454 replies to this topic

[Damon Howe]

Charles Martel, on 26 March 2012 - 09:24 PM, said:

[[What's this Daishi you speak of? I don't see it on any listing of known BattleMech types.

It's 3049, clans don't hit the IS until 3050.]]

[[What's this ...clan...you speak of? Are you a spy? ]]

[[Final post for me too...nice RPing with ya'll, but this has gotten too weird...]]

Damon limped his way down a side street, checking his corners before lumbering on. No mech was designed to fall seven stories, especially after suddenly losing a couple of tons mid-flight. Though he flared his jumpjets before impact, the Jenner still hyper-extended most of its gyros in the landing, and rather than push the mech to the point where its legs fell off, he settled for a small limping 60kph. No jumping either, otherwise he'd never get off the first roof he jumped to.

Finally, Damon entered the small plaza on the outskirts of town. The garden and gazebo, untouched by the rages of the city around it, sat as a silent testament to the peace that once was, and the peace that inevitably would come again long after this battle finally ended. Damon paused at the gazebo, eyeing it curiously as his mech leaked heat sink fluid over the road nearby. The contrast between his mech and the small structure couldn't have been more obvious, and Damon knew it.

If he ever came back, he'd like to sit in that gazebo just once.

Damon and Sakura gave the gazebo a small nod as one and limped on, his destination the small Union Dropship on the nearby landing pad. The dropship was commercial, but it was the one his fellow Skjaldborg member and officer had sent to him before embarking on their harrowing mission through the city. Damon checked the coordinates and key confirmations one last time before approaching within the range of the dropships turrets.

Immediately the turrets turned on him, but did not fire. Damon keyed his laser-communication and sent the passcodes. After a few moments the passcodes verified, and Damon limped the remaining distance to the dropship.

He hoped the officer, Orcinus, was already aboard, otherwise he'd have to make battlefield repairs and go after him. He also hoped the Rangers pilot, James, whom he had fought throughout the city with in both mechs and on foot, had made it out. Davion forces had landed on the planet - which Damon was sure was going to cause some strife somewhere - and the Delian's were pulling out. At this point, his job as a simple soldier was over and done....no, not simple soldier. But a soldier and mechwarrior nonetheless. With the data he gathered from the merc jockey who fought in the periphery and some other valuables strapped in his cockpit, Damon was more than thrilled to finally be rid of this planet.

He had a lot of reports to write, and damn anybody who bugged him about it.

[[Thanks for the RP guys, unless Orc needs help retreating I'm going to say Damon's mission is done. See ya in the next RP or ingame. ]]

Edited by Damon Howe, 27 March 2012 - 05:00 PM.

[Orcinus]

The dropship’s crew was confused. Just this morning, the officer they had transported was happily chatting amongst them. Now he simply made a beeline to his room in complete silence, his gaze locked onto the hallway in front of him.

More than one person had asked “Are you all right?” He simply nodded.

The Grand Dragon—what was left of it anyways—stood in the ‘mech bay of the Union-class dropship. The techs were horrified at the ‘mech’s condition as it walked in.

“Umm… well. She’s in really bad shape, so I’m not sure if we can get her working again. We’ll do our best, though.” He had answered the tech with a nod and then turned to go to his room.

Obscured by the smoke pouring from the Atlas’ remains, the Grand Dragon had absconded. The one –armed ‘mech carried its other arm as it weaved through the streets towards the dropship which had taken it here. The 60-ton machine frightened a good number of residents who had dared to venture out when the city fell silent.

I can’t stay here.

His right hand tightened on the stick as he tried to pick out the ‘mechs which had arrived. Memories of his previous encounters ran through his head. A little voice told him they were friends. Another said they were enemies. The fallen Atlas lay between him and the newcomers, who appeared to be conversing among themselves.

I can’t stay here…

Pondering his next move, he looked to the ribbon on his wrist.

What should I do…?

He thought of the Delian ‘mech pilots, the only people he had seen up close since meeting the Robinson Ranger techs. He saw the techs, murdered on the tarmac of the ‘mech bays. He recalled the ghost, who had its own agenda.

They flooded back to his mind as he sat in the bunk of his room, holding his head in his hands.

Someone knocked on his door.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Hmm?”

“We have Mr. Howe and his Jenner on board. Should we begin preparations to leave?”

