SUBTLE AS ALWAYS. @rp-agent-maine - Tumblr Blog

Open rp

He sat in a corner of the rec room, staring into space. He had gotten really good at that lately. The room was otherwise deserted - a local screen murmured some 24-7 news feed, but he had tuned it out. Tuned out a lot of stuff, actually. It wasn’t in the regs, and he was already anticipating a demerit or punishment of some sort, but it was Christmas - and for him, that meant plenty of drinking. He eyed the half-full bottle of bourbon on the table before him, and sighed noisily. He might as well make the best of it. He poured himself another few inches into a plastic cup, and hocked it back. Replacing the cup for the thirteenth time, he folded his arms, trying to ward off the sterile, dusty cold of the room. He tilted his head back, wondering when the drink would kick in.

#christmas drinks #for one

rp-agent-maine

The next turkey I see is getting stuffed with a live frag grenade and being shipped COD to the nearest Innie base.

cleverhermes

Is that a threat or a promise?

rp-agent-maine

It’s the holiday season, so let’s call it a promise. Sounds nicer.

cleverhermes

Awh how sweet, I cant wait. How about I box up a bomb ready to blow in some pretty wrapping paper and send it to you in return.

rp-agent-maine

Sounds fair. Have a merry fucking Christmas, Innie.

rp-agent-maine

The next turkey I see is getting stuffed with a live frag grenade and being shipped COD to the nearest Innie base.

cleverhermes

Is that a threat or a promise?

rp-agent-maine

It’s the holiday season, so let’s call it a promise. Sounds nicer.

The next turkey I see is getting stuffed with a live frag grenade and being shipped COD to the nearest Innie base.

rp-agent-maine

“Wonderful.” He barrelled straight towards her, forgoing caution in favour of keeping the momentum going. He didn’t want to give her too much time to think - and despite how much he disdained trying to civilise combat, he admitted that there was a dialogue to be found in sparring. A mutual exchange between two people. So far, West hadn’t disappointed him.

He formed his fists into stiff shovels, and lashed out at her face and neck, hoping to score some good hits that would hopefully hurt enough for her to let her guard down a little.

freelancerwestvirginia

West quickly found herself on the defensive again, focused on avoiding Maine’s fists, mostly by backing up and sidestepping. He made his intentions fairly obvious, making it easy enough for her to get out of the way of the majority of his blows, though she still took a couple glancing hits that might well leave a bruise or two on her face.

Soon enough though she was trying to get on the offensive, using her speed and her smaller height to move around to Maine’s side and try to hit him there with a kick followed by a few jabs.

rp-agent-maine

Maine’s lips parted into a savage grin as he felt his hands hammer into West’s face, knowing them to be nasty blows. Hopefully they would prove harsh enough that he could gain the upper hand- West suddenly wasn’t in front of him anymore, weathering his relentless attacks. She was at his offside, trying to needle him and force him to cease the offensive. With a grunt of irritation, he shifted that way, keeping his arms up. He fended off the worst of it, but a kick made its way past his defence, sending a nasty sting into his upper ribs. He gasped, but jumped backwards, trying to get some room to manoeuvre.

rp-agent-maine

Maine bared his teeth in a feral grin as he felt the elbow impact into West’s side, and heard the hiss of breath that accompanied it. Obviously that one had landed - not a knockout blow, but not bad, considering she had put him on his ass in the opening seconds. He raised his own leg to halt the momentum of her kick, but was too slow to stop the fist slamming into his side. Winded, he grimaced, but pressed on. He planted a kick into her ribs, then dived backwards, tucking into a roll.

Now that he had some space, he took a second to suck in a breath, and let loose a chuckle. “That’s a good way to get the blood pumping.” He wiped his brow and started stepping forward. “You ready to go again?”

freelancerwestvirginia

West focused on rolling with her momentum, turning with her punch, one that she was glad to see, and hear, hit soundly. She made it just far enough to avoid taking the full force of the kick he hurled at her, though she still took enough of it to the side to turn and stagger just slightly as she recovered, turning to face her opponent again.

