Jump to content

Barret and Rick: Character Study and Practice


36 replies to this topic

#1 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 04 May 2012 - 03:03 AM

To those of you who don't know, I play two characters; Barret Sender in the "Nothing Ever goes according to Plan" (Organized by amazing Highlighter), a ruthless and some would argue psychotic mechwarrior who's personal experiences have left him unhinged, and Rick Turven, a tech who has dreams of being a merc, but being an amazing tech does not translate into being a good mechwarrior, in the "Life and Death: A Mechwarrior's Tale" (Organized by the great Gozer and awesome Thom Frankfurt). Both are designed for me to practice two completely separate extremes, one of a dark and violent natured individual Barret, and the other of the comicly odd 'Fish Out Of Water' Rick.

It's often I learn about characters I play through interaction and through games of 'what if', and in doing so I get an understanding of how those characters are internally. Some times I even feel the need to write out small stories of interactions. This could be taken as a way of Character Study, trying to get to know these two men I am trying to portray in my interactions in the RP threads of the Fan Fiction forum. To do so I thought I would take the time to post some 'mini-episode' stories, loosely tied to one-another to work on my writing and understanding.

I'd like to kick this first post off with Barret, a scene I was picturing of him after watching far too much youtube. It takes place in everyone's RP staple, the local watering hole. Enjoy.

======================================


The bar smelled of whiskey and puke, the drab hole in the ground that called itself a pub was a road-stop into the city, and Barret sat at his table sprawled in his seat, taking the glass salt-shaker in hand and admiring how little technology had changed in the dispensing of the white-grain staple for bad food. And the food was bad, a terribly cooked piece of meat from whatever rodent the kitchen exterminated sat on his plate, with vegetables that had long since past their expiration date. Barret's eyes fixated on the little container of salt in his grasp, watching the chrome top which reflected in it the grim watering hole. The bar itself was broken and hastily repaired several times, with pistol rounds burned into the frame, light-fixtures which contained mostly burnt-out bulbs, and a dance floor for whatever farmer's daughter thought she could make some extra money strutting and selling herself for. Kitchen was located through a door along side of the bar, where Kerensky only knows what they were doing in there to make the slop they served.

It had been three days since he lost a bet on a Solaris match, and he would have to wait another day before the Jump-Ship was ready to take him out of this periphery planet and get to actual civilization. Then he could get his next contract with Black Widow Company, that off-shoot of Wolf's Dragoons that were, like him, too hard to manage in a standard grouping. Among the misfits and sociopaths he was very comfortable with, it was the supposed 'normal' people that worried him.

Two figures walked from the bar, one small guy, the other one almost as large as Barret himself. The small one sat himself down next to Barret, clean-cut mustache and cap over his head hiding his baldness, the big one had an old cooling-vest draped under a long coat, with a not-completely concealed machete hanging from his hip. The small one opened his mouth first.

"Barret Barret Barret... Boss is startin' to worry about chya. Ya never call, ya never write, ya never come by to pay off the two-thousand c-bill bets, it's like you're just walking away from your friends." The big man leaned in, shadow over-cast on Barret. The small one leaned in and gestured to his plate, taking the fork and stabbing it viciously into the burnt meat. Taking a bite and tearing the rest away from his jaw, he chewed for a bit, throwing the fork and meat back down on the plate to scatter the vegetables over the table onto Barret's lap.

"Now, I'm sure you're good for it, and Boss was kind enough to send us out to get ya on your way to settling up with us. All friendly like. And you wanna stay friends with us right? Periphery is a nasty place without friends. Something bad always happens to people without friends, and we wouldn't want that, would we Jake?" The small man turned to his larger companion.

"That's right Russ, 'friends'."

"The stake sucks anyway, so let's go." Russ, the small man exclaimed, and was about to sit up before feeling something cold, twisted and sharp pressed into his knee-cap.

"I was not done eating. Sit, and I will tell you how this is going to happen."

The large man Jake brushed aside his coat slightly and gripped the machete underneath, his face turned cross.

"See, I am leaving tomorrow, so I do not see any reason for me to 'settle' with anyone. What I am going to do is eat my dinner, go to bed, and forget that you came to all the trouble of seeing me over chump-change. You are going to tell 'Boss' that Barret is settled, and not to come bothering me." Barret pulled the S-shaped butterfly knife's tip away from Jake's knee and began cutting into the stake. Salt-shaker still in hand, he began to sprinkle it over his meal when Russ brushed his forarm fast over the table, knocking the plate to the floor.

"He said Let's Go."

