, during the month long downtime, how many more modified PDA's could Cade make for the team?
Also, I'd like for Cade to be able to create a secure RFID tag that each member of the team could have on them. They wouldn't be sub-dermal, mind you, but worn on a necklace, in a watch, or some other secure fashion.
Basic ID, during sweeps, searches, and what not, that the friendlies would show up on the display.
Friadoc
Explorer
OOC
Hawk
*grins* My Google Fu Rocks.
Hawk
*grins* My Google Fu Rocks.
Code:
Hawk
Tiny Animal
Hit Dice: 1d8, hp 4
Massive Damage Threshold: 10
Initiative: +3
Speed: 10 ft., fly 60 ft. (average)
Defense: 17, touch 15, flat-footed 14 (+2 size, +3 Dex, +2 natural)
Base Attack/Grapple: +0/-10
Attack: +5 melee (1d4-2, claw)
Full Attack: +5 melee (1d4-2, claw)
Fighting Space/Reach: 2 1/2 ft. by 2 1/2 ft./0 ft.
Saves: Fort +2, Ref +5, Will +2
Action Points: 0
Reputation: +0
Allegiances: none or owner
Abilities: Str 6, Dex 17, Con 10, Int 2, Wis 14, Cha 6
Skills: Listen +6, Spot +6 (+14 in daylight)
Feats: Weapon Finesse (claw)
Possessions: None
Challenge Rating: 1
Advancement: None
Hawks have the following traits:
Skill Bonus: Hawks gain a +8 species bonus on Spot checks in daylight.
Bonus Feat: Hawks gain the bonus feat Weapon Finesse (claw).Diego felt strange, but not in a bad way. Part of it was the fact that he'd helped save the city, but he wondered if he should be more wary of getting to like - risking addiction to - the adrenaline high of a successful battle. Even at the peak of his old gang involvement, he'd never felt nearly as bad-ass as he did these days. And his gun was a lot bigger.
"I'll be out late, momma. Don't worry." She always worried.
It wasn't just the action, though. He was sure he could feel some kind of psychic power within himself, now that he knew such things existed. The running, yes, and he felt there would be more.
At the bar, he flirted with a woman who said she was a bank teller. But then she spotted a woman she knew, and called out a greeting. The two began to chat, apparently old friends. He could tell this wasn't going anywhere.
The strip club tonight, then. He risked his life now on a regular basis; it wouldn't do to die before he'd had much fun in his life.
"Diego! You remember me, don't you?"
"Of course, Crystal! I always want to see more of you. Like this part for instance ..."
Hours later, he went home with her. She was a good girl, just needed money, and she was pretty. Why not?
Bed was great. He was teasing her a little, and maybe she didn't know how sharp her nails were but it hurt when she dug into him. Then suddenly it didn't.
"What the f u c k! ... Baby, I have to go. I'll call you."
By morning he figured it out. It seemed like he could toughen his skin a bit. Damn this wierd s h i t is ... wierd s h i t.
"I'll be out late, momma. Don't worry." She always worried.
It wasn't just the action, though. He was sure he could feel some kind of psychic power within himself, now that he knew such things existed. The running, yes, and he felt there would be more.
At the bar, he flirted with a woman who said she was a bank teller. But then she spotted a woman she knew, and called out a greeting. The two began to chat, apparently old friends. He could tell this wasn't going anywhere.
The strip club tonight, then. He risked his life now on a regular basis; it wouldn't do to die before he'd had much fun in his life.
"Diego! You remember me, don't you?"
"Of course, Crystal! I always want to see more of you. Like this part for instance ..."
Hours later, he went home with her. She was a good girl, just needed money, and she was pretty. Why not?
Bed was great. He was teasing her a little, and maybe she didn't know how sharp her nails were but it hurt when she dug into him. Then suddenly it didn't.
"What the f u c k! ... Baby, I have to go. I'll call you."
By morning he figured it out. It seemed like he could toughen his skin a bit. Damn this wierd s h i t is ... wierd s h i t.
