Mercury St. Nuage: Dealer, Disc Jockey, Naturalist, Pugilisit. You can call me Merc. You'd better, actually. || 30 || She/Her || ((OC RP blog by Mick, active rp sideblogs in pinned))
Pinned Postess for the hostess with the mostess, ay
Mercury St. Nuage, Merc if you know what's good fer you, ay. I'm the fine owner a' "Merc's Wercs," the finest an' mos' honest general goods store in the roughest an' mos' dishonest part a' the hottest desert on Wayouddy. The goods generally bein' arms, gear, an' chems. Oh! An' information.
See, I'm somethin' a' travelin' naturalist. If the store ain't open when you show up (one, die somewhere where you ain't gonna attract no critters to my door, an' two,) I'm out in' the field, writin' on Wayouddy's boundless beauty fer my atlas. You can get free digital copies from the store, actually. There's one a' them fancy QR codes on the door.
Anyway, I get around Wayouddy's supple contours faster'n mos' folks can, an' the planet thrives on' us all cooperatin', bes' we can. So if I can be a help, you lemme know, ay.
((It's Merc! I'm Mick, and this is Merc, local ranger and protector of a dangerous and hostile planet I've been writing about for like six years off and on. Here's a sideblog roll-call:
@mercswercs You are Here. All likes and follows will come through this url.
@saintworks Hermes St. Germain is an ancient old planet-builder, architect of Wayouddy and progenitor of the long-disgraced St. Germain clan. She's bound to her machines, for the wellbeing of millions, forced to merely watch her magnum opus from orbit.
@leastworstwizard Bellamy is a very strange sort of wizard with a strange life, specializing in a handful of odd talents and reasonably unpredictable with her problem solving skills.
@partitioner Melete has a very rare psionic power, blurring the line between code and thought, and allowing her to split her consciousness as far as she can manage it. Bellamy's girlfriend.
@nidavel Heida is another one of Bellamy's friends and traveling companions, a master artificer who was trained by like, actual fantasy dwarves. She also punches with enough force to puncture a car door with her bare hand, despite being 4'5".
@overbossy Minerva runs a wizard college in the northeastern part of Wayouddy, doing research and study and using magic holograms to duck out of her responsibilities, much prefering field work to paper work.
Whole cult went ta' ground when I started diggin'.
Gotta lettem get lazy again. I called in some rangers. Locals what can route out these weirdoes 'fore they carve another longpig up like it's Sunpost Day Hurken.
Lil' floorspice on yer pizza slices might toughen some a' you earth-folk up.
Buncha yous run the gamut from "oh ow that papercut's put me under an' I got a cold from touchin' a telephone," to "Yeah I just tuck-an-rolled outta that car, an' yeah I'm hungover, the feck you want."
I like the disparity but it ain' like the tough earthlin's wind up here.
Lil' floorspice on yer pizza slices might toughen some a' you earth-folk up.
Buncha yous run the gamut from "oh ow that papercut's put me under an' I got a cold from touchin' a telephone," to "Yeah I just tuck-an-rolled outta that car, an' yeah I'm hungover, the feck you want."
I like the disparity but it ain' like the tough earthlin's wind up here.
An' it ain't a homegrown. Leastaways I don' think it is. But I ain' caught one a' these butchers alive yet. IF they're from this system, whatever drogshite accent they've picked up durin' their life'll out them as local.
None a' their casual carry suggests local, though. I ain' recognized half a' the shite on their persons, an' what bits I did were from clear across the galaxy. An' thankfully not from the side where grampy's hidin'.
Someone's carvin' fightin' age men up out on the Northern Flats.
Carvin' 'em up very deliberately, but I ain't seen no group on Wayouddy that uses this method yet.
The las' body I looked at wasn' a victim, though. I'm no sure anyone short a' some sorta god is gonna get the jump on ol' farmer sloan, an' the twitchy fecker unloaded an' entire drum a' big-game shells inta' one a' the murderer's chests.
This cultist feller's carved up similar ta' the victims, but the wounds're... covered. There's... it's like a thin, scarred skin, an' rather than bein' knit back ta'gether, the wounds're filled wit' some sorta glowin' green shite. This green shite seems ta' work like blood, 'cause these men're full a' the shite. His lungs're wilted like lettuce, gills're growin' on his neck an' ribs, an' when ya expose this not-blood ta' air, it turns dull purple.
No worries, I didn' wanna see it either, but that's the nature a' the job.
Havin' a laugh about the macabre's also the nature a' the job. Feckin' planet, love her as I do, makes ya feel crazy in the face a' wanton violence. One a' my uh. I dunno what she is ta' me. Coworker? One a' my coworkers here looked at this one angle a' the photo an' jus' said ta' me: "House insulation," an' I 'bout lost my drink out my nose.
i'm.. sorry clawed mew remewnd me what it is that mew do? clawse i f33l like.. it might meowke a little more sense with clawntext? it doesn't help that i've nefur s33n house insulation.
They put this stuff in houses ta' keep the cold from gettin' in. Merrick took one look a mauled man an' immediately thought a' this, called it house "meat" before she remembered the word "insulation."
No worries, I didn' wanna see it either, but that's the nature a' the job.
Havin' a laugh about the macabre's also the nature a' the job. Feckin' planet, love her as I do, makes ya feel crazy in the face a' wanton violence. One a' my uh. I dunno what she is ta' me. Coworker? One a' my coworkers here looked at this one angle a' the photo an' jus' said ta' me: "House insulation," an' I 'bout lost my drink out my nose.