Barret stood there with his knife in hand and a salt-shaker in the other. Suddenly the table was knocked forward crashing into Russ' knee and forcing him to step-back. Jake tried to reach for something at his hip, but the knife in Barret's hand found itself directly into his knee-cap, digging deep into the joint of the man's leg. He yelped loudly, and was abruptly silenced as the salt-shaker was jammed into his mouth, breaking a few teeth upon it's violent intrusion. Barret slipped a hand behind the small man's head and brought it swiftly down onto the corner of the up-turned table, hearing the horrifying cracks and shatters of jaw, glass, and teeth. The salt dug deep into the man's mouth wounds, primarily the tongue that was almost cut in two with large deep gashes along it's length, the burning sensation was enough to make him cough up blood and enamel chunks trying to scream.

Jake had pulled something out of his coat, but it wasn't the long blade he was carrying, but a pistol. Barret ducked low behind the over-turned table and tackled it, forcing it over onto Jake. A shot rang, and a burning sensation could be felt in Barret's gut. Jake being pinned under the table made for horrible shooting, but his shot still struck. Bringing his knees to the edge of the up-turned table, straddling his would-be killer, Barret took hold of the man's wrist and reached into his coat. Jake tried to fight him off, as Barret drew out the large machete. Jake reached up to try and stop the swing as it came down towards his wrist Barret held down with his other hand, but all he managed to do was have the blade slice through his fingers leaving four evenly-cut bloody stumps on the way down to it's intended target.

The weapon was brought up again,and then down, over and over as the man began to loose bits and pieces of himself all over the bar-floor. It went on for what felt like an eternity, until Barret's vision was starting to blur and the burning sensation in his gut.

The machete dropped to the wooden floor among the chunks of meat that use to be Jake, and turned to Russ with a sickening grin. Standing, he approached the man. "Well, since your companion will not be joining us, let's step into my office and discuss the situation, shall we?" Barret reached to Russ' side and pulled out another pistol from a hidden holster, and cast it aside.

Grabbing the knife in the man's knee, he gave it a sharp twist as he pulled it out, further separating the joint. Taking hold of Russ' collar, he proceeded to drag him towards the kitchen door.

The last of the cooks was running out the back as Russ' body was thrown through the door and crashing into the gas stove that had pots of what could barely be called stew were beginning to boil over. Barret took a look around and saw the cutting board with a large butcher knife. Taking hold of the knife, he placed it on the stove burner, and crouched low to meet Russ' face.

"Now who are we going to talk to about your disappointment with the stake? Well, that is ok." Russ looked up at the handle of the knife that was quickly heating.

"Oh that? That is for me. Do not worry Russ, we got a whole play-pen worth of toys to occupy our brief time together. See, I do not take kindly to being threatened, and I say who I owe, not you, not your boss. Are ya with me so far?" Russ nodded quickly in agreement.

"Good." Grasping hold of the heated knife, Barret pulled away the cloth around the gun-shot. It went right through, but the blood was draining on the floor and it was confusing on who's blood was who's. Pressing the flat of the knife against the front of the wound, the smell of burning skin wafted through out the air. He groaned as he did his back, stopping the blood loss for the time being, time he needed to 'discuss' matters with his newly acquired play-mate.

"Now, first thing is first, the food. Man has to eat, so we are going to go over how they really should have done the stake." Grasping Russ' hand at the wrist, he brought it down hard onto the stove. Blood and screams came from his mouth as the first layer of skin began to burn away. "The trick is always the seer. You see, you got to make sure you seal in all the juices, that is how you will not get that dried-rat flavour we both had to endure."

Russ continued to make a racket as Barret reached his hand into the man's mouth and grabbed hold of a piece of his tongue that was barely attached, glass imbedded into the roof of his mouth. With a sharp yank, the chunk of flesh came out with a splattering of blood. He gave it a casual toss into the deep-fryer, and twisted Russ' wrist to begin 'seering' the other side of his hand.

"Now, it is important to make sure it is cooked to the customer's satisfaction. Most like it medium-rare, I am more of a 'rare' guy myself, but..." He looked to Russ who's eyes were shrink-wrapped in tears. "... YOU my good 'friend' - look like a Well-Done kinda guy. So..." Rick stood and began to drag Russ through the kitchen as Russ' whimpers and nonsensical pleas continued.

"...That is when a Food Press comes in handy. It cooks both sides evenly and works well after a good seer."

The press was right next to the deep frier, and Russ was so pain-stricken he could barely move. It wasn't until the metal plates pressed over his already dead-nerved hand that he began to thrash, but by then it had already been locked into position. Bending Russ' 'good' arm behind his back, Barret clasped his other hand around the back of Russ' neck and began to push him forward close to the deep-frier.