She took the pause in action to take a breather too, though she sent a smirk back at him as she stepped back into her stance. “Always.”

rp-agent-maine

“Wonderful.” He barrelled straight towards her, forgoing caution in favour of keeping the momentum going. He didn’t want to give her too much time to think - and despite how much he disdained trying to civilise combat, he admitted that there was a dialogue to be found in sparring. A mutual exchange between two people. So far, West hadn’t disappointed him. He formed his fists into stiff shovels, and lashed out at her face and neck, hoping to score some good hits that would hopefully hurt enough for her to let her guard down a little.

#((sorry this is so late!))#((i am a shit one))#((and yes i love the maine/west dynamic too!))

No alcohol at a halloween party is like going to a mortician for a hug... Fine, whatever. I’ll be there. No costume though.

Jason Calithrope, or Blacker Cal as the old nickname goes, has been working in the mines before most folks were born. His epithet is pretty plain to see - once he straggles out from that shaft, the only light you can see is the one in his eyes and glinting off his teeth. Plenty of stories about him - that he was an outlaw to rival the likes of Billy the Kid and Wild Bill Hickok, that he was a lawman for twenty years, that he was one of the first to cross the Appalachians and made pacts with the natives there. But if he knows, he sure as hell ain’t telling. There’s rocks down in those mines softer than Blacker Cal, and he’s not one to abstain from violence should the situation require it.

#Western MOI

freelancerwestvirginia

rp-agent-maine:

Maine’s breath exploded out of his chest as a fist slammed into his cheek as he sailed right past West, feeling a foot hook around his legs and send him to the floor. Stars danced in his vision, and he barely stifled a groan as he tucked, rolled and got back up on his feet. Damn, but that had hurt. His condition let him shrug off broken bones and internal injuries, but things like a punch to the face still hurt, no matter what. He shook his head, refocused.

He stalked forward, taking long, loping strides to close the distance. When he got within five metres, he started circling, keeping his movements tight. He feinted a clumsy haymaker at her face, something a rookie could have blocked, then spun, turning his body inward and then used the momentum to swing an elbow with his left arm.

West was actually a little surprised that she managed not only to directly land her punch but also that she tripped Maine up. She was beginning to get the feeling that he relied on more on upper body moves, considering that was all he’d thrown at her so far. Unless that was the point, something she knew could very well be a possibility.

She turned to face her opponent again, watching him as they circled each other. When he came forward with that clumsy punch, she threw up an elbow, though it had her suspicions up. They were of course confirmed when he swung his elbow at her, which had her stepping back to avoid the worst of it but still taking some of the blow. She made to send a kick towards his, but dropped her leg at the last second, instead aimed a fist at his side.

rp-agent-maine

Maine bared his teeth in a feral grin as he felt the elbow impact into West’s side, and heard the hiss of breath that accompanied it. Obviously that one had landed - not a knockout blow, but not bad, considering she had put him on his ass in the opening seconds. He raised his own leg to halt the momentum of her kick, but was too slow to stop the fist slamming into his side. Winded, he grimaced, but pressed on. He planted a kick into her ribs, then dived backwards, tucking into a roll. Now that he had some space, he took a second to suck in a breath, and let loose a chuckle. “That’s a good way to get the blood pumping.” He wiped his brow and started stepping forward. “You ready to go again?”

(( hey guys really sorry for my lengthy absence, I’ve been tied up with rehearsals, study and my fringe festival show plus also going through some family stuff, but I’ll see if I can get on in the next few days :) not dead yet! hope y’all are well ))

#ooc

Third place. Maine wouldn’t let it show, but was pretty damned pleased with himself. He had harboured worries that the younger generation would’ve outpaced him - he was good, but not as good as he’d been. And yet, the proof was there on the board, for all to see. Numerous medical sessions involving experimental drugs, injections and physical therapy had definitely helped. When he asked the counselor about it, he had been informed that it was all standard procedure. He didn’t quite buy that, but there had been no ill effects, and he felt younger than he had in years. He didn’t have anything to do, so he just stood there for a while, gazing into the blue glow of the leaderboard.

