Darth Turbogeek
Feb 19th, 2010, 05:23:21 PM
I've actually attempted this, but your posts defy all editing. :x
;)
Remove the wife angst, empahsis on the ex-Master who has a few problems with the whole Force thing and the trouble it causes, change the backstory to remove the utterly stupid bits (Altho frankly it's MUCH less retarded than 99% of the EU) and change the name to Gregori Pal'adin.
I wouldnt touch a scrap of Turbogeek, that stuff was hilarious
Wait a moment, I'll rewrite the first post to how I would do it today
Darth Turbogeek
Feb 19th, 2010, 05:58:10 PM
Didnt need to change a lot, got rid however a few important logic errors and set up the character better
In the circle that has often been ascribed to Life, we tread in it, never changing, always holding to our course due to fear of change. To come out of our comfort zones. It’s like a habit, we do the same things, we do the same things we detest in ourselves time and time again because we don’t take the strength to change course. We look ourselves in the mirror and hate what we see, but we still never change. We always want to be whom we want to be, even if we don’t like it, not whom we need to be. But sometimes, the circle kinks…. Suddenly our comfort zones are kicked aside. And we have to rise up and be something we never thought we could be.
--
The starlight burst through the viewport, creating shadows and bright point in the room, a fairly bare 10 by 10, standard New Republic war ship in construction and decoration. The light shone in on a bed, shone on a collection of bottles that occasionally clinked as the ship moved, shone a bare kitchen, shone on a bed. The blanket on that bed was black and non-descript, the pillow was a bare white. The head on the pillow was covered in neat short black hair. A arm dangled from under the blanket. Snores could be heard coming from the depths of the blanket. There was a black cat curled up on the end of the bed, also asleep. Nothing else.
Time went past with no further movement.
Conscious came creeping back like a think gooey sludge being poured, came back slowly and it seemed it came from a long distance. The arm moved to a place next to the head and a soft moan was expelled.
Another few minutes with only vague stirrings.
The cat yawned and stretched as a muffled fart sounded out and the blanket stirred. A low groan could be heard, then a moment later by another fart. There was some more movement, slow at first as the person under the blanket began to stir and slowly wake up. Eyes opened and blinked with the starlight of some sun streamed into the irises, pupils dilated, the eyelids were scrunched together as the pain receptors came active. Another groan.
The cat got up and stretched again, aching it’s back as it stretched what seemed like every bone and every muscle of it’s body. It yawned again, began to work muscles and sinews before stepping off the bed lightly. The person didn’t move for a few more minutes, then the arm was drawn up and with seeming huge effort, what appeared to be a male human slowly curled himself up and then drew himself into a seating position. The blanket fell off his well muscled body, revealing a fairly fit man, naked. His body, as well as being muscular also evidenced the scars of either accidents or of fights the man may have had. A truly spectacular scar was etched into his back, some others crisscrossed his arms and there was the remains of what looked like a spearing through his right shoulder. The face was unmarked, even boyish and quite handsome. The hands were longish and fingers thin, not the hands of a fighting man at all, but more of an artist like a musician. The legs dropped to the floor, the feet more of a dancer. Long legs draped themselves over the bed as the man came upright, cupping his hands in his hands. Pain washed through his head and he just willed it to be gone, not with any particular success however. Eventually the throbbing in his temples drifted away enough for him to raise his head without feeling sick and his eyes were able to open enough to view the room.
Quite suddenly his stomach heaved. Oh no… he bent over and with a great deal of violence and noise threw up. The vomit splattered the steel floor, startling the cat and covering a couple of bottles. The waves of illness hit him four more times until his stomach had no more to expel. He raised his bloodshot eyes to look at the room and his mind finally came groggily awake, scanning the area, seeing the empty bottles and noting that the room was actually in fact reasonably dark and the huge blasts of noise was in fact the blood rushing in his head.
Major General James T. Tohmahawk, the Commander of the New Republic Special Forces and very reluctant envoy to the Greater Jedi Order felt like shit and he would take a bet he looked like it too. His eyes surveyed the room and this time counted the bottles as the cat wandered over and began to lap up some of the vomit. With some effort he made the mental effort to total up the numbers and was even quietly impressed with the result, even if it explained why he was feeling so terrible. What a bender he must have had. The beer bottles were quite numerous and by the labels, it wasn’t the low effect piss they served on most planets. This was real hard stuff, the type of drink that was used for paint stripper. Or acid etching. Maybe even hand to hand combat and certainly not for human consumption.