"Now, about the debt. There is none. I am sure you will tell your Boss that my check has cleared. Ahh what am I saying, you will not be saying much of anything anymore. But that is ok, I am sure a creative guy like you could find a way to tell him that, right? So, we are settled then?" Russ nodded vigorously as the heat of the frier was becoming too much for him to take.

"Good." Barret smiled, then suddenly threw his knee into the man's sternum, casting the wind from his lungs. He pushed down on the man's head, and as his face made contact with the boiling oil Barret savoured the smell. The man had tried to inhale to scream as his visage submerged, only to inhale burning grease. Barret let go of the man who fell to the ground thrashing about, unable to breathe, burning and blind. "I am sure your Boss will understand what we talked about." he said as he left the kitchen.

Turning to the bar, the bartender was holding an antique shotgun towards Barret, shaking. Raising one hand to him in a jesture to give him a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He began putting down one by one a total of two-thousand C-Bills on the counter and moved it to the barkeep. "That should cover the meal, inconvenience, and a tip for yourself."

Walking towards the exit, he heard the barkeep mutter in a squeaky voice "W-why?"

As the door closed, Barret's voice came through. "Because I owe ya."

Edited by MacabreDerek, 04 May 2012 - 10:46 AM.


#2 WETBLOOD

    Member

  • Pip
  • 11 posts

Posted 04 May 2012 - 03:44 AM

a very good story. like the bit at the end

#3 Pheonixwolf

    Member

  • PipPip
  • 49 posts
  • LocationMassachusetts

Posted 04 May 2012 - 03:57 AM

wow.....that's a bit more than unhinged......that was fu**in' awsome!

#4 Togg Bott

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • The 1 Percent
  • 216 posts
  • LocationKansas City Mo.

Posted 04 May 2012 - 04:31 AM

i for one am actively looking forward to the next installment.

#5 Trevnor

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • Elite Founder
  • Elite Founder
  • 1,085 posts
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSkjaldborg HQ, Rasalhague, Rasalhague Province[Canada]

Posted 04 May 2012 - 06:05 AM

That dude is something crazy.

#6 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 04 May 2012 - 05:39 PM

Oh my.... That's just fantastic!!

#7 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 18 May 2012 - 06:55 PM

Got any more Derek?

#8 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 25 May 2012 - 06:39 PM

So I was toying with an idea this afternoon, and I thought it would be a good chance to try and write of Rick's last days, and in the end what he would really become. Though I am sure some of the detailing would be wrong, I am hoping this might be a good exercise for a different focus of writing. For those of you who were more focused on combat and the warrior's life, you might just wanna skip this post as Rick does not have the violent tenancies of Barret. The story takes place on Rick's homeworld, aged to 74 years. Hope you enjoy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So if I understand this straight, the story is about the Clans people finding their place in the Inner Sphere and life adjustments for those involved?" Rick spoke softly as he held onto the respirator mask in his lap. The years had not been kind to the old man, who once was a heavy-set tech-turned-mechwarrior, now was skin and bones, weak and frail with the passage of time.

The room was dark save for the light coming from the PDA laid between him and the reporter. The light hurt his eyes and he felt more at ease with the lights so dim, it reminded him of all the times he spent inside a mech's cockpit piloting, and it's shell repairing. Memories he cherished almost as much as his accomplishments in his twilight years.

"Yes. With many Clansmen and women being taken as bondsmen, the dissolution of Clan Smoke Jaguar, and some with no where else to go, there has been a lot of mixing going on and the animosity that lingers has been hard on both sides. I'm hoping that your experiences might shed some light on the situation, and maybe make a bridge or two. Can you state your name for the record?" The female voice was very matter-of-fact, stern. Rick could only smile at the professionalism that the reporter approached the topic, clearly suppressing her personal bias in her speech.

"Rick Turven, and you're talking about my daughter. Why not ask her the questions?"

"Well, to be honest I think your story is the one people want to hear. A warrior and un-sung hero that came back from the Exodus Road."

Rick began hacking and coughing uncontrollably, placing the mask over his mouth and started taking deep calming breaths. The reporter reached for him to help him, but Rick simply brushed her hand away in a calming fashion.

"How did you come across your daughter?" The reporter tried to continue, a tone of concern in her voice.

"A trial of possession."

"You fought to steal a Clan's child form their sibko?"

"Not exactly. What you had to understand was the situation. Victor had already taken Tiaret Nevverssan, the famed Elemental Bodyguard, as a bondswoman. She accepted this when she was trying to protect the Sibko under her care, and Victor saved them along with her. Now what are you going to do with a bunch of kids barely able to walk or talk as Prisoners of War. Tiaret couldn't look after them while preforming her duties to Victor, and she couldn't just give them up. So we arm-wrestled for them as a mock Trial. I was strong then ya see, not much of a warrior truth be told, but lifting armour plating for mechs all day does develop a lot of upper-body strength. I am still betting to this day that she threw the Trial, but I could never prove it, and I didn't want to insult the woman or her wishes." Rick's head layed back in his wheel-chair, reminiscing of those days.

