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Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -15-

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Lit only by the fire he played with across his hand, Zane sits in his ragged old armchair, a cigarette hanging from his lip as he watched her sleep.  The blanket just covered the top of her firm buttocks, as Soyala lay on her stomach half turned toward the window.  So much had happened over the last week it was difficult to wrap his mind around it all, especially her...he still couldn't believe this all wasn't just a dream.

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline Gears and Gun Oil -14-

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 Zane wasn't sure what woke him, but it was quite late the building was dark and it was quiet outside.  He felt Soyala's warmth cuddled close against him her head on his chest, a leg up over his own, one arm draped across him, and he smiled.  She was here with him again, and the peace that brought was a warmth he prized above all else.


As he lay there, running one hand down her back over the thin tank top she still wore, his mind drifted over back over the events that let to this moment.



Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -13-

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It was late by the time Zane wandered back to the old building in Flagstaff he was currently calling home.  Slipping in past the shotgun trap on the door, he checked the other tell tale signs that would have meant someone had been here but found no evidence they were disturbed.  He disabled the door wiring to bring his bike inside, then doubled checked all his security steps again.  A quick check of the diesel in the generator showed good, so he headed upstairs.


Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -12-

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((this entry has a bit more explicit and grusome violence than normal, so well you were warned))

After his talk with Death, Zane had desided that he wasn't going to stop.  He had to at least find the means to protect those around him, those clones closest to him. He would pursue the Lifenet information, find the codes and knowledge he needed, he'd started out about it the wrong way.  He couldn't fight them head on, but he could fight them at their game, he'd find a way.

But first he had other business....

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -11-

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It had cost a few more chips that he’d have liked but, the information was worth it.  The informer who’d set him up with the White Crow was going to reap his reward for that betrayal.  The lock securing the door of the apartment in the old tenement building was not much of an obstacle, now Zane sat in the dark waiting for the little weasel to come home. With nothing better to do his thoughts began to wander as he screwed the silencer on to his P19.

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -10-

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Wednesday 06:45hrs:   Motel Parking Lot Credit Bend



From the moment Zane had glided into town on his bike, they’d been watching him, if it could be sold, bought or traded for Travelers were aware of it, so there was a pretty good chance at least some of the top Family people knew what he’d been up to, question was where’d they stand.



Bringing his bike to a stop just outside the motel, he sat back stretching a bit, a polite nod to the Traveler guard leaning on the railing above having a smoke, a nod back.  Yea they were watching but they weren’t really concerned, Zane had been around Credit Bend enough that while he might not be quiet family he was a friendly, and a Tech which usually meant he was here to spend chips, something that was always welcome. 



And that was what it meant this morning, but he had a game to play, and so did they. 

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -9-

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((ok so I make a few assumptions about the facilities at the Clubhouse, figure we have cars, the graphics are there, and the water towers, not much of a stretch to figure we have hot water :P, also yea anyone who stayed at the Clubhouse on the second floor feel free to send me a PM if you "saw" Zane get up in the middle of the night.))


 


Slowly Zane stirred, his back felt stiff, idly he wondered if this was what rigor mortis felt like, of course he wasn't dead.. but was beginning to wonder if that wouldn't be a vast improvement.  Rolling over into a position that wasn't too uncomfortable opened his eyes to look up at the spotted water stained ceiling in the clubhouse.  After talking with Soyala and Nat for a bit Zane had wandered inside and found a bed to crash in, but after having slept most of the day, he couldn't stay asleep now, even with all the alcohol and painkillers in his system.


 

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -8-

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Zane stands slowly after tucking the note into the saddlebags of Vorela's bike, taking a quick glance around.  No one noticed, good.  He walks back to his own cycle, and climbs on starting the engine he glances back up at the entrance to Beau's.

 

"Sometimes shit just ain't fair." he mumbles to himself and pulls away, accelerating the bike quickly to top speed as he heads for the west road out of New Flagstaff.

 

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gear and Gun Oil -7-

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He can hear the man scrambling through the rubbish in the alley, stumbling, falling in the puddles that dot the pock marked concrete. A thud, a splash, the clunky rustling of garbage bags coming across over the rain. Flickers of light from the traffic in the street beyond, the human rat is almost to the end of the alley, but in the dark he can't see what The Man already knows, then the sound of the rattling chain links; the fence that blocks the end of the alley.  Twelve feet tall topped with razer wire and curved back toward the alley to prevent people from climbing over from this side.

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -6-

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With the heavy blanket over the window, the only light in the room is cast from a dim sodium lamp hanging from a nail in the wall above the work desk.  Zane leans back in his chair, a haze of cigarette smoke hangs lazily in the room, as he lights another off the last one before dropping the remains in an empty bottle.


Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil - 5-

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Zane leans over the lathe, watching it spin down so he can examine the barrel for flaws, the light reflected off the smooth shiny surface reflects off his jet black eyes, he is so lost in thought he fails to notice Jared enter the workshop behind him.  The older thinner man approches slowly, having startled Zane before, he is leary of repeating the mistake. 


