TRP is a post-Great War AU RWBY RP set in Mistral City and Haven Academy with no canons, no rank claims, no maidens, and no god interference. We offer a progression system and site-wide events that change the setting based on player actions.
Post by Whitaker Pickett on Mar 1, 2020 20:07:45 GMT -5
"Feel one's age, Act one's age."
Whitaker Pickett was sweeping the floor of a warehouse. If someone squinted at him, one could almost mistake him for a janitor with the way he was dressed. Very plain, very practical. He looked rather surly, a frown on his face as he was doing manual labour for a minimum wage. A man most likely in his midlife crisis or something like that, who was displeased with doing this kind of work while some people had it already made by his age and could hire people to clean, and work, and toil in their stead.
This initial assessment was wrong.
For one, Whitaker loved working. Sitting quietly on some beach sipping drinks for weeks on end was his personal idea of hell. Being productive, in one form or another, was what he considered agreeable. Sweeping floors isn't bad in his eyes. It was honest work, that everyone should be able to do, but only a few could appreciate. It brings order to a chaotic floor, as well as a chaotic mind. The rhythmic motions and monotone simplicity of it all brought both peace to the surroundings as well as the spirit. He wasn't some disgruntled janitor.
He was, as far as he could currently tell you at least, some form of lieutenant or such in a criminal organisation.
Why would such a man sweep the floor?
Because the man who he previously ordered to do it didn't know the damn basics of sweeping a floor. Leaving behind filth and junk that Whitaker had been able to see from a distance.
And the person who he commanded to show the greenhorn how it was done also did a poor job. His sweeps were so tiny and slow that it would take the rest of the day.
So, you lead by example and show them how it is done. Strong and precise sweeps, as efficient as you can be with your time and energy.
There were about a dozen others looking at the person who was supposed to be their boss. Whitaker didn't want to repeat this little lesson. If two scrawny kids of barely twenty years are going to learn to sweep the floor, every scrawny kid here is going to learn how to sweep a damned floor. When Whitaker had seen that the employees tasked with cleaning the warehouse were unable to even clean a floor with a broom, Whitaker had shouted to them both, and called everyone to watch how you bloody sweep a floor. Some people thought it was a joke. It didn't sound as funny when Whitaker added that if he saw anyone screw up this basic task one more time, he was personally going to beat them with the broom in question till either the broom broke, or the person in question.
The warehouse had brooms with steel shafts.
And the man's voice didn't make it sound like an empty threat
So, Whitaker was sweeping. And people were watching him sweep.
495 Words - Thread Total: 495 - Damn youngster can't even sweep a floor right!
Post by Pyre Varice on Mar 1, 2020 21:37:56 GMT -5
Pyre Varice was taking a well deserved break. It was hard to find a good place to sit and work but he had eventually found a box to lean against. Now, one may ask. Why was a man dressed in a mask and a cloak leaning back against a box like he had nary a care in the world? With that look he'd be better suited to stalking the shadows with some oddly complicated goal in mind. The answer was very simple. He felt like it. Of course that wasn't the only reason. He had just gotten back from training with his ah...subordinates which had tuckered him out. He was not a fan of teaching his idiots how not to be idiots he was fan of showing his idiots how to not be idiots. Which was admittedly a decently fun time for him. They were good fighters but still rather untrained. Opting to fight him one on one even when he specifically left the hint that they should attack him all at once if they wished to win (admittedly, he would've won anyway. Of course they couldn't match up) So after he'd picked them all up and gave them some advice he decided to take a moment off and leave them to practicing on their own-which they took to with gusto- What was wrong with that?
Well. It wasn't so much a moment off as a moment to mess about with his weaponry. He'd always admired his own work but he'd have to congratulate himself on the modifications done to Happy. The pistol looked twice as good as before. Pyre grinned inwardly and pulled the magazine out to count cartridges again. With deft hand movements he pulled the magazine out and dropped the cartridges into his hands. Eight he counted and he knew he was correct. He hadn't fired a gun at all today. He was more practicing his melee skill. Go lucky didn't get its chance to shine often and he was worried he was getting rusty. The reactions of his subordinates proved his worry unfounded, naturally. He was as good as ever. After a thorough inspection of his weapon he slipped Go Lucky out of its holster on his leg and began to look it over. Ah, the poor thing had a bit of dust on it. Pyre flicked off whatever dust could be found on the weapon. It had to be clean as it had to be in a proper working order at all times.Dust meant it wasn't properly protected and Pyre couldn't allow that. Well, since it was out he might as well get some practice in. Pyre flipped the knife around so he was holding the blade and flipped it again. He couldn't time it properly but that was too slow. As he kept flipping Go Lucky, his mind vaguely reminded him that something was going on around him in the warehouse. Ah, there he was. His superior. Whitaker. Sweeping the floors? He couldn't help himself. A laugh escaped him. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't often he saw his boss acting like some sort of...servant really.