He got up, went into the restroom and looked into the mirror. Considering that he was never one to keep up his own personal appearance, he looked like absolute crap. He didn’t want to leave business unfinished, but his encounters had already driven him—and his battlemech—to the point of exhaustion.

Our fight here is over…

“Yes.”

“Very well, sir. We’ll let you know when we lift off.”

“Thank you.”

As the footsteps receded, he walked back into the room. He slammed his fist against the wall.

…for now.

[Damon Howe]

[[badass Orc, as always.]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

RogueSpear, on 26 March 2012 - 06:59 PM, said:

"I take it these Dalians rather rudely interrupted your vacation, Mr Frankfurt? Only war I know about is the one they brought with 'em."

"You's sure? Da FedCom not trying to take's over's da FRR? It's been like, nine year's since da last war?"

RogueSpear, on 26 March 2012 - 06:59 PM, said:

"Mr. Frankfurt, I've switched to laser comms -I hear you know Will's man Nathan from the Vulkaneers? We've dropped in to defend this city, Nathan's vouched for you, and we're going to need help. You willing to march with us?"

Thom's eyes became two tiny slits in his face. Thom may not have been a mental giant, but he was one shrewd buisness man.

"You's merc's wight? I's tells ya what, you's cut me's in at da standard rate for a mechjock for your's crew, and I'lls march wit ya's."

He was gonna hunt down the Dalians anyways, might as well see if he could line his pockets with cash while doing it. Who know's maybe these guys would take him on as a warrior. He was inbetween 'gigs' at the moment afterall.

[RogueSpear]

Spear listened to the freelancer's two responses before replying over the comms, his blue eyes glinting like twin flecks of agate in the reflected green light of his HUD. "As I said Mr. Frankfurt, the only war I know about is the one the Dalians brought with them. If our House Davion tourists seek to bring a second one to this world...Then while they have not informed me or Subcommander Andor, I sincerely hope they informed their lawyers, next of kin, and whoever they want to write their obituaries."
Switching back to the laser comms, he watched the three Davion 'mechs. I really hope I don't need to back that up. Elsies may not like us interrupting and we still need their funding...but I will not allow more bloodshed to come to this city.
"We're running this pro bono Mr. Frankfurt, we are here to support our friends in the Vulkaneers and defend innocents. My warriors fight on commission. No reward, no pay. But if you'll march for that, then I'll pay your ticket to where ever you're going."

[Sloth901]

[[gonna be my last post here, fun RP'ing with you but things have gotten weird. (If it was the Vulkaneer Urbie that delivered the killing blow to the Atlas id be suprised, he ejected in the suburbs and is now the gunner of Dracos hovercraft ) Should definatly start a new one though ( i have a new merc unit in mind ]]

It had been an hour since they had taken down the Atlas, Most of the mercs where long since gone, returning to there dropships. All around the city, Dropships bearing the Delian logo blasted up as they where in full retreat, a few other dropships acompaning them, Will laughed to himself, a minute ago they were fighting, now they were all leaving in a Mass of lights in the sky, 3 mechs stood in a line on the outskirts of the city, Spear and Will stood side by side waiting for the FRR forces they had radio'd to arrive shortly after the dropship bearing the jammer had taken off, The 3rd mech was a Warhammer, piloted by Draco, The Dragoon got into the fight afterall, downing a Hunchback as it retreated to its dropship 10 minutes earlier. The 3 mech pilots who kept running into eachother, on 1 occasion liberating an entire plannet together. The 3 metal giants stood motionless as the first FRR VTOL's flew over head, carrying aid for civillians. Will turned to the city looking at the smoke rising from all over. "Can we ever just meet up without something blowing up" he said grinning at the meer idea. "nope" Spear chimmed in with a laugh.