"They called them 'The Bay Rats' as I recall."

"Yea, kinda turned the Mechbay into a day-care some of the time. A lot of the crew were resentful of it, but most of them didn't want to argue with a guy who beat an Elemental in an arm-wrestling competition. If she was still around, I'd have to thank her for that reputation."

"Anyway, when we got back, I kept one. It seemed wrong to put them in the hands of the authorities that would just treat them like freaks, and wouldn't give them a proper chance at life. It never meshed with my moral compass, if you will. I sold what was left of my mech and bought this place. It's small, and we kept the expenses down to a minimum, but it was the best I could give the little tike. Well... Not so little anymore. They grow... up so fast." Rick started to inhale his respirator mask again, for a moment in mid-sentance the corners of his vision went black. His hands shook as he held the mask to his face.

"It must have been hard for you, raising an enemy among the people you left behind in your youth."

"Not as bad as you might think. See, when I was young, many of the kids were taking rides in my Mech while I accumulated the money to get off world and go off for a 'glorious' mercenary career. Well, turns out alot of the kids grew up and wouldn't ya know it, they remembered the home-town hero. When it came down to it, I guess it's their way of saying 'thank you', and no one said No to any request I made on her behalf. We both were really lucky in that regard. Even little Evan ... oh, sorry, not suppose to name names..."

The reporter smiled and spoke in a voice as soft as silk in a reassuring manner. "It's alright, I'll edit it out later. Go on."

"Well, the school board administrator was a little munchkin when I saw him last, but he remembered me. Might have had something to do with him accidentally firing some lasers into a tree-line when I was giving him a ride. Lesson learned, and we spent half an hour joy-riding to stomp out the grass-fire. Anyway, he remembered me and saw my name on the list of returning crew. Made getting her into schools a lot easier."

"Must have been a shock when she was coming into adolescence though."

"Oh my Yes. My neck still hurts looking up at her. She was a giant even by Elemental standards, and when you're 7'4". 320lbs lean, I can only imagine how hard it must have been in school. She took to her studies though, and was as gentile and kind then as she is now, the woman I grew to love and respect. I am sure the teasing got to her, and a lot of kids wanted to try their hand at being tough-guys and trying to get physical, but she never let it get to that point." Rick smiled proudly.

After a pause, Rick continued on. "You know, it's the strangest thing. Take the fighting away from someone, and you start realizing they are more often than not decent people. Life's hard enough even without war, and suddenly you come to realize what's really important. They told me a lot of my achievements will be foot-notes in history, but ya know what? I've traded away the mech, the glory, the recognition, the fame and the blood, and gave one kid a chance to grow up without it. And I'd do it again. My beautiful Melissa, I couldn't tell you how proud of her I am. And well, you know the rest."

She spoke fondly. "She graduated with a degree in writing, and became a journalist. Melissa Arthur Turven, named after Melissa Arthur Steiner. The name you gave to her in hopes she would become a bridge to mend relations and help as her namesake did. She called you Dad even though there was no biological connection between you, and would be there every sunday to watch the Solaris match with you, and hear your crazy old stories and adventures. And she loved you dearly. Isn't that right dad?"

A moment of silence fell, then Melissa's hand reached to grasp Rick's cold hand in his lap, and she squeased it dearly. Turning off the PDA, she held the shell that she called father in the dark closely, her mamoth frame squeasing him ever so gently, she felt the soft tear from his cheek on her skin. She could only smile, hoping his death was everything it could be. A proud father in the end.

Edited by MacabreDerek, 25 May 2012 - 06:44 PM.


#9 Sparks Murphey

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • Bridesmaid
  • Bridesmaid
  • 2,953 posts
  • LocationAdelaide, Australia

Posted 25 May 2012 - 07:02 PM

:) That's sweet. Awesomely written, Derek.

#10 Cbass57484

    Member

  • Pip
  • 18 posts
  • LocationNorth Centrel Indiana, USA

Posted 25 May 2012 - 07:22 PM

you write violent bar and grille encounters quite nice sir. kudos

#11 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 25 May 2012 - 07:31 PM

View PostSparks Murphey, on 25 May 2012 - 07:02 PM, said:

:D That's sweet. Awesomely written, Derek.


Thank you, I hoped it was touching in some way, because I struggle with that and humour.