That was all right then. Despite his appearance, he wasn’t human… well maybe somewhere along the line the race of his ancestors and humans had been the same in the past, as his race could certainly crossbreed successfully with humans. But no human had his natural, unreal strength, given by the fact the gravity of his home was over twice normal, nor the tolerance for the sheer heat of the deserts he grew up in. Nor did normal humans live as long. Tohmahawk was 128 years standard, had seem thing that he wished he hadn’t. His home was in the Unknown Regions, hence it was spared the worst of the Empire. But Tohmahawk had been living on Coruscant and had gone through it all. Seen the Fall of the Jedi with Order 66, the Empire, the death Palpatine, seen the NR rise. Been part of it. Still, if he reached the average life of the Mitator, he would see another 250 years. What could happen in that many years was mind-boggling and he tried not to dwell on it for long when he was feeling melancholy. He groaned again as another wave of nausea hit. Given his heritage, alcohol didn’t quite have the same effect on him that it did on humans, but there were still the side effects if he drank enough. 47 bottles and the marking were of high grade, yes that was more than enough.
Glancing up, Tohmahawk’s bleary eyes sought the chrono out that sat on the kitchen bench, saw the date and time, mentally working how long he had been out for. The answer was not pleasant – 3 whole days. 3 days in an alcohol induced coma. No wonder he felt terrible - that much alcohol was bordering close to lethal. He kept seated until he was certain that his legs could bear the weight of his body, stood very slowly up and tottered over to one of the doors leading out of the room. Luckily, it was the one he wanted and he closed the door for privacy. The cat licked it’s paws as more retching sounds echoed out.
Eventually, still naked, he came out feeling somewhat better to get a shower. Unlike normal, he ran the water as hot as he could stand it, and stood there for a long time, allowing the spray to massage the aches and also for the steam to help clear his mind. It seemed to work, for when he came out with hair still wet and a towel around his hips a good hour later, he was feeling somewhat better. The floor was clean of bottles and the residue vomit had been cleaned, obviously by one of the cleaning droids assigned to him. The cat was purring, looking well fed, also having being given food at the same time most likely – well, he hoped so. He had a vague memory of the cat licking the vomit, so Tohmahawk decided he wouldn’t allow the animal to nuzzle or lick him for a few days.
Food was next. He was starting to feel hungry, but most food wasn’t really appealing right now, so he selected a few pieces of fruit from the food unit, plus set the unit into making a good cup of tea. He didn’t know why, most times the unit produced something close to, but not quite related to Gungan slop. Maybe it was wishful thinking he kept trying. He sat down on one of the chairs when the tea was ready and was pleasantly surprised to find it was half decent. Which half was decent he couldn’t quite decide, but it was a good step in the right direction and that was a good thing. It meant the processing unit would go through another day without a lead induced memory bank reprogramming. He carried the cup over to another one of the doors, opening it to reveal his wardrobe. Uniforms neatly lined up. Some casual clothes and boots. The cat circled his feet, rubbing it’s face on Tohmahawk’s bare shins. He gently pushed the cat out of the way, before taking down the civilian clothing. He paused, took a sip of the still hot liquid, then also withdrew the trenchcoat as well. A bit of a smile played over his face, considering what he was going to wear. One of the privileges of rank was you could do what you wanted at times and he quite frankly didn’t like the current NR uniform. There was a specific NRSF design coming, but it wasn’t here yet. Thence he would wear something he liked. Besides, the crew of this ship recognised these clothes he wore now, it was like wearing the full dress uniform. It set him apart.