The loud speaker on a VTOL chimmed in, "This is the Free Rasalhague Republic millitary, all mechs are to be powerd down and surrenderd to us lack of compliance will result in the use of lethal force" The 3 Mercs laughed at the idea, Turning to leave, He transfered the BattleRom from Nathans mech to the VTOL and approached his dropship and opened coms with the chopper housing the idiotic officer," we will be keeping our mechs" Will said sounding almost bored "As for payment we only accept C-Bills, Cash or Check will be fine" The man in the VTOL began swearing in a language Will didnt understand, "Ive also sent you a list of who pay and if you default on payment well, im pretty sure these battle roms are enough proof to your citizens that your defenses are inadiquet" and with that the 3 Lumbering steel behemoths entered a dropship and departed the planet they just saved, "you think they'll pay?" Draco asked dismounting his mech, "look at it this way" spear answered "If the citizens find out their military cant even defend them from a 2nd rate merc unit, im pretty sure that they might have some questions about the safty of the republic. For what its worth its in their best intrest to keep us happy and our Roms off the Net" The leapord callsign stoner support lifted off for the second time today carrying the 3 friends from Bonnette, a second followed carrying the other Irregulars and Vulkaneers, The 3 didnt know it yet but soon, very soon they would meet again, but for a fight for much more than a city against an opponent much tougher than some twisted mercs or the combine, This would be the battle of there lives...

[RogueSpear]

[[Oh apparently we're all done. Who's interested in starting and gming a new thread? I would but I don't have the time to commit to reliably GM a thread.]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Was thinking about starting a forum based on Galeta back in 3035ish, but just started a job and been working 60+ hours a week.... barely have the time to post occasionally here, let alone be GM/rules 'No you can't do or bring that!!! lawyer.']]

[guardian wolf]

[[Well if we're going to wrap this up, just as well get one last post in.]]
Draco had sped back to the small depot, with Salaryman flying aerial cover. He scrambled into his battlemech, and started firing up the initial systems. The voice recognition keyed in.
"A mechwarrior must be more than his battlemech, less we should become feral,"
Voice recognition accepted, Welcome Draconis Wolf
Weapons Online
Radar Online....
All systems nominal
Draco then marched Wolf Fang outside of the small hangar bay. He saw Lugz get into a smaller Jenner, and started to follow him. He put his mech to a run, and he could feel the steady hum, and heat in his cockpit. The cooling vest, was like ice, but he was sure that he would be appreciating that feeling later. He entered the city, and saw that the Delians were in full retreat, with pockets of resistance trying to get out. Draco marched through the city, and noticed Lugz had gone to meet up with Will, he always wondered how the managed to meet up him in the most dire of situations. As he marched forward he saw a small group of Delian infantry in a full run toward their dropships. Draco fired his machine guns at the group, and watched as they were mown over like old grass. He continued to walk forward and saw a couple enemy Jenners also on the retreat. One turned and fired some SRMs at Wolf Fang. Draco laughed out loud over the loud speakers, manically, and fired his PPCs at the Jenner. They caught the knee, and mangled it to the point where he was now hobbled. Draco now fired his medium lasers at that leg, and unloaded his own SRMs at the Jenner. The leg finally gave, and the Jenner fell over. Draco walked over to the mech's cockpit and leveled his PPC at it. He then stepped onto it, crushing it. He finally turned and saw Will's unit moving up, and then slow to standing. He saw the Hunchback run, almost human like toward the the Dropships as the the three mechs bared in on it. Draco fired both PPCs into it's back, turning the armor into slag, and melting the gyro, and watched it topple over. He considered confirming the kill, but this fight was finally over. He turned and stood with the other two, and noticed Spear was in the area.
"Well speakin of the devil, nice to see you here Spear,"
When he heard Will's comment, he started to laugh. Now where would the fun in that be? He shook his head, and listened in on the VTOL trying to tell them to power down. He looked up and aimed his PPCs at the ******, just for the the hell of it. When Phiro flew by, and he finally got the comms working as the Jammer had ceased.
"Hope they got room for me in there,"
"Heh, that's the least of our worries,"
Draco made a mental note to let Nathan in on the information he was looking for while on the Dropship. Draco followed Will onto the Dropship, figuring he just as well hitch a ride. Phiro landed on a nearby runway, and Draco watched them taxi his ASF in. Draco immediately looked at Spear and asked jokingly.
"You think they'll pay?"
He listened in on Spear's answer, and couldn't help but agree. Draco then saw Nathan, and walked up to him.
"Hey, you still want the info on those mechs,"
He stopped and turned to look around at Draco.
"What do you know?"
"I know that they aren't from anywhere in the Sphere, and I also know who knows what they are,"
"Will you help me then?"
"I know that their tech is not only Star League era, but also, better, and if we go and do this, we need to be at our best. So, you in?"
"You know like hell I am,"
"Alright, I'll get the clearance to access those files so we can start hunting,"
He then saw Phiro come walking down the hall way. He then looked at him, and went to look for Spear. He found him looking over his mech, and tapped him on the shoulder. Spear whipped around with a small pistol, and Draco held up his hands, and let a smile show. He then lowered his hands and spoke.
"Listen Spear, I know we had a rough start, partly because I didn't know I could trust you. So, I'm just asking, are even now? Can we get a fresh start, because I'm getting sick of having to try and fight the enemy, and the way I figure, I got enough enemies as it is. So friends?"
Spear lowered his pistol, and Draco saw the punch coming long before it hit, but didn't do anything. He felt the punch connect dead center of his face, and it broke Draco's nose. He staggered back a little, and set the cartilage so it would heal right, and then spoke.
"So we even now?"
Phiro started laughing.
[[It was nice RPing with you guys, loved it. We should do another, that doesn't get so weird, like, just a regular bar, or maybe, a planetary assault with all of us meeting before hand. Would be nice.]]