View PostCbass57484, on 25 May 2012 - 07:22 PM, said:

you write violent bar and grille encounters quite nice sir. kudos


Glad to hear, wish the other story was as strong, but I am happy to know you enjoyed it.

#12 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 25 May 2012 - 08:47 PM

You're an awesome writer Derek.

#13 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 25 May 2012 - 09:31 PM

View PostThom Frankfurt, on 25 May 2012 - 08:47 PM, said:

You're an awesome writer Derek.


Does that mean that last story is a success?

#14 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 25 May 2012 - 09:45 PM

Yeah... I think that's safe to say.

#15 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 07 June 2012 - 06:51 PM

So after some inspiring feedback I decided to take another crack at this short-story writing. This is a loose idea I was pitched when discussing the idea of Rick being involved in the Clan Occupation, and more so I wanted to see if I could capture some of the Clan's indoctrination. I also wanted to have it questioned a bit, with a Mechwarrior who was captured during the earliest days of the invasion into the periphery.

===================================================================

"You are Jade Falcon"

Rick's teeth clenched as he responded to the statement that meant nothing to him more than a month ago, a bitter taste in his mouth was almost overpowering "I am Jade Falcon." He rubbed his wrist, entwined with three cords tightly bound.

For all intents and purposes, Rick should be dead. A part of him wished he was, and this was some kind of delusion he was suffering while his brain was shutting down. Unfortunately that was not the case. Rick was the support for the recon lance that was suppose to investigate the sudden communications black-out, and they found out why. They came like a horror movie, with mechs that defied everything he knew about Battlemech technology. And he knew a lot.

Getting his lance-mates home took priority, and in his Archer he was the heaviest fighter the group had. The light scout mechs were able to get out to the DLZ, so that was a relief. However, these 'Jade Falcons' seemed to take him charging head long at the group of five mechs they brought to the party as some kind of bravery.

The one who spoke was a woman, beautiful with soft eyes. Rick couldn't help but wonder how much of that was forced, this being the pilot who shot him down and could have left him to burn in the husk of his Archer. Her mech seemed like some perverse nightmare of his own, with LRMs in the shoulders and lasers in the handless-arms. Another voice, a giant of a man, came from behind Rick.

"Mechwarrior Juliana, I wish to discuss why you would take this.... Specimen, as a Bondsman. Just the look of this Inner Sphere barbarian is enough to turn my stomach. Fat, clumsy, he would hardly be of value to the labour caste. Or is this a case of Freebirths not knowing what really makes one worthy of being a Bondsman?"

"With respect Star Commander, Bondsman Rick epitomized the Falcon when he was taken. Surely you have seen the holo-cam recordings of his combat. His comrades fled while he stayed behind in a sub-standard mech, then challenged, openly, a full Star of mechs to a Trial of Possession. Is it his fault that his companions were without honour? He made little waste of resources or time, he stared at the Falcon's Claw and swooped down upon them."

"Yes, and in the process reduced himself to physically attacking your Mad Dog, like the barbarians they are. I am warning you Mechwarrior Juliana, his failures are yours. Do not make a mockery of your position. You may have been given the same honour of joining the Falcons, but you are Freebirth. Continue with his re-education. I will be watching you both closely."

"Aff, Star Commander."

The Star Commander turned away and started walking away. Rick didn't turn his head, it just felt like a bad idea, and the look he was getting from Juliana was enough to confirm to keep still and his mouth shut. She gestured for him to walk with her.

It was a long walk, eventually leaving the complex, this 're-education' center. An open court yard greeted them with the setting sun. Silhouettes of alien battlemechs were along the horizon, and Juliana stopped. Rick stopped as well, keeping step.

"So Bondsman Rick, let me ask you, why is it you have not tried to escape?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am not stupid. Every single P.O.W. would bark at the chance for escape, and yet here you are with nothing more than a plastic cord around your wrist, and you are staying put. Do you not want to leave?"

"I am Jade Falcon" Rick said, clenching his fists white-knuckled.

"Which would be great if you said that and believed it. No, you're.... You are still at heart a mercenary, quiaff? Please do not insult my intelligence further."

"I don't know what I am."

"Try saying that again without contractions. It will make you and I both look bad."

"... I do NOT know what I am. I got them out alive, they're... they are at home now, probably already debriefed, hopefully with their families and friends. I expected to die for it, I came to terms with that. What I do not understand is why you are keeping me here, and what is with the bracelet."

"Answer my question, and I will answer yours." Juliana spoke softly. She sat at a bench and patted the seat.

"What would I go back to? I am probably K.I.A. I got nothing left of my mech, which was everything to me. Then I was suddenly in a position to die and instead wound up in this wonder-land with you people. Maybe I am just riding it out until I learn what I can do. So, you going to tell me about this friendship-bracelet on my arm or what?"

