'Till the Day of Doom [IC]

The link for the OCC: http://www.roleplaygateway.com/till-the-day-doom-t37419.html I believe there are...three more spaces left. Put character sheets there, please.

Elizabeth stands before the two founding members of the Rebellious Forces, as one of the appointees to a party to...negotiate with the Creators. Their demand to choose ten thousand of their own to kill off before the Creators did the job themselves was unspeakable. They were nothing but leeches, and she was honored to be part of the crew to stop them.

She was a technician at heart, and knew everything about everything powered by steam on or in Earth...Stellar, she corrects her thoughts. Earth has not existed for a long time, though she knew of the lush paradise it was before the Creators came to damn them all. Her parents had her taught well, wealthy as they were from the steam production industry.

“Now, it is vital that you negotiate with them for as long as possible before attacking,” the Commander says, named Robert Collins. He was tall, thin, and wiry, gray hair framing his face, a brown silk top hat perched on his head. He had one hand loosely at his side, and the other in the pocket of his brown tweed suit jacket, surely holding a small weapon of some sort. By law-abiding day, he was the accountant for her family, as well as a family friend. That was where she first met him, where she had first heard of the Rebellious forces. He was not the Commander only because of his charm or wit, however. He was a brilliant tactician, and a veteran of the days when the Earth was still as it was, and still a spry fighter when the need arose.

“Of course,” the Second says, a woman named Marie Collins, the wife of the Commander, beautiful in her aging years as well as a deadly assassin, able to kill with such speed, silence, and grace as well as knit just about everything it made her a perfect spy. She wore a copper-colored blazer for the event that evening, as well as a brown dress and sensible black boots. They were both calm and regal in their command, such as a command might be. They were a ragtag team, Elizabeth supposed, with loose numbers in the low thousands all over the islands of Stellar. But there were only ten chosen for this assignment, and so they shall be. “If trouble arises with the Machines, or with the Creators, by all means, attack as you will.” She tucks a piece of graying hair behind her ear, her eyes glittering with mirth.

They were like a small, rising nation, she thinks, still standing in front of the Commander and the Second in the earthen room of the main headquarters. They are the Rulers, and we, their noble knights.

“As you can see, there are six of you,” the Commander says. “There are four more from other sectors shall be joining you as you journey to the Creator's lands.” He smiles at them. “But I shan't be wasting your time with boring speeches and the like. That will be saved for the celebration that will take place when you return!” He chuckles. “Now, go, my friends. Return with good news!” He claps, and the others do, too. Elizabeth smiles at him.

“Thank you, Commander,” Elizabeth says. “We will come back, stronger than ever.”

“That's the good news that I like to hear!” The Commander says with a smile. “I trust you, Elizabeth. Why, it was only yesterday that you were a little girl, taking apart my scooter!” His face turns troubled. “I am sorry for taking you from your parents. But we need you.”

“I'm honored to be in this position,” Elizabeth contradicts. She checks her watch. “We have to go, move by dark, even in the the Underpaths.” She kisses the Second's cheek and turns back to her new crew, smiling. “Hello,” she says, looking at the faces; four men and another woman. “Ready for adventure?”

Roy had been standing in a corner with his arms crossed and his eyes closed as he listened to the commander and what he assumed to be the teams leader chatting. He didn't exactly know why he was chosen for this mission especially since his hate for the creators and anyone that took their side was so strong. The only reason he could think of was in case things turned out bad and they had to fight. If it came to that he would gladly cut them all up with his father's sword. He thought back to when he first recieved this sword; it was the same day that his parents were murdered and his sisters taken from him.

"I don't much care for these negotiations. If it was up to me I'd...destroy them all." Roy opened his eyes slowly as he said this and began to walk up close to the group. He looked around and studied everyone not thinking much of anyone as he did so. "If worse comes to worse stay out of my way."

He turned around towards the door and leaned against the wall next to it waiting for the others to say something and get some kind o planned worked out. Roy had been a loner for years so he thought that he would be going off on his own a lot of times and scouting areas out possibly. Though if this was a peace mission he didn't know why a scout was needed as of now. "Roy Eustace by the way."