#drabble #open rp?#sure go for it

rp-agent-maine

Maine nodded at FILSS’ encouragement, and then without further ado, charged right in. A lot of people would’ve mistaken his move for arrogance, or over-eagerness, but it wasn’t the case. His…condition meant that he could afford to take a few hits early on, and if it gave away some clues about his opponent’s fighting style, he was more than willing to do so. Life was hard. So was he.

He closed the distance fairly quickly, and threw a barrage of punches, knowing that an ODST qualified solider like West would handle that pretty easily. So he quickly dipped a shoulder and tried to body-check her, in the hopes of maybe throwing her back or catching her off guard.

freelancerwestvirginia

West wasn’t surprised that Maine charged right in; he just seemed like the kind that would. She dodged around his punches, keenly aware that this was a sort of test. He was going easy. As if to prove her right, his shoulder dipped and he tried to body-check her, which probably would’ve done more than graze her if she hadn’t been waiting for something like that.

As it was, he barely touched her as she stepped back to avoid it. She kept with that little bit of momentum, coming forward again to send a punch his way, while less obviously kicking her leg to try to take his from under him, her own version of a little test.

rp-agent-maine

Maine’s breath exploded out of his chest as a fist slammed into his cheek as he sailed right past West, feeling a foot hook around his legs and send him to the floor. Stars danced in his vision, and he barely stifled a groan as he tucked, rolled and got back up on his feet. Damn, but that had hurt. His condition let him shrug off broken bones and internal injuries, but things like a punch to the face still hurt, no matter what. He shook his head, refocused. He stalked forward, taking long, loping strides to close the distance. When he got within five metres, he started circling, keeping his movements tight. He feinted a clumsy haymaker at her face, something a rookie could have blocked, then spun, turning his body inward and then used the momentum to swing an elbow with his left arm.

rp-agent-maine

Maine jumped a little at the sudden intrusion, and cursed the flush of what across his face. He was pushing sixty, for fuck’s sake, why was he blushing like a teenager? Because he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak? He faked a coughing fit and turned away until the moment had passed, then turned back to get a good look at the intruder. He had to stifle a groan, because it was a fucking flygirl of all people. Why was she in here? Weren’t they the ones with an unhealthy obsession with their birds? Still, her offer made him perk up a little. He could maybe owe her a favour, seeing as this was a ship and they had no real currency. “Spaghetti, or pasta of any kind,” he responded evenly. “You know if we have any?”

masseii

Johanna raised an eyebrow at the other. “I think I know where it is but you’re faar off” walking to the other side of the room Johanna looked into a lower crate and let out a triumphant “Ah ha!” she held up a can “is thiiis your card?” She grinned ,handing him the can “ there’s more in the far bottom crate if you need some for others . Name’s Johanna Harding , pilot Echo 230 at your service “she spoke in a sing-song tone with a bow before wincing and going back upright“Oh and don’t think anything of it. I probably won’t need a favor if that’s what you were thinking. “

rp-agent-maine

Maine actually had to hold back a snort of disbelief as the pilot walked in, solved all of his problems and then some in the space of a few seconds. He was suddenly feeling a lot less pissed off all of a sudden, and nodded gratefully to the woman. “Thanks. I owe you one.” He was totally fine with that - she’d done him a good turn, and maybe she would need something heavy lifted or otherwise smashed to pieces, however unlikely that was. “Agent Maine. Real name dipped in black ink,” he deadpanned. “Guess we’ll be seeing each other around. How did you end up working here?”