Edited by guardian wolf, 28 March 2012 - 06:16 AM.

[RogueSpear]

[[Spear doesn't hate Draco, but I can work with this.]]

"For the torture attempts on Bonette. But hell, I thought we were friends. I'm just kind of an ***." He held out his hand and Draco clasped it. He pulled Draco into a hug, and whispered "I'm still not telling you where I got Relentless though." He pulled out of the hug and winked. "Now go get that seen to. I didn't actually mean to break it, but you're getting blood all over my mech bay. And that's just inconvenient."

[Listless Nomad]

[[James' Requiem]]

The sounds of battle had faded into the distance, and the city was now eerily quiet. Tentatively, the young woman poked the barrel of her flechette pistol out of the doorframe, followed by her nose, and then her face. The hallway was as she remembered, desolate and silent. Gathering her courage, she made her way down the hallway and towards the stairs.

Once outside, the young woman clutched herself as she gazed at the city she had grown up in. Bodies lay strewn on the tarmac of the depot where she worked, and smoke blotted out the sky. Twinkling in the night sky, the fires of dropships rising off world made for strange new constellations. Gazing upward, a slight wind tugged at her shirt as she tried to make sense of all that had happened. Wearily, she started walking into the rubble that used to be her home.

Aimlessly she walked, carefully avoiding broken buildings, fires, and the wreckage that covered every street. She could no longer recognize buildings or streets, and cafes she used to love now lay in ruins. She continued walking, not knowing what she was looking for, but certain she needed to find some way or some one to make sense of it all. She jumped at gunshots, shouts, and secondary explosions, but nevertheless soldiered on. As she passed by burned out tanks, aerofighters, disabled mechs, and bodies, she walked on - stopping to observe each one, to absorb what each meant, but never once turning back.

In the end, she turned a corner into what used to be a beautiful square, now a shell of its former self. Destroyed tanks lay scattered throughout, some still burning - the dancing light of their flames giving the square an eerie glow. What drew her eye, however, was situated in the center of the square; a battlemech, resplendent in red and black, knelt as if in prayer, in the center of the destruction.

Wrapping her arms around her body to ward off the chill, the young woman walked towards the kneeling mech. It's left arm was missing, strands of grey myomer dangling helplessly from within the upper arm. Nearly all of the armor had been savaged from the front of the mech, its steel skeleton showing through, as though the mech was a corpse that had been rotting for some years. Where armor still remained, it was pockmarked or burned, and the personal crest of the pilot had been mostly melted through. The only part she could still make out was" -derlund". A flash of recognition went through the young woman, and she glanced down at the flechette pistol in her right hand. Throwing the gun away, she began picking her way through the armor fragments and rubble towards the downed mech.

The closer she came to the mech, the more the flickering of the flames made the mech seem to move or shift. Almost as if it were deeply breathing, like a fighter exhausted after a match. The crackling of the fires hid all noise from the city, providing a surreal serenity to this final resting place of so many men and women. Using handholds, and holes in the armor, the young woman began climbing the Centurion, the almost prayerful pose it struck making her climb easier. When she reached the back of the cockpit, most of the armor had been blasted away, and the interior lay shrouded in darkness. Only the ambient light from the outside fires provided any contrast within the cockpit, rendering the dim outline of the command couch just visible.