Juliana nodded. "It binds you to serve me until I am convinced you have proven yourself to be a true Jade Falcon warrior. You have seen it first hand, Bondsman Rick. The Inner Sphere is sick. It is a political mess where betrayal is more than mandatory, it is raveled in. I think you are a better man then that Rick. Like a doctor, we are going to cut out the cancer. You may be Freebirth, but I know a fighter when I see one. Sometimes, it just requires the proper motivation, and I am convinced you have never been motivated until the day I put you down. You were ready to die for them. I am going to help you be ready to kill for us."

"I don't see that happening."

"Contractions."

"I DON'T see that happening." Rick spat.

"You do not want to believe this Bondsman Rick, but I am looking out for your best interests, and your interests align with the Clan very well. Let me tell you something. It was hard when I was first taken in as a bondsman."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"Before I was a Mechwarrior of Clan Jade Falcon, I was a periphery pirate. I thought I was a hell of a mech jock, but what was I really contributing? What is the point of being a mechwarrior if you have nothing to fight for outside of starving? I would go so far as to say I was lost before I was taken in. Given the chance, you too will find purpose and strength in being Jade Falcon, and in that you would be our strength."

"Sounds like window dressing for a pitch that would have me going in and killing friends and family for the sake of a new overlord."

"Thought you had nothing. Now you are talking about friends and family, so which is it Bondsman Rick?"

Rick was silent for a moment and hung his head.

"You have a chance to become a part of something much greater than yourself. You have the chance to save the Inner Sphere from itself, and in the end, those so called 'House Lords' would bow to you as they rightfully should to any true warrior. Right now, in Clan Jade Falcon, you are the lowest of the low among the Warrior Caste, a Freebirth Bondsman. And yet you are greater right now than any House Lord could ever hope to be. They would waste billions of lives to stay atop their thrones, but you would give yourself to save three lance-mates. You already proven you are better than them, all I want to do is make you know it. I will teach you to become a Mechwarrior of Clan Jade Falcon."

Rick looked up at Juliana, and it terrified him how much belief was behind her voice. There was a fire which worried him, but also stirred him. He had no great love of the Houses, and no real allegiances.

"You are afraid Rick. That fear has no place in the heart of a warrior. Tell me then, what are you afraid of?"

"That this is sounding good... almost 'right'. And I do not like it."

"You 'Do Not Like It'" She smiled. "That is a start."

Rick's mouth went dry. "What would you have me do... Mechwarrior Juliana?"

"Learn, Bondsman Rick. Learn to become the warrior you were meant to be. Learn what it is to be Jade Falcon. I will do all I can to teach you, and who knows? Perhapse, I can help you find yourself."

Juliana stood up. "Get to your rack. P.E. starts at 05:00. We will see if I was right about you." She walked away towards the compound. Rick looked as the sun was just finished setting, the site of Juliana's mech, or one like it, breaking the horizon.

"I am Jade Falcon." Rick said softly, noticing a lack of bitterness in his mouth.

Edited by MacabreDerek, 14 June 2012 - 12:35 PM.


#16 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 08 June 2012 - 07:14 PM

DUDE....... That was AWESOME!!!

#17 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 25 June 2012 - 10:12 PM

I am going to appaulogise ahead of time. I've tried for three days to post some interesting story in here, but each time I scrapped it. I am writing primarily in anger hoping that if I force it something might come up that is at least a quarter decent. Just havent been able to write anything I felt good about, one of the reasons I havent been invested in the RP forums (I am sorry to the guys waiting on me, but if ya know anything about me in RP, I hate writing 'filler' posts, I like to have some kind of substance or character development in each post, and this dry spell has been kicking my backside from here to Solaris 7)

====================================================================


The pipe-wrench made contact with the young man's rib cage, and Rick could feel the horrible cracking of bone underneath the weight of the tool. The lad feel hard to the floor clutching his sternum, laying with his three companions, all Falcons wanting to stop him from reaching his mech.

Walking towards the squat Nova, his ears went deaf to the world, and his stomach turned. Seven months ago, he was taken in as a Bondsman of Clan Jade Falcon, and he had been worked to become something he had never really wanted. His fat frame was much leaner, his upper body was not padded any longer and the true size of his upper body was made bare for all to see, and he came to recognize how powerful he really was. The pipe-wrench felt awkward in his hand, where once it was a tool for creation and maintaining his beloved Battlemechs, it was now something foreign, something he just used to dismantle four human beings. It was horrifying to him.

"I am Jade Falcon" he said under his breath, trying to comfort himself in what he was about to become.