Friadoc
Explorer
*Bzzzt*
Electricity crackles, disrupting the tranquility of the lab, dimly lit by direction lighting that contrasts light and dark and draws focus upon project ladened benches.
Controlled chaos, with tools, parts, and implements used for invention strewn about, would be the best way to describe the lab's nature. An odd insight into the resident of this space, with every piece in it's place, but some places being spread out. An ordered mind, yet creative.
Flashes of blue-white light sporadically illuminate the back corner of the lab, silhouetting a man's form consumed by the welding before him. Slowly, between blasts of light, an annular shape takes form on the work surface before the man.
Between the flashes various details of the projects within the lab can be seen; upon one counter are several custom PDAs with a small RFID next to them, while another counter holds new comm-units that are simple buds that can be hidden within the user's ear, and lastly shown is a still unfinished disc-shaped work.
Dark goggles protect his eyes, while a black, rubber apron worn over his coveralls insulates his chest, torso, and waist from any potential dangers within the lab.
A CAD image on the benches monitor shows the future of the cacophony of pieces, which once assembled will comprise a hovering drone used for surveillance and reconnaissance. Tabs within the CAD interface are listed with Mark I (R), Mark II (T), Mark III (D) and Mark IV (A).
Slowly the crackling ceases and the room grows dimmer and quiet, which is suddenly disrupted for a brief moment by the clang of the newly wrought disc landing next to the other.
But, slowly, something else is heard emanating from the man, more precisely his ears; Jack Johnson's Brushfire Fairytales can be heard from the iPod earbuds, Cade sings along under his breath to "It's All Understood".
"Everyone knows what went down
Because the news was spread all over town
And fact is only what you believe
And fact and fiction work as a team
It's almost always fiction in the end
That content begins to bend
When context is never the same"
With a wry smirk Cade pushes the goggles up onto his forehead, completing the image of the Mad Scientist without a thought, all while chuckling at the odd irony of the lyrics.
"Yeap," says Cade as he sets down before the PDA bench. "It's definately all understood."
Electricity crackles, disrupting the tranquility of the lab, dimly lit by direction lighting that contrasts light and dark and draws focus upon project ladened benches.
Controlled chaos, with tools, parts, and implements used for invention strewn about, would be the best way to describe the lab's nature. An odd insight into the resident of this space, with every piece in it's place, but some places being spread out. An ordered mind, yet creative.
Flashes of blue-white light sporadically illuminate the back corner of the lab, silhouetting a man's form consumed by the welding before him. Slowly, between blasts of light, an annular shape takes form on the work surface before the man.
Between the flashes various details of the projects within the lab can be seen; upon one counter are several custom PDAs with a small RFID next to them, while another counter holds new comm-units that are simple buds that can be hidden within the user's ear, and lastly shown is a still unfinished disc-shaped work.
Dark goggles protect his eyes, while a black, rubber apron worn over his coveralls insulates his chest, torso, and waist from any potential dangers within the lab.
A CAD image on the benches monitor shows the future of the cacophony of pieces, which once assembled will comprise a hovering drone used for surveillance and reconnaissance. Tabs within the CAD interface are listed with Mark I (R), Mark II (T), Mark III (D) and Mark IV (A).
Slowly the crackling ceases and the room grows dimmer and quiet, which is suddenly disrupted for a brief moment by the clang of the newly wrought disc landing next to the other.
But, slowly, something else is heard emanating from the man, more precisely his ears; Jack Johnson's Brushfire Fairytales can be heard from the iPod earbuds, Cade sings along under his breath to "It's All Understood".
"Everyone knows what went down
Because the news was spread all over town
And fact is only what you believe
And fact and fiction work as a team
It's almost always fiction in the end
That content begins to bend
When context is never the same"
With a wry smirk Cade pushes the goggles up onto his forehead, completing the image of the Mad Scientist without a thought, all while chuckling at the odd irony of the lyrics.
"Yeap," says Cade as he sets down before the PDA bench. "It's definately all understood."
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