rp-agent-maine

Maine raised his head at the sudden inquiry, not quite jumping at the surprise but not entirely at ease either. He turned and saw a tall blonde woman leaning against the door, arms folded and giving him a questioning look. She looked almost cheerful, but there was a hardness in her eyes and an almost catlike readiness in her stance that spoke soldier. The Freelancer armour she was wearing was another subtle hint. “It does, does it?” he uttered. It wasn’t really a question, wasn’t really a statement. It wasn’t like it mattered. This was a personal undertaking, and didn’t require that he form some kind of teammate bond or work ethic. He was looking for spaghetti, and unless this woman had some tucked away in her armour slots, he wasn’t interested. “Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder, turning his attention back to the shelf, “I’ll put it all back.”

freelancerms

Needless to say, her confusion would not quite settle yet. While she was very familiar with the concept of sudden cravings, she could not help but think it a tad curious that one of the other agents aboard was raiding the inventory room and seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that one of his colleagues was already questioning his deeds. However, Mississippi was not the kind to turn her back on things that intrigued her, and so she stepped into the room instead, approaching the other leisurely while allowing her eyes to wander around her surroundings every now and again.

“I would assume so.” A healthy distance would only be appropriate, and so she decided to simply watch from nearby, the thought of some ulterior motive being involved tempting her thoughts briefly. Then again, the inventory room held little that could be of use to anyone other than the personnel aboard. “I cannot help but wonder, just what are you doing? I doubt there are strict regulations against it, but I am curious.”

rp-agent-maine

Maine deliberately turned his back for several seconds, hoping that the woman, whoever she was, would get the hint and leave him be. Rummaging for spaghetti was not exactly a spectator sport, and the fewer people that knew about his cravings, the better. Despite not giving a rat’s ass what people thought about him, he was a little embarrassed at the thought of being known as the crazy old-timer who went ransacking inventory rooms to get some food. However, from the sounds of things, she wasn’t going to leave, and he sighed and turned, dusting his hands off. He gestured to the clutter on the floor. “Looking for spaghetti ingredients.” He wrinkled his nose, grimacing. “Director can get us fancy armour but can’t get us rations worth shit.” He shrugged. “But maybe I’m wrong.”

rp-agent-maine

Grimacing, Maine picked up another crate and inspected it. Flour, milk. Not what he was looking for. He let it fall to the ground with a clank, joining the dozen or so others that he had looked through. This trip to the inventory room was turning out to be a real disappointment. He had quickly realised that the rations aboard the ship were the basic military staples. Seemed that the director’s budget didn’t extend to food. He had been hungering for a big bowl of spaghetti, but the inventory room continued to yield up failure. Sighing, he started sifting through another row of boxes. A few packets of things fell to the floor as he did so, but he paid it no heed. It might’ve been his mess, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. He just wanted some spaghetti, goddamnit.

projectagentma

Mass was walking past the inventory room on her way to carry out a personal assignment when she herd a thud. Stopping, she turned to face the door. “It couldn’t hurt to look, right?” She muttered to herself. She approached the door, a little on edge thinking it was going to be like a horror movie out come.

As the door slid open she quickly moved in and setting into a basic CQC stance. Only to slouch confused at seeing boxes everywhere. “Ummm….” She only scratched the back of her head in confusion. “Hello there, do you need help with something?”

rp-agent-maine

The scrape of a heel behind him sounded entirely too much like someone creeping up on him, so he whirled round, fists up, only to see a smaller woman in the doorway, peeking her head in. Feeling a little dumb, he put them down and made a show of looking through some boxes near his feet. He had already checked them twice over, but this woman didn’t know that. She seemed a little timid, but she was obviously an agent. Maine was a longtime friend of Madame Paranoia, and he recognised it when he saw it. He just hoped not everyone on the ship would be like that - he enjoyed a good fight, but sometimes he just needed to relax. Like right now. He grunted. “Trying to find spaghetti.” He cast his eyes on a new crate, searching for the elusive words. “No luck as yet.”