It wasn't long before his neural helm was locked into place, and it was time to see if all the time he had put into piloting was about to pay off. In his old life, he would have jumped at the chance to pilot a mech, he dreamed of making a living for himself as a mercenary, but would spend most of his time fixing his and other's mechs. His practical experience was next to nil, and he failed to prove himself to the Wolf's Dragoons comrades. Now, he spent almost every minute of every day he could honing his body, practicing and studying in these abominations that once defied every rule he knew about Battlemechs. And now, as the system warmed to his touch, it was all muscle memory.

The hanger bays opened as though they were curtains unveiling a scene in some children's play, where three other mechs stood along a long strip. One was a Hunchback that sported a pair of fast-firing Autocannon 20s, a remake of it's Inner Sphere counterpart with the bizarre technology the Clans had brought with them, called an IIC variant. The other was in a Timberwolf, a battlemech that had quite a bit of reverance among the Jade Falcons, and a Summoner, some twisted nightmare that sported not only a shot-gun Autocannon but an Extended Range Particle Projection Cannon and an LRM rack over it's shoulders, but worse yet tough to hit with it's amazing speed and jump jet capability. It was the Summoner that really bothered Rick. At least there was a comfort in knowing he wasn't in the Hunchback, which Rick was sure was intended for him as a kind of insult.

Someone must have crossed someone recently. All Rick had to do was beat any one of them to earn his position as a Mechwarrior of Jade Falcon, but he knew not one of them was willing to give him the opprotunity. He was a Freebirth Barbarian in their eyes, and it would not matter how this competition ended, he would make sure these Trueborns would know what they were dealing with.

He knew what they were waiting for as they positioned themselves. All were looking to gain their Mechwarrior status, and every one of them was eyeballing him as the easy way in, the unworthy in their midst. Yet their rules would not allow them all to charge at him in a dishonourable Three to One situation.

Rick flipped on his com. "To those who are participating in this Trial of Position, I, Bondsman Rick, am disabiling the eject in this Nova, and the control has been destroyed." After a flick of the switch, Rick brought the wrench down hard on the control, shattering the console with the ejection controls, the com was on to make sure every one on the frequency could hear the twisting metal and broken plastic and he brought the wrench down repeatedly upon it.

"This is Bayne, pilot of the Timberwolf. What sort of freebirth trick is this, Bondsman Richard?"

Another voice cherped in. "This is the Star Commander, Ejection confirmed disabled and destroyed in Bondsman Richard's Nova."

Rick grinned slightly. "There is no trick. I want everyone in this trial to know this is Death Ground. Awaiting order to begin the Trial of Position."

"Very well..." The Star Commander began to give some formal speech about the glory of Jade Falcon or some such cerimonial nesecity. It was all white noise for Rick, all he could do is stare at Bayne, the pilot who unwittingly tipped his hand. He was in the biggest mech in the trial, but Rick was mouthing the same word in silence over and over as he looked at the cockpit of Bayne's mech. 'Prey'.

Upon the ending of the Star Commander's Roderic, Rick turned his mech to Bayne. "Bayne, I, Bondsman Richard invoke Zellbrigen. Let no one interfere."

"Very well, it was Bayne who would go last, but as Zellbrigen has been envoked, I will allow this contest." The Star Commaner's voice was uncomforting, but at least Rick had no objections.

"Well bargained, and done."

Rick hit the throttle and charged head long into his chosen opponent. Bayne's Timberwolf didn't waste any time in firing everything he had, as the Nova stumbled in it's stride to LRM and laser fire. In the first salvo the blasts had stripped much of the center torso armour away, exposing internals like the Nova was just eviscerated.

A thought crossed his mind, a time when he was working among Wolf's Dragoons. Among the mechwarriors was the discussion of Death Ground, how once a warrior knows it is fight or die, with no grey chance of surviving, he fights without fear. To the Trueborn Bayne it must have seemed like a fools errand, a death-wish. The truth is Rick could not control his own cowardess, the want to eject and just hide among the lower castes. He would have been disgusted with himself, giving up to these Clanners who spat on him like every other mechwarrior that came before him. He was reminded of Draco, of DeMarkus, Elizabeth and Kaylee, all the names that looked at him as nothing but a lug with a wrench, someone to fix their messes and help them get the Glory, to let them play the hero. Once he considered them all friends, but he would never survive among the Clans with that. Their names needed to be turned to poison in his viens, and it sickened him on how he and Mechwarrior Juliana had talked, how she turned everything to venom. She made him sharp...