Patrick Abbán leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings with an amused look on his face. Seemed Elizabeth was the de facto leader of this friendly jaunt into wild territory. The immediate assumption they would all be returning in one piece was, while optimistic, unlikely considering who they would probably be running afoul of. This ragtag bunch of rebels was amusing, but the pay was good, that much was certain. So, much to his amusement as the kid strode about talking about just beating these Creators into next week, preferably farther, he smirked and gave his first comment, which was said smoothly and almost off hand, although it was polite in tone.

"Don't get in over your head just yet, last thing I need is you getting into a situation where the whole team is in trouble having to rescue you from some fate worse then death." He let his gaze flicker from person to person, gauging how much of a pain keeping each alive would be, but reserving final judgment for later, until he had seen them in action. His boasting about the Creators lingered in the back of his head, but he could of cared less if they showed up trying to sell him something. Granted, what he knew sounded like it was bad for business, but crime and such always thrived, so he would always have a job. " By all means though, lead the way and set any potential traps off for the rest of us."

Patrick had, from first impressions, seen Roy as little more then cannon fodder for now. Better Roy then himself, that much was certain. Fodder had a role all its own, just not nearly as long term as more vital roles, say, the talker or something along those lines. Fodder could be replaced. It was a cold assessment, but he felt an accurate one based off his knowledge. "Patrick Abbán, at your service." He said with a slight, theatrical bow before resuming his casual lean against the wall.

Standing at an uneasy slouch behind Elizabeth as she talked, he smiled at her as she turned around. "You better believe it. You know me, I'll do whatever it takes to protect you and the others. I'm ready to do whatever needs be done. By the way, I'm bringing the boots." Grinning, he jumped backwards almost ten feet, with almost no height, and looked Roy in the face. "Name's Egide. Egide D. Broussard. Nice to meet you. I'm sure you'll be fine. And don't worry, I'm not planning on being in the path of that blade anytime soon." Looking around at the others, he smiled encouragingly. "So, who are the rest of you?"

"My name is Elizabeth. Formalities aside, I'm not the leader," she says, glancing at the man named Patrick. "I'm only nineteen, and have no notions of throwing around power I don't have." She winks at the mercenary. "I'm nothing but a tech, and probably the best one the Creators don't have. If I don't see something mechanical, it might be a miracle. Besides, I have my babies," she says, moving her trench coat to reveal her two pistols and rapier, of which she was a master at. She could hit moving targets with ease, and standing ones didn't even have a chance. "I think I can hold my own." She glances at the Commander, lowering her voice all the same. "Do you think I wish to have these talks as well? Ear-Stellar is not our planet anymore. We are the people of Stellar. We deserve the power," she says to Roy. "I hardly think talking will make the Creators pack up their things and leave."

Rosaline listened to the captain speak at them. She was half there and half gone at this time feeling a bit out of place with all of these people that seemed to specialize in areas that made sense to be on in the trip. She was just a cook, a damn good one, but a cook none the less. When everyone started there introductions and stuff she listened with an ear half open. It seemed that they all wanted the creators dead. Smirking at this she laughed when the fellow female stated she was only nineteen.

“Nineteen. Child you are only a babe compared to us and your babies won’t protect you. You have to know how to use them. Sure saying that you can hit a moving target is cute and all, but talk is cheap. Sense we are having fun with these little intros, names Rosaline. I’m the cook so if you’re smart you will remember I’m the last person that touches your food before it’s served. My age… I’ll leave you to guess. ” The twenty four year old stood stiff at attention for a moment longer till she displaced her weight to one of her hips and slouched in that direction. “My opinion will come out when I feel it needs to.” Turning her large green eyes away from the group she ran a hand thru her hair before turning to look at the vessel that they were going to board. Sighing lightly she scanned the group trying to remember names with faces.