rp-agent-maine

Grimacing, Maine picked up another crate and inspected it. Flour, milk. Not what he was looking for. He let it fall to the ground with a clank, joining the dozen or so others that he had looked through. This trip to the inventory room was turning out to be a real disappointment. He had quickly realised that the rations aboard the ship were the basic military staples. Seemed that the director’s budget didn’t extend to food. He had been hungering for a big bowl of spaghetti, but the inventory room continued to yield up failure. Sighing, he started sifting through another row of boxes. A few packets of things fell to the floor as he did so, but he paid it no heed. It might’ve been his mess, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. He just wanted some spaghetti, goddamnit.

masseii

Johanna strolled into the room to find the the other sifting through boxes. She picked up the packets that were on the ground “ Hey , are you looking for something in particular? I might be able to help if you are.” she looked at the person , who was still sifting through the boxes.

Johanna slid the packets back into what looked to be a box of similar containers . What ever this guy was looking for she thought she could help , being a pilot and all she had really keen finding skills .So she thought she could help not really caring about what she came in there to get in the first place.

rp-agent-maine

Maine jumped a little at the sudden intrusion, and cursed the flush of what across his face. He was pushing sixty, for fuck’s sake, why was he blushing like a teenager? Because he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak? He faked a coughing fit and turned away until the moment had passed, then turned back to get a good look at the intruder. He had to stifle a groan, because it was a fucking flygirl of all people. Why was she in here? Weren’t they the ones with an unhealthy obsession with their birds? Still, her offer made him perk up a little. He could maybe owe her a favour, seeing as this was a ship and they had no real currency. “Spaghetti, or pasta of any kind,” he responded evenly. “You know if we have any?”

rp-agent-maine

Grimacing, Maine picked up another crate and inspected it. Flour, milk. Not what he was looking for. He let it fall to the ground with a clank, joining the dozen or so others that he had looked through. This trip to the inventory room was turning out to be a real disappointment. He had quickly realised that the rations aboard the ship were the basic military staples. Seemed that the director’s budget didn’t extend to food. He had been hungering for a big bowl of spaghetti, but the inventory room continued to yield up failure. Sighing, he started sifting through another row of boxes. A few packets of things fell to the floor as he did so, but he paid it no heed. It might’ve been his mess, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. He just wanted some spaghetti, goddamnit.

freelancerms

Pacing through the hallways of the ship tended to bear results the blonde had hardly expected upon her arrival. Meeting new agents seemed to increase her curiosity towards her colleagues further with each new face, causing her to grow interested in both outlay and presence of others the ship could offer.

Shifting and thudding sounded in the near distance, catching the attention of the agent. A quiet sigh was imminent, the lack of helmet she suffered anything but appreciated; her motion trackers could have come handy this time. Her feet dragged her further nevertheless, until she glanced inside the inventory room, gaze meeting a form she was yet unfamiliar with.

An eyebrow raised as she stood, arms folded before her chest and shoulder leaning against the door frame. “It appears someone is following a particular craving?” she announced easily, head tilting to the side lightly.

rp-agent-maine

Maine raised his head at the sudden inquiry, not quite jumping at the surprise but not entirely at ease either. He turned and saw a tall blonde woman leaning against the door, arms folded and giving him a questioning look. She looked almost cheerful, but there was a hardness in her eyes and an almost catlike readiness in her stance that spoke soldier. The Freelancer armour she was wearing was another subtle hint. “It does, does it?” he uttered. It wasn’t really a question, wasn’t really a statement. It wasn’t like it mattered. This was a personal undertaking, and didn’t require that he form some kind of teammate bond or work ethic. He was looking for spaghetti, and unless this woman had some tucked away in her armour slots, he wasn’t interested. “Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder, turning his attention back to the shelf, “I’ll put it all back.”

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SUBTLE AS ALWAYS.