Undaunted by the darkness and the destruction, the woman carefully entered the mech, taking care to not fall through the shattered cockpit glass at what was now the bottom of the cockpit. In the dying firelight she saw the pilot, the mechwarrior that had saved her life and shown her such kindness, hanging against his restraining straps. His body was limp and his head lolled forward, the pockmarked and scorched helmet partially obscuring his face.

With one hand for balance, she reached out and gently squeezed one of the mechwarrior's hands, to thank him for all that he had done in defending her city; for all that he had, even in the briefest of moments, done for her.

She smiled and squeezed harder when the hand began to squeeze back...

Edited by Listless Nomad, 28 March 2012 - 06:01 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Very nice Nomad! *applause* I love that post.]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Short and sweet]]

RogueSpear, on 27 March 2012 - 08:51 PM, said:

"As I said Mr. Frankfurt, the only war I know about is the one the Dalians brought with them. If our House Davion tourists seek to bring a second one to this world...Then while they have not informed me or Subcommander Andor, I sincerely hope they informed their lawyers, next of kin, and whoever they want to write their obituaries."

"Hmmm.. Okaysies.

He still didn't believe him.

RogueSpear, on 27 March 2012 - 08:51 PM, said:

"We're running this pro bono Mr. Frankfurt, we are here to support our friends in the Vulkaneers and defend innocents. My warriors fight on commission. No reward, no pay. But if you'll march for that, then I'll pay your ticket to where ever you're going."

He quickly checked his communication data display. Yes, it was on. A paid ticket for him and Swampthing to anywhere in the Innersphere wasn't cheap. He could make it back to Outreach, Galeta, Warlock, or hell even Solaris. It was an even better deal than just some spare parts.

"Okasies, I'lls do it. Lead's on."

Thom quickly changed direction and following Draco's direction's trotted off in the direction of the prepping dropships. The Dalian's were in full retreat. To quote history, it was a great skedaddle and was a glorious sight.

[MacabreDerek]

Name .............................. Rick Turven
Rank ............................... Civilian Contractor
Title ................................ Mech Engineer
Callsign .......................... "Mop-Boy"
Battlemech .................... ARC-2R Archer
Date of Birth .................. July 3, 3004
Current Residence ....... Cockpit of his mech

Physical Description
5'3, 320lbs, Rick is a short fat man who is constantly covered in grease and carries a large wrench. His clothing is torn, typically in a thick over-coat that seems to just as likely been used as a shop-towel. Wearing a cloth skull-cap on his head to hide his balding head, he has soft blue eyes that tell of a gentile natured person who is clearly in the wrong business and in over his head.

History
Rick couldnt tell you much about his childhood except for one thing: He loves Battlemechs. Through out most of his teen years he was finding every little scrap of footage, tech manual and first-hand expirence he could get. His enthusiasim gave him a job mopping floors of a mech bay, while watching the hardened warriors return from galant victories he could only imagine. Eventually his expirence in the bay lead him to getting some more hands-on expirence as he went under the wing of the head engineer, learning to maintain mechs and strip them down and back again.

His enthuisiasim grew over the twenty years he spent cleaning up other people's messes and repairing gyros in damaged battlemechs. Eventually he learned each mech would eventually never return, so he made it his own mission to save any mech he could, the sight of rusting heaps that use to be glorious battlemechs was too much for him. Unfortunetly this would be his undoing from the safty of a mop to a green mech pilot.

An ARC-2 Archer was about to be scrapped after a punctured gyro and faulty electronics eventually left the mech 'non-functional'. Rick pleaded with his superiors that he could get the goliath to walk again, and the sarcastic captian of the former Archer spat 'If you could get that thing standing, I'll let you pilot it yourself, mop-boy'. Rick was having it running laps around the compound by the end of the night.

Unfortunetly because he was not a truely trained or registered mechwarrior, Rick would not see the honour of combat with for his house. The Archer was writen off as 'scrap' however, and Rick somehow got it into his head that it was meant to be, that he would become a mercinary.

However, his days as a mechwarrior are still new, and most of the money he recieves are for giving kids rides and photos than of actual mech piloting. His ARC-2R Archer is still in dis-repair, with no ammo in it's LRM 20s and many holes in it's armour, still having the 'SCRAP' stencil across the chest...
==================

<delted to use for another time>

Edited by MacabreDerek, 28 March 2012 - 07:35 PM.