As the barrel stops spinning the distorted reflection of Jared catches Zane's attention, without turning around he says "Yes?"


Jared clears his throat,while he isn't afraid of Zane, like many of the normal people that survived, he is uncomfortable around a clone, more specifically someone who may be an alpha clone.


"There was reports of another disturbance from your chambers a couple nights ago." Jared pauses to choose his words carefully, "It is becoming more frequent, with you still learning to control your "abilities" it could become dangerous."

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -4-

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A man sits in his back yard, the sounds of a quiet suburban neighborhood on a lazy Saturday afternoon, a little girl no more than 10 plays on the emerald green grass a short distance away.  He looks back toward the hows to see a blonde woman in a blue dress pause breifly at the open back door to smile at him.  The man takes a long drink from his cold beer, savoring the smell of fresh cut grass, watching the girl play.


Suddenly the young girl gets up and runs over jumping into his lap, in her arms a small kitten, a baby bonnette on its head, the animal seems to take the abuse in good humor as it dangles from the little girl's arm.


"Play with me daddy," the little girl grins at the man, "Look at my kitty, isn't she pretty?"


"Not now honey, maybe after dinner."  He caresses the little girls blonde hair, "Why don't you go see how much longer until dinners ready ok?"


"Ok Daddy," the little girl runs off up into the house.

Home Thoughts, from Abroad: Holly's Journal

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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness...Ha! The desert heat is still unrelenting...O, to be in England...For April was no better here. Though the winter was chill indeed. Why did I ever choose to take a holiday in America!? I hate this place! I hate this time!

No, that was not how I planned to commence.

 

*over on the flyleaf, a little fainter than on the page after, the ink fading through the writing*

In Memoriam

Dylan Oliver Nils Quint

Elanor-Rose Dench Quint

Ivy Trixana Nils Quint

 

Desert Rose: an inner monologue

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Once plucked beauty fades

Delicate flowers fall fast

Desert rose needs thorns

 

Damn! Damn! Damn! In seeking to protect myself did I remove my own thorns?

 

 

(TBC)

 

22nd November 2157.

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -3-

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The rented room in Pictus Ridge is dark, a thin silver of moonlight cuts passed the edge of the blanket over the window.  Sitting on the floor Zane can be barely made out raising his hand and the glass in it to his mouth, his bike lies on its side on the floor.  He takes a long drink draining the glass before filling it again and bringing it to his lips.  A drop of dark liquid runs down from his forehead to drip off the end of his nose into the glass dissapating into the liquor.


Zane lets out a long heavy sigh.


He turns toward the window, the moonlight strikes his face, taking half of it out of shadow, one eye glints as the other is swollen shut, half his face looks dark and wet, he snears at the light, then takes another drink. 

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil - 2 -

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He walks up the stone path toward the house, flowers line the walk, up the steps then he stops. The door's broken, the lock and frame shattered by a forceful impact, the man starts, then moves with renewed haste as he begins to shout two names, the voice is distorted, unclear, but the panic is evident.  Moving through the house he check the living room, a still steaming coffee cup sits on the oak end table, the television still on, the kitchen, supper cooking on the stove just starting to burn, he calls the names again, still nothing.  Moving faster through the house he races up the stairs, first a young girls bedroom, its empty, the dresser in disarray as if someone packed in a hurry, the master bedroom he finds the same thing.  Outside the sounds of sirens, cars moving at speed coming closer....the bang of a door slaming into a wall as it is kicked open...food falls on the stairs... the door opens police swarm into the room.


 

Zane Richards's picture

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil

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((a departure from previous entries on Fallen Eart RP forums.  I was having difficulty getting the point across I wanted, so trying a different format.  Enjoy))


The heat in the room causes the air to waver, covered in a sheen of sweat, Zane manuvers the newly formed frame onto the work table, pulling up his welding goggles to examine his work.  Eyes as black as the lenses of the goggles trace over each weld his thumb checking for burs or flaws in the steel.


"Not bad...could be lighter...a bit stronger..:" Zane mumbles to himself, no one to hear him anyway, no one else is up at this hour.  He takes out a file, and begins to fuss over imperfections in the welds and joints of the frame.


"What was I thinkin'...who am I...nobody that's who...why did I even do that...?" he sighs heavily taking his frustration out on the metal with the file.

Askari's picture

We can rebuild him. We have the technology.

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(( A small IC deal for people who didn't hear. ))

So maybe I did it for the wrong reasons. Sure, part of it was the hair. I wanted hair THAT bad. But another part of it was the self image. Who doesn't want to look good?

I guess I never considered that this would be bad, until Tony and I were in that LifeNet pod. And we found out that there was no deconstruction device. Shotgun shells hurt, especially when you have Tony shooting you.

How the fuck he grazed me with a shotgun shell to the face is beyond me. But that's Tony.

