where we droppin' [ open ]

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

”others” "me"

Alright, I have to try this shit.

Originally I had no clue what I wanted to do. The training center was almost like the BASE. How the room seemed to never end, how the room felt so stiff. It was like a waiting room in the doctors' office. Didn't smell like it, though. Compared to the sterile, latex smell the air of a waiting room has, this place smells like feint vomit, piss and sweat. Which is reminiscent of the BASE. So I guess I'm right at home. The smell and size didn't do much to distract from the fact that I need to try and learn somethin'.

I figured start with somethin' physical. Somethin the league could try and convert its' efforts into. That obstacle course was a later treck, though. I didn't get the chance to fight Aytac before leaving. Sure as hell wish I did. But I didn't want to fuck over Woods' like that. They may be all he got after this shit is done and over with.

When they were giving us the rundown on training, they brought up the simulation options some of these combat ones have. You get to pick a climate and then various aspects of who you're fightin. Mutts or humans, the amount, the difficulty. Somebody else was starting down the huge panel of options, so I figure seein' if we could double team this shit. "You got any ideas?" I glance at their body, guessing at what I was working with here. "I think we could take two of the medium difficulty ones, eh?" I look at their various representations for medium-sized mutts, and it ain't that scary. "Don't got a damn clue about the terrain. Don't think the arena's gonna be turf.""

--

One (or two) people welcome to join! Theo will hop on to any scenario the others want. Ideally "easy" mutts are 10 hp, "medium" are 15-20, and harder are "25-30". Terrain could be any basic climate that y'all would want. Attacks would be through rolls of 1-6 . First come first serve!

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

*

The biggest hunt I’d ever been on was to flush out the raccoons that kept tearing through our trash and messing up the little planters my mom had tried to set up to raise some vegetables. She liked the idea of growing tomatoes or cabbage, though we mostly wound-up growing radish and potatoes – bulbs that wouldn’t die so easily.

I did manage to get them to scat with a good use of a broom and a few well-timed blasts of the garden hose.

Unfortunately, as ferocious as raccoons could be (those fuckers have sharp claws and aren’t afraid to try and bite if you get too close) I’m not quite sure if they qualify on the same size and scale as what I’m supposed to face in the arena.

Lucky for me, they put out a space in the training center with all the fancy bells and whistles that could concoct scenarios for us to try. A chance for me to either show off if my empty head had learned anything from those swordsman lessons or if I was going to have my ass handed to me. Which, to be fair, I usually learn by failing anyway – doing, failing, trying again – until I get something right. Maybe that’s why I’m so careless, when you fail all the time, you stop caring about what it takes to get it right the first time.

“How about… something with a beach. Sun, waves,” I stood next to the kid from eight and watched the screen flick between the different options. His guess was as good as mine, “Better than lava and ash shooting up around our face.”

He’d been a volunteer, too. Not one of the ones that made himself a martyr or gave some chickenshit speech. Just a guy who marched up to the stage and kept it moving. I could respect him for that.

“I don’t know my dude,” I scrolled through the options and wondered if waking up in the infirmary was in my future. “But if you’re in, I’m down.”

ELEGANT

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

”others” "me"

“How about… something with a beach. Sun, waves,” dude from Five speaks up and I take a look at the beach option. If you hover over an option long enough, it'll give some sort of highlight reel of what one could expect. “Better than lava and ash shooting up around our face.” Ain't that fuckin' right. I suspect that the room we practice in will adjust itself to match the climate. It would not be a good idea for lava. A beach, either, given how much I sweat. But it'll be pretty at least.

He's a short guy, but has some build, so I don't know how much he can take physically. Throw him in the mountains and see how well he can hike while fighting off a bitch. I figure it's not best to make him suffer, though. ”I don’t know my dude,” Fair enough. “But if you’re in, I’m down.”
Well, that don't really help.

"As long as I don't need to swim." Don't trust the water in Eight enough to dip into one of our rivers. Too many chemicals and shit from a bunch of factories that used to line them bitches. Swimming is in not in my wheelhouse. Unless you count swimming in bitches. I am fighting with a bunch of 'em, though. Maybe I do have a chance. "Beach it is, my dude."

I tap on the little details we get to customize, and it tells us to step into the room. We're told that The room is essentially a viewing box from the outside. Like them one-way mirrors. There were a series of 1-4 starting pads, I assume it's so that the room could hold a variety of people. Whatever the station audience feels fit, if ever so popular. Once in, the room turned black. "This ain't a fuckin beach."

Moments later, I was filled with scents, followed by sounds, and then lights. The technology in the capitol is absolutely wild, dude. It smelled like salt and clean air. Only reason I recognize it is because of how bad ours is at home. Sounds of waves rushing and pulling back, the light crisp rustle of leaves from nearby trees. This shit was almost real, but I know it's not. The room instructed us to grab whatever weapons we feel necessary. I had some long stick with a blade on it, but not exactly a spear.

All I ever used before was a knife. I don't know this fuckin shit. Down th beach stands two other figures. Fake, really, but it's eery to see someone ready to kill me. Like it was already happening. Part of me wonders if we could replace their faces with people we hated. "Well, damn. This feels real." It's supposed to, but shit. "Guess we gotta kill 'em. You ready?"

Dude doesn't have a choice anyway.

NLQqkNMuma1-5

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/div][/div]

the simulated people both have 20 hp! rollin 1d5 per thing ideally1-5