Well, he might as well keep to himself. Chances are boss man was teaching some imbecile how to sweep a floor. At least he was actually showing them how to do it. He detested people who tried to teach people without explaining things. They were ineffectual idiots. Gnats. Insignificant, like his parents. Pyre kept his eyes mostly fixed on his knife but he felt the need to at least acknowledge he was here. So he gave Whitaker a nod from his position close by, leaning on one of the stacks of boxes. He didn't feel the need to say anything, if he missed it that was his problem really. Not Pyre's.
Post by Alina Rybalka on Mar 1, 2020 22:34:14 GMT -5
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[attr="class","nikki101"]WE CAN ALL AGREE THAT VIOLENCE BREEDS VIOLENCE
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[attr="class","nikki102"]BUT IN THE END, IT HAS TO BE THIS WAY
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[attr="class","nikki109"]”Red, I’m very disappointed in you.” [break][break]
The silver haired faunus would remark, chair leaned all the way back in the vehicle. It was a custom model, with the outside made to look like a much older and shittier car so it didn’t get smashed into while the interior was a newer model luxury car. She had a handgun in her hands, one of the … mass produced variety. [break][break]
”Knight how did you even…?” the redhead fox faunus started, her orange eyes turning to the other woman in surprise. ”Oh come on, I literally had it on the other side of the jacket way far away. You went out of your way to take that just to talk shit, didn’t you?" [break][break]
The wolf faunus ignored the rude remarks of her subordinate as she leaned her chair even farther back in the passenger seat. She had the gun pointed towards her face and was looking down the barrel in what was perhaps the model of what is explicitly taught never to happen. ”I know you’re thinking about the whole plausible deniability thing when it comes to these things, but I’m telling you that it’s way smarter to just use it so rarely that you can’t be traced. Like, frankly, these things don’t do a lot of damage and—“ [break][break]
To nobody’s surprise but Knight’s, the gun went off when she roughly racked the gun with not a care in the world to things like a delicate touch. It barely dented her aura, but it did shut her up for a second. [break][break]
”Why would you fuck around with a loaded gun?” the fox faunus asked, anxiety tinging into her voice at the proximity of the shot. [break][break]
”What the fuck, Red? Why the hell was this even loaded? You worried about the fucking police or something? Is this thing a full magazine? What kind of paranoid little fuck… Here, put in these ear plugs.” The wolf faunus would say after a pause and reach into the glove box to distribute ear plugs in an order that was thankfully followed without question, and then fired the rest of the magazine at herself in a way that quickly made the driver of the car extremely uncomfortable and caused the fox faunus to turn up some music to try and mask the sound of… well, gunshots. [break][break]
”Calm down, it’s the fucking Ground District.” Knight would wave off the obvious unease at the situation as she emptied the magazine. ”I think I am proving the point that this shit is fucking useless though, yeah?” she spoke loud enough to make it past the earplugs, but not loud enough to be heard outside of the closed and reinforced windows of the vehicle. ”The entire thing is soundproof anyway, yeah? This shit isn’t good at all against any Huntsmen level opponents, and all it will do is piss them off enough to slap some attempted murder charge or some shit on you. I’m telling you, Red, the way to go is a nice melee concealed weapon that if you get caught with you just get a slap on the wrist and a fine and go on your way. Even if you use it, you can be bailed out easy peasy. You go around blasting, though, and it’s a hell of a lot harder to actually do anything about it because then we have to bust through the doors and incinerate the walls and then burn the hell out a city block and then eat into my paid time off and maybe even my vacation time to get your sorry ass out of prison because you felt like you just NEEDED to sit there and—“ [break][break]
The fox faunus returned to a stoic exterior once the shooting mere inches away from her stopped, and took this time to interject. ”We’re here.” [break][break]
”—What?” Knight was momentarily confused. [break][break]
”We’re here. At the warehouse.” Red clarified, orange eyes shifting between her boss and the abandoned warehouse that was swiftly coming into view. [break][break]
”…Mm. Well, I wasn’t done. We’ll continue this conversation when we get back to the car. Just park out front, yeah. Wait, no. Actually, park in the back. Away from the main street. I don’t want no fucking hobo pissing on my car. I fucking swear, if this was Vacuo I wouldn’t be dealing with this shi---“ [break][break]
”We’re here.” Red would interrupt as she parked the vehicle in an alley beside the abandoned warehouse. The rusted and rickety exterior of the vehicle disguised it well as a beater car driven by any old poor person and served its purpose of drawing as little attention as possible. [break][break]
”Can you just let me talk for two seconds, Red? Jeez, come on now. There’s something called being polite that would be sorely appreciated in times like this. Ugh, where even was I?... Fuck. This place is dirty as fuck, still. I swear, we need to get a fucking cleaning crew or someshit to clean this damned—“ [break][break]
”Knight, the bullets.” [break][break]
”What?... Oh, yeah. Good call.” The silver haired faunus tossed the handgun back to her subordinate and brushed the spent casings and remains of the bullets off of her clothes and onto the floor of the vehicle. [break][break]
”Should I get rid of—“ the fox faunus would start, but was interrupted immediately. [break][break]
”Nah, keep it there. It’s not like the police are patrolling down here anyway. Alright, let’s get out.” [break][break]