 

Wichita's picture

Wichita's Diary

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((Ok, yet another blog by me. This one though, I thought I would do like others, as sort of a recant of major things happening with Wichita. Postings will be sporadic, yet will play into her characters personality. Also, I'm leaving it as something open. She does not hide this book well, and someone may pick up, read, and subtlely bring my written comments out in in-game RP. Just another twist  thought I would do, to stimulate even more RP amoungst us Anyway, here goes)


<FYI, misspellings are intentional, to slightly show her immaturity>


I spent the night at the clubhouse. Sure felt good to sleep in a place where I felt safe.

Wichita's picture

A Siren's call...

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(ok, first off, I'm not a writer. But seeing the posts made here, and the stories being told, I thought I would take the "task" Henerkin gave me, and come up with a continuing tale. Also, am not the best typer, so forgive me for any spelling/punctuation/grammar errors. Anyway... I hope you enjoy it.)


Hmm, One-Eye wants me to check up on this Jesus dude, over at the garage. Thinks he may be up to something.


As I head over, I think...how can i get info, from a garage? Then I see it. A sign. "Help Wanted".. Ah there's my ticket in.


As I approach the garage, I hear a bunch of whistles and cat-calls. Whatever. I go up to Jesus and  point the sign... "Looking for help?"

Wichita's picture

Why she drinks... (spoiler)

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Warning: if you like things played out, without knowing ahead of time... STOP READING NOW.


OOC: 


Ok there has been grumbling about how all we do is nothing in RP but drink and party, lately. Yes, I'll admit, when I started Wichita, she was to be the spuky little party girl, always getting into trouble. Lately tho, I've gotten the 'bug' like others to where I think..."Is that all she does?"


Moving forward.. I've decided, she drinks to pass out (and not revealed yet, but if not drinks to sleep, pills to stay awake). She suffers from post-tramatic stress. There are two tradgic events that happened in her past life that, even tho most her memory is gone, these come to haunt her in her dreams. She uses the booze or pills to either fall asleep or stay awake to avoid these nightmares.


So.. what are these bad dreams?

Wichita's picture

A strange package...

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Waking up with one terrible hangover, and a nice shiner ((Thank you, Scrapper)), I decide I need to get out of Flagstaff. Need to get my mind off the stupid crap I did last night. I decided to head to Credit Bend. Someone there is gotta have something to take my mind off this. Beside... Pukey? I'm never gonna live that one down.


 


As I pulled into town, I see an old friend. It was my old boss from Depot 66, Janitor. I think I'll say hello.


Heya, old man...


Janitor: Watch it there, lil Ms. Smarty-pants.. *laughing* So, hows my number one snot nosed, freckle faced, pain in the ass pupil doin'?


I look at the ground ashamed.


Janitor: ah.. I see... nice shiner..*chuckles* oh, and what's this... Invicta, eh? Well, you always liked the rough and tough bunch.


I look up, giving him a sheepish smile


Janitor: Anyway.. glad I caught ya.. R'member ole Sneaks?

Miscellanea, mostly OOC

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The last of blogs about Kemena, clearing the way for FE ideas brewing in my head, this is bits and pieces of info so I have it to hand in one place :) .

 

Neverlin and Kemena

A Feast for the Soul

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(Written from the point of view of another of my characters, after Neverlin's botched attempted wedding ceremony with the by now unwilling Kemena.)

 

Winter musings of the new Lady Kemena Maxtentius, Baroness of Baione

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So much changing. Yet through it all my wonderful Aurelius. Though he is not here as often as either of us would like. Yet that we knew... that he would always have contracts taking him far from Poitain at times. And since he was ennobled by the King for all the services that Invicta have rendered the throne, his responsibilities have grown.

What Neverlin did next.

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Somewhere across Poitain:

Taking his cup of hot tea, Neverlin walked outside into the brisk air. Looking up to the sky he estimated the new moon was about two days away. The necromancer took a long sip from the tiny cup. He thought to himself.... It's almost time for Kemena's check up

 

(posted by Neverlin, 23rd Oct 2008)

Letters, notices and parcels

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The young Mitran priestess smiles as she tacks up a notice on the Keep wall and peruses it one last time for any spelling errors. She places it next to the one asking Invictans to keep looking for any sight or sound of Caradoc.

Wichita's picture

What's your name, little girl??

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(The following is the file Elena Winters discovered to be shredded of Wichita. It is the only record of her past existance, and currently it's whereabouts unknown)


 


Subject 137422108


Name: Jane Doe, formally Kayla Jo Greyfeather


Statis: comatose, clinically brain dead, turned over the Lifenet for organ donation


Parents:Father... C.C. O'Leary, convict, sentenced for murder and drug smuggling, former Hells Angles cycle club memeber. Irish desent. (This would explain Wichita's attraction to Invicta, and the Irish for her reddish hair.) Mother... Maija Greyfeather, former club dancer and prostitute from Vegas. Orginally from Kansas. Native American desent (explains her attraction to things tribalish, and her *uh hum* "unique" way for dancing, when not thrashing to metal tunes.)

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