And now he was in Death Ground, with the biggest mech in the trial already half-way done blowing him to kingdom-come. Time stood still, his heart was beating against his ribs. His hands didn't sweat anymore, he was not panicing, it was an all surreal calm. His targeting computer looked over the Madcat and he already knew what he had to do. The sudden spike of heat drew the breath from his lungs, and he could feel his skin begin to peel back after the first shot, firing all of the Extended Range Medium Lasers in a single burst. The Lasers found their marks, slicing through the left leg, arm and side of the Timber Wolf. As he charged head long at Bayne's mech, Bayne started to reverse. Rick was bullying him, coming at him in a suicidal charge, and berzerker game of Chicken that Rick was sure Bayne would be the first to flinch. After all, Bayne could Eject, but not for long...

Machine gun fire skittered across the cockpit glass of Rick's nova. Bayne couldn't keep backing up, and as soon as Rick saw his arms drop to brace for impact, Rick fired his jump jets. He could hear the sound of straining metal as the Nova barely scraped by the Timber Wolf's cockpit. A sudden twist and he landed with his left side facing Bayne's back. Rick however waited as he slowly walked forward upon landing, forcing Bayne to turn his damaged side to the full bore of the Nova's superior close-range fighting power, while giving it time to cool. Rick was counting the miliseconds. The Nova had a particular quirk, it could alpha strike twice if a given time period without killing the pilot of overheat. Rick just hoped all his sweating to get in shape would let him survive the blistering wave of fire that would cook his cockpit along with his heatsinks.

Sure enough Bayne turned his ruined side to get Rick back into his sights. It was either that or expose his back, and it would not matter what mech he was in, few of them could survive the firepower of a single strike a Nova could give in it's primary configuration to the near tissue-thick rear armour.

Rick remained without firing, the adrenaline and heat flooding his lungs. He waited for that shot, begging for it to be open. When he could look through into Bayne's eyes through the cockpit to cockpit, he saw it. That smug smile of every Trueborn gone. It is hard to look down on someone when we are all knee deep in it is it not? Rick took a deep breath in. The heat spiked up again, and the flesh along Rick's face and arms began to peel back like tissue paper.

Beams crossed over the leg, and torso of the Timberwolf as it turned, and the momentum of it's back-up turn caused it's leg to twist, the metal and fibers shedded, the weight of the machine suddenly took over, and Rick could see the mech compound fracture it's own thigh. Seventy-Five tons of war came twisting like an ice skater and crashing like a bag of potatoes as it's leg continued to give way to gravity.

Rick held his breath as the heat sinks flushed the air in his cockpit with something cool enough to breathe again. Pain shot through his body as soon as the Timber Wolf found the ground, and Rick screamed in horrible agony.

A moment passed, the blackness around the edges of Rick's sight began to creep in.

"FREEBIRTH!!!" Bayne was on the com, though the only word Rick made out was his first. The foot of his Nova took a step forward, it's foot falling right ontop of Bayne's cockpit, crushing glass and metal.

****

Rick was throwing up behind the hanger bay. The heat, the adrenaline, the sickness in his stomach became too much. It did not matter that the Trial was formally ended early by the Star Commander, though Rick was sure that was a manuver to halt any chance Rick would have of going beyond his Mechwarrior status. Mechwarrior. The word itself made him feel sick, which was following the reality of being sick.

Juliana was standing at the Corner when Rick finally came back. "Well well Mechwarrior Richard. Actually, I like Mechwarrior Rick better. There is already a Richard on base and it would be a shame to make it so confusing, quiaff?"

"Aff, Juliana.... Aff."

*****

Bayne was on a stretcher, bound and screaming. The hallway of the hospital was too small, it was closing in on him, it became impossible to breathe. He needed to get out, and he fought against the straps as he felt his broken bones which just began to heal break again. Panic filled his eyes, his breathing was erratic. He needed to get out! They were suffocating him! He couldn't die like this!

Bayne would never enter a Battlemech cockpit ever again...

Edited by MacabreDerek, 25 June 2012 - 10:52 PM.


#18 Insidious Johnson

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • Bad Company
  • Bad Company
  • 2,417 posts
  • Location"This is Johnson, I'm cored"

Posted 26 June 2012 - 12:32 AM

Great read! Keep writing!

#19 Thom Frankfurt

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 2,741 posts
  • Google+: Link
  • Facebook: Link
  • LocationSearounders Tavern, Port St. Williams, Coventry

Posted 26 June 2012 - 05:56 PM

Mechwarrior Rick... It does have a certain ring to it.

#20 MacabreDerek

    Member

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 435 posts
  • LocationManitoba

Posted 26 June 2012 - 07:46 PM

Tried to devise one of the worst possible fates for a Clan Mechwarrior. Mental scarring with Claustrophobia seemed to be the best I could come up it. Think it works?





4 user(s) are reading this topic

0 members, 4 guests, 0 anonymous users