[MacabreDerek]

[[ Took me too long to post, sorry you're closing this one up, will save this info for later, maybe have some fun in another RP thread, would like to get some expirence in it . Reading all the back-logs, looks like one hell of a post ]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

MacabreDerek, on 28 March 2012 - 07:09 PM, said:

[[ Took me too long to post, sorry you're closing this one up, will save this info for later, maybe have some fun in another RP thread, would like to get some expirence in it . Reading all the back-logs, looks like one hell of a post ]]

[[Totally. Would have been cool to have you with us. I really like the idea of this character.]]

[Charles Martel]

[[Maybe a post-Delian Guards Slaughter Solaris VII bit?]]

[RogueSpear]

[[I'd be interested in any new RP that gets started by this group, if you'll have me. I did kind of gatecrash this one at the end ><]]

[MacabreDerek]

Thom Frankfurt, on 29 March 2012 - 06:43 PM, said:

[[Totally. Would have been cool to have you with us. I really like the idea of this character.]]

((Would love to be aboard, I just want to see if I could play a unique and memerable character that may have something to contribute to what I see is a good RP community, and I think we all want to see a real underdog who is a try-hard and really trying to earn his way, while still being a bumbling excuse as a Mechwarrior. If I had to rate him, he's a Gunnery 6 and Piloting 6 lol. ))

[MacabreDerek]

((Ya know what, I'll gladly start anew after the local milita guards help fend off the scuffle. Tell me if you think this is enough to open on.))

"You'd figure if there would be need of another mechanic." Rick spat at his luck. The one time he gets to apply himself and maybe earn a buck or two at helping fixing a mech with the proper tools and parts he'd actually get some kind of cash-flow going. Instead, he had a handfull of c-bills avalible to buy his next drinks, and he might have enough luck to run into someone he could contract out to. Instead, he sat at the foot of his Archer, and continued to weld-up whatever scrap plates of armour he could just to hide the auto-cannon punctures that damn near got him killed in the only bit of action he'd scene since he started this venture into becoming a Mercinary.

Pulling the welding goggles down on to his collar, he breathed a sigh, cursing his luck. "Maybe I'll have better luck at the bar, at least I get to hear about action taking place..."

He took a moment to pause. How was he going to even be taken seriously when he leg actuators were rendering the mech barely able to get out of the mech bay, unable to defend his own livelyhood. Thankfully, the large 'SCRAP' stencil over the front of his mech must have spared him some grief, as no one would take the time to steal a non-functioning mech. But that was the problem, even after the repairs, there wasnt any ammunition in the LRMs, and most of his lasers needed recalibrating on targets beyond 50 meters.

He choked on the thought, and placed his hand against the still warm steel. "Some day Girl, we'll go places. You and me, we'll get through this, and you'll really get to shine."

"Hey Mop-Boy!"

Rick cringed, one of the techs working around the mech bay knew him from when he was fixing engines, and thought it was a good idea to put his boss' pet-name for him as his call-sign registry. Mumbling under his breath "Couldnt have been something cool, could it? Slayer, Viper, Boss, hell, anything but that go-"

"Mop-Boy! Wait up, boss wants to discuss your bill, considering you werent even able to get that hunk of junk out of his mech bay for better paying customers!"

"Not Now! I gotta get out before business gets cold"

"Dont you mean your beer getting warm?"

"Shut it!" Rick snapped, doubling pace to get out before 'Boss' decided to have a word with him. If he is forced out of the mech bay he wouldnt even have the basic tools for repairs, far less the chance to sneak some scrap steel and parts from the other engineers he 'traded' with. And that cockpit is a sight warmer inside the mech bay than it would be at night in the open....

"Just get a beer, go down to the pub, get a beer, then two, than three..."

He felt the c-bill creds in his pocket. Barely enough to cover the night's drinks.

"... yea, and while I am at it why dont I just go rebuild the Star League..."

If Rick's mood could turn any worse, he didnt want to know how. All he needed to do was put one foot infront of the other, and get that good for nothing drink. He didnt even bother taking off his welding gear, a oil-stained and battered mechpilot suit underneath the rags,

Edited by MacabreDerek, 29 March 2012 - 11:31 PM.