Five minutes later, he was dressed and finishing off the tea, the hangover receding as he began to rehydrate. He placed the cup down, the cat casually moving to it and investigating for any dregs, while Tohmahawk reached back into the wardrobe, to the locker behind the clothes. Only two beings had the key for this locker, him and the droid servant. In it were his most prized possessions and he hated the thought of anyone else touching them. On one side was the two items that truly set him apart, things he almost hated the sight of and what they meant. It reminded him of times he wished never happened but he knew how wrong it would be to throw the devices away. He used the devices… but never as Tohmahawk. To the other side were the things he was looking for, two large holsters clipped to a belt. He drew the belt out, placing it around his hips and snapping the buckle closed. Riding in their customary place were the beautifully built Rail Guns, devices of lethal effectiveness and in this day of Blasters, remarkably anarchic. Projectile weapons had almost died out given the cost of a blaster was a factor of 20 less than these things. Yet, with a 20 shot magazine and a muzzle velocity approaching hypersonic and a kick like a Rancor, the guns packed a hit that could smash personal armour, break shields, shoot a Jedi dead before he / she moved or put a signifigant dent in hull armour. Burnished metal, the Rail guns were brutal, beautiful and deadly. So good was the design, the newly formed Warrior sect Jedi were adopting them as the standard side arm. Personally Tohmahawk had a low opinion of any Jedi, even ones who were willing to take the fight to the forces of evil that were in the galaxy, instead of the pacifists. He had met very few Force users he could trust, interestingly the main one being his good friend General Jyanis Scorpion, a former Sith of all things and a recent defector to the Republic. Good man, had a good head on his shoulders too. Hopefully learning to be a Jedi wouldn’t spoilt the superb military mind Jyanis had, as well as the ability for a quick retort, two thing Tohmahawk respected. He was known himself to be sarcastic,caustic being without fear of anyone's position and had been known to even dare yell down the Chief of State plus his superiors on occasions. Tohmahawk tho was known as a good commander and more to the point, a brilliant fighter and commander and thence his occasional insubordination wasnt counted too badly against him, even if he had made enemies inthe Republic. He himself had ended the lives of 5 Sith and 3 Jedi who had gone rogue as well, a feat that even trained Jedi found hard to do. Jedi relied too much on the Force, Sith presumed they were all powerful - and missed that a good mind and a cunning plan could go a long way in overcoming any advantage in the Force. That, and brute firepower
But there was something Tohmahawk had that few Jedi or Sith ever had. Superb military training, year upon year of martial arts experience, natural speed and strength, eyesight and reaction time that would make a cat look blind and slow. He looked himself in the mirror however and his eyes told him the real reason why he could defeat even the best. The eyes never lied, being the windows into the mind beyond. Tohmahawk could read what was behind a person’s eyes and he could not hide anything from himself, no matter how much he denied things to others and lead even his best friends astray at times. His eyes held back secrets from others and one of those secrets…. Well if they only knew, because it would explain a lot. Sometimes he wanted to say something, but then it would start all over again and he didn’t want that. He had shut that door with a blazing argument and bloodshed.
But it had to a degree. If what spy had seen was correct, it was starting all over again and he was being succked back in. It had been the cause of this mind blowing bender three days ago. He had deliberately drunk himself under because of the news. Not much could drive him to drink, in fact he had been intoxicated precisely 4 times in his long life and had in fact had only touched the hard stuff 6 days in total. He knew others that when faced with the twists life threw at you had become married to a bottle. Not Tohmahawk. Just these very rare splurges and he was righted. He could deal with it. Answers came in the end, just like that last time, faced with a course that seemed right and yet oh so wrong. He glanced at a place on the mirror and knew what was behind it, what he hid there… and knew he was thinking crap. You don’t deal, you just try to forget and bury the pain. Quite well too, just with the outbursts of memories that he could keep tucked away for long periods of time unless something dredged them to the surface. Like the news he had got. Force Master Hunter had delivered it and he still couldn’t believe it. Darth Turbogeek could NOT be alive. Tohmahawk had seen the body himself. It was not much more that a burnt husk, but he had known whose remains they were. Without doubt.
So what the hell was a dead Jedi doing not only alive, but if the sketchy reports could be believed, even associated with a group of Dark Jedi? That was straight out insanity, but Turbogeek had been sighted in the company of a TBH Dark Jedi. Even more bizarrely, the reports that after Tohmahawk had dumped that Ravenwing woman on Coruscant, she had somehow also linked up with the suspected resurrected Jedi and had in fact left the planet together with the suspected Dark Jedi Jeseth Cloak. Tohmahawk would love to know how Turbogeek had possibly come back from the dead, so he could make sure that damn idiot STAYED dead. The general had a long history of a strained working relationship with that idealistic fuckup and had not shed any tears when word had gotten through he was dead. But typical of Jedi, he couldn’t even die properly. Reports conjectured it was some sort of Force trick but as yet Tohmahawk had no real idea himself. He would just have to meet this Turbogeek one day and then find out for sure…. Before gutting the bugger.
