SAMPLE/TEST ROLE PLAY POST
◢ A R T E M L Y K O S
——————————————————————————————
Now while Artem Lykos was quite the master wordsmith and diplomat amongst the ranks of the Blue Suns, no amount of sweet talking got him out of bird watch duty that evening (and no, he wasn’t assigned to the task because of the relationship between the Avian and Turian species - that’s just racist), with an EYE for detail, specifically one synthetic techeye lodged neatly in his skull; he had the arsenal to wheedle out nosy little birds that shouldn’t be sticking their beaks into places where they don’t belong.
So apparently a pilot’s beauty sleep didn’t amount for much these days, according to his Boss, whom had the audacious opinion HE, Artem, already slacked off too much! The NERVE!
. . . OKAY SO - maaaybe he took an unscheduled ‘vacation’ when the Blue Suns joined forces with Blood Pack and Eclipse to try and take down Archangel; but could you blame him? That whole affair had been a shit show! One of those “Yeaaah, naaah,” moments in your life.
But he digressed, he was here, outside some dank warehouse because the Boss man ordered him to be there while the deal went down with Loghian. And while following orders wasn’t exactly Artem’s strong suit; if the order was accompanied by a threat to his well being, well that was the right motivation! Said pilot, seeing reason and actually gets up off his ass and does something.
“FREEZE! - HANDS UP!”
(GROAN) Like now. NOW he was going to have DO something! Damnit why did he have to work? At . . . well work. - No witness’ that was what the Boss said.
With a rumbly subharmonic sigh Artem left his post by the main entrance to the warehouse and followed the threatening prattle a half a block down the transport depot.
“Hand over all yer credit chits! NOW!”
What a surprise, said no one ever; he had happened upon familiar cretin doing the worst impersonation of a mugging he had ever seen. (Omega’s standards were lofty)
But what did pique his interest was the moronic Batarian’s victim, another Turian, male, violet clan facial tattoos, all the usual Turiany stuff, but what baffled the mercenary pilot was; what a bird (it’s not racist when he uses the term) like him was doing in a nest of vipers.
Artem didn’t need his advanced optic tech functions to a prediction of the outcome of this unfortunate encounter.
Pyyyjak - nothing was ever easy was it? Artem had planned on just shooting the trespasser on site, everyone on Omega were Aholes so he usually would never reproach himself but THIS - he didn’t know what to do with THAT. A well honed sense of self preservation, the apathetic criminal decided on a different approach to this precarious negotiations (loosely speaking). He didn’t like it.
Growing up on Omega, meant you knew almost every lowlife the galaxy had to offer, which also included this louse. “Grell! Friend! - Wacha doin’ in this end of Omega?” the pale plated Turian cut in with complete disregard grace and etiquette, adding a conceited drawl to his flang.
With a nefarious history of thievery and crime, Artem was adeptly light on his feet and swiftly closed the remaining yards between him and this FAIL mugging in progress; yet somehow managing to keep his pace naturally casual. “I see you’ve met my boyfriend . . . Violet; I hope yer treating him like the lady HE is?” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Artem was a superb actor, slipping his dominant left talon out of it’s nest in his aviator jacket and using that Turian reach to catch the the poor sap around the WAIST tugging the other close to his chest, positioning his body wisely between him and the petty criminal. The whole exchange meant to have the Batarian believing they were intimate partners; instead of complete strangers.
The shit he did for friends (loosely speaking, on the term “friends”); not that Grell would appreciate his risk.
Nuzzling his grease spot nose into the other’s defined mandible, Artem rumbled out a purr of phoney affection utilising the vibration to disguise a hushed whisper, “Roll with it, trust me.”