The redheaded fox faunus would get out of the driver’s seat and the gray haired wolf faunus would get out of the passenger seat at the same time, and would close the door at the same time in a perfect timing that had to have been practiced. ”Now, Red, remember that these things are pretty fucking important. I don’t want you dropping this like that other thing earlier, leaving it around for any Dick or Harry to get their hands on it. If you have trouble carrying it, please do not hesitate to conscript literally anyone sitting around and force them to do manual labor for you. This is an essential part of learning how to be a leader.” Knight would monologue as she moved to the back and opened the truck, exposing the large crate inside. [break][break]
”Well, you learned that part pretty well.” the fox faunus would quip. [break][break]
”See, this is why I’m worried that the others won’t like you. Rude and ungrateful, when I go the extra mile to be inclusive and help. See, I was totally going to help you carry that giant crate but now I think my feelings are hurt and I’m not gonna do it anymore. Instead, I’m gonna carry… uh…” hand rummaged through the pile of assorted crap in the back of the vehicle that was behind the actually important crate. ”The booze. I knew there—I mean, I planned ahead and knew that introducing alcohol to the workers would lift their spirits and be a great … uh… what’s the word…” [break][break]
”Olive branch.” Red would offer, neutrally. [break][break]
”Yeah! That one! Leave it to a fox faunus to be all about the branches and the wilderness and shit. You know what, just for that, you’ve redeemed yourself. I’m gonna help you carry the crate in now. You pull it out and I’ll just kind of take the back end of it a bit and…” [break][break]
To anyone who might have been watching, the scene must have looked pretty absurd. Two short faunus, both dressed in dark jeans and black leather jackets were offloading a crate bigger than they were from a vehicle that by all rights should probably not have enough space to house a crate like that in the first place. Frankly, neither of them was very physically strong either so they had to make up for that lack of strength in good positioning and teamwork. It was a large, gray box and Knight expertly jumped up a bit to kick the trunk back down once they had fully gotten out the giant crate. [break][break]
They moved towards the warehouse with both of them facing forwards with the box in between them. It wouldn’t be a very useful procedure for any doors, but it would get them actually to the building at least and sometimes it was the small battles that were the hardest to actually win. Plus, frankly, once they got it inside the door, they could pass it off to someone else to bring it the rest of the way underground easy peasy. The booze could come on the next trip.[break][break]
While Knight was certainly more easygoing and relaxed with her good friend and subordinate Red, she was still not yet exactly seen as the most intimidating person on the payroll. There were some rumors of bounty hunting in the past, sure, but the fact of the matter was that the wolf faunus was probably one of the least physically intimidating people on the planet. An easy laugh, some muscles that were not even really markedly above average, and a short stature didn’t exactly send people running in terror. Only those immediately next to her in the clearing of the base underground would have ever even seen her semblance yet – so the number was less than a dozen, easily. The lackadaisical attitude, though, got old with some of the members of Asche very early on and never stopped grating them the wrong way.
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[attr="class","nikki103"]1558 words
[attr="class","nikki103"]ASCHE SYNDICATE
[attr="class","nikki103"]1558 TOTAL WORDS
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NOTES
B Semblance, D Weapons, C Dust Enhancement, C Durability, C Agility, D Stamina, D Exhaustion, D Martial Arts
There were very few things that Charcoal hated more than sitting idly around while there were things to be done. That said, he could appreciate an hour of rest or two, something he often indulged in. But the antsiness that encroached upon him when he sat around, thinking of things that must be done was something that he could hardly stand. Thankfully, he’d been diligent and, if the messages he’d sent over his untraceable Scroll line were anything to go by, he’d just finished up for the time being.
The low purr of his dingy motorcycle cut quietly through the evening silence of the Ground District. He remembered the route easily enough from the clearing mission. Transportation had been one of the few things he’d asked for upon entry into the Syndicate, and the banged up motorcycle he now rode was what had been provided. It worked just fine for him. The engine ran clean and it was nondescript enough for him to not be connected to his other, more… law-abiding lifestyle. He’d actually been relieved they’d given him a bike. He’d learned to ride one during the war by one of the few friends he’d made.
Driving a car was a different story.
Pulling up alongside the large warehouse, he turned into one of the side alleys. As he caught sight of a beat-up car, his eyes widened in surprise as he watched two of the people he’d met at the clearing, Red and Knight, lugging a large box towards the warehouse’s doors.
As quickly as he could, Charcoal parked his bike near one of the nearby dumpsters and shut it off. The process didn’t involve a key, though, and involved him sticking his finger up to the hole of the ignition. After a moment, he twisted his finger to the left and the bike shut off. After he removed his finger, a fine grey dust spilled from the slot. After he finished this process, he shuffled around to grab a tarp out of one of the saddlebags near the back, and threw it over the bike in order to cover it. Smoothing out the wrinkles, he then jogged over to the pair and approached them slowly.
“Let me help you,” he said, his voice a smooth tenor, though his expression was blank.
If his request was heeded, he’d offer his aid to one of the two girls carrying the box - whoever it was that needed it most. If not, he’d back off and continue towards the warehouse. Though, he would hold the door open for them at the very least.