He shook his head. That might be a good thought, but it was for the future. Now, he had other things to attend to and for one thing, it was seeing if his new flagship, the NRSF Super heavy cruiser Defender was coming back online. The finality of a project to counter the newer super sized craft the Galactic Empire as well as The Sith Order had produced. Defender was built to resist a cruiser axial super laser as well as have massive fighting capabilities itself, as well as being able to defend planets. Designed to be able to fight back after a super laser shot and to rip apart the attacker to pieces while their reactors were trying to recharge. Primarily built as it’s name suggested, it was the underpin for the new NRSF fleet and had enough firepower to lay low entire fleets. Crafted with planetary sized shields, nearly 1500 turbolasers and a similar number of Ion Cannon, plus 6 KDY-150 Planet Defender cannon, missile ports by the hundreds, and capacity for 72 wings of star fighters, it was a great ship and a true technological leap forward…. If they could ever work the problems out of it. Designated MC-200NR1, it had it’s maiden cruise at the Mon Cal shipyards 4 weeks ago and problems from that flight were still being identified and resolved. Tohmahawk had come back on board 4 days ago, run some reports, digested the results, given some orders, then locked himself in one of his cabins and just gotten intoxicated.
Well, now he was looking somewhat better and more to the point, feeling better, he decided it was time to return to the bridge and find out what had gone on what he had been under. Stopping for a bottle of water and a headache painkiller, he exited his cabin as the cat jumped on his bed for a snooze.
Darth Viscera
Feb 25th, 2010, 12:10:10 AM
Man, Operation Long Knives owned so hard. I remember it all began with an AIM session between me and Viscera and I was drunk as shit, and we both sort of stumbled upon the idea of "lol lets totally fuck up all of Itala's shit"
I can't remember how Vis and Itala were IC BFF's, but it was beautiful. Just beautiful.
I've never met an alcoholic beverage that I found delicious, so I was sober around that time and have some recollections to contribute. This was more than 9 years ago though, so there are bound to be some gaps.
As usual, I was searching for allies / RP partners at the time that Julian was coming back to swfans.net. This suited Julian, who needed a place for his character and clan to rebuild their empire. We set aside a planet for him that was out of the way, signed an alliance, and I came up with the name "Frih'Tan V", thinking it sounded science fictioney. We filled it with imperial defenses and probably troops.
I think this lasted a month. There were downsides that I was unaware of to being in an alliance with The Marzullo Clan. Namely, every other major power in the galaxy hated the Marzullos, and by extension, the Empire, for harboring him. I think my application to join RSO was put on hold. (Ironically, as a result of Operation Long Knives, I was finally let into RSO (yay!) but then it immediately went kaput (noooo!))
I started to feel ill at ease with Itala. He asked me to IC marry (I know, it sounds so dorky) some Marzullo girl. Sure, why not, I could use a Mrs. Darth Viscera. Or maybe just Mrs. Viscera. Terrible! Anyway, according to Marzullo rules of marriage, I would have to change my name to Darth Viscera Marzullo or something. OH HELL NAW!
Julian also made a few posts on his TMC ezboard, talking to Charley about how Frih'Tan V had a gravitational field that was hundreds of times greater than Earth's, thus rendering it invasion-proof. Charley rebutted that that was impossible - Imperial walkers wouldn't be able to walk, soldiers would be smashed into jelly, construction of any sort would be almost impossible. I felt a bit irked that Julian was taking some extra creative liberties in defining his planet. Charley and I got to talking on AIM, and we came up with the idea to surprise! totally obliterate The Marzullo Clan. Sure, why not, I was mildly miffed with Julian anyway. (I was 17, and I suppose at that age minor irks demand full planetary retribution.)
:cyduck
In hindsight, it was rather a dick move on my part, betraying Itala like that, and I still feel a bit bad about it, but it was a great and joyous thing to behold as almost all of swfans.net came together for this one very creative RP, and I look back on it with great fondness.
edit~Oh, it was Charley who came up with the brilliant name of the thread, "operation long knives", named after the night when Hitler purged the SA (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_of_the_Long_Knives).
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