"Well Elizabeth, if you are not inclined to lead, then who shall? I have no ambitions to lead, nor would I relish executing the role if necessary. Perhaps the ambitious Roy here would enjoy such a task?" He returned the wink with a smirk and incline of his head, a bit more formal but still a reaction. In honesty, he could lead them, and probably do said job decently, but he wouldn't enjoy it much, nor be a natural born at it. When the issue of talks came up again, he mentally sighed and delved right in, with his own view of things. "Talks are a form of diplomacy, but it appears that many here are in agreement to pursue an alternative form of diplomacy, dispatched from the barrel of a gun or the edge of a blade. I would suggest caution pursuing that sphere of diplomacy, for if we find ourselves outgunned and outmanned, trying to bludgeon our way in is like fighting off a swarm of insects with, a sledgehammer. A Sledgehammer is a strong tool in the right hands, but ill equipped to handle a swarm of foes. All I really say is there are always more then two options, shoot or talk, to consider, and perhaps would appease the wants of everyone present." He spent way too much time around wannabe gang lords who liked to talk the talk, but not walk the walk, as the saying goes. He picked up quite a bit of his mannerisms and vocabulary from such places, but developed his rather polite and inoffensive tone of voice himself. When Miss Rosaline made her comment about the food, he couldn't help but start laughing, quietly at first but it was obvious for a few moments he was amused by the cooks comments. He took a breath before continuing. "Apologies Miss Rosaline, but that was amusing. Your talk makes one think your thoughts run as an assassin's does, not always looking for flashy ways to strike, more the most effective. As for age, let me see....young enough to be fit for this, old enough to be experienced, I'd say twenties definitely, I won't hazard a further guess at the moment. Although I'd say mid, possibly high, if I were to hazard said guess."

Elizabeth grins. He had a flowery way of talking. But she wanted to nip this at the bud, and she knew the perfect way how. She whips out her gun, listening for the whirrings, hardly there, but there enough. She fires a shot at the edge of the crowd, and the whirring-as well as all talk-stops. She goes over to the body, and uses her rapier to peel off the face. "He was a Machine. They're aware of our presence," she says. "I wanted to take it and quietly dismantle it, but it seems our little party had it doubts." She points to the bullet hole. "Doubt me now?"

Rosaline turned to the male that was laughing lightly. You would think that they would not understand her humour, but it seemed that one of them got it. “Well thank you I will put that on my job application ‘thinks like an assassin’ should go over well with my next employer. Or maybe I lied to you all about being a cook and I really am an assassin out to get you hired by the creators.” Raising her eye brow she laughed lightly just in time to hear a gun shot. Staying still for a moment she looked over to see what it as only to watch as the girl pried the face of the machine.

Rosaline was ill impressed with the female shooting the machine. Sure it was cute that she had proved that she could indeed hit a moving target, but still. Rolling her eyes she applauded her. “Well done you proved me wrong oh all mighty one. How can I ever forgive myself for doubting your abilities?” Melodramatically placing her hand against her head to finish of her sarcastic display she chose to drop it and just leave the girl fuming. After all Rosaline was the older of the two.

Roy kept leaning against the wall partially listening to the others chatter. He kept his arms crossed and his eyes closed and didn't budge when the Elizabeth shot the machine. He then opened his eyes and looked around at the group without moving his head then turned his attention to Patrick. "I do not appreciate your sarcasm and save your petty insults until I've shown that I'm useless. It would be quite embarrasing for you if we had to save you instead wouldn't it?" He said with a calm serious tone as he started to walk towards the vessel they would be traveling in.

Roy stopped and glanced back. "Unlike you it seems some of are fighting to get something back." Then continued towards the vessel his right hand twitching as memories of his lost sisters flowed into his head.

Maxwell thought to himself as the others talked. Contract states, protect the members of this crew...seems like a tedious job, but hey, the pay is good. He unholstered one of his Six-shooters, viewing the rounds in the chamber. Six bullets...two guns...for a total of twelve shots. If I'm lucky I will have a chance to reload...but hell, if I have to reload I'm not doing my job. He spun the chamber and holstered the gun. He watched as tech specialist took out the machine impersonator. Huh....I was wondering when someone would notice...Seems the girl has skill, nice. He smirked and stepped forward.

"Hello all. The name is Maxwell Sabre, and I will be your 'muscle', so to speak...Now, I'm not being payed by the hour, and this job is kinda important, isn't it? Perhaps we should get a move on, 'cause it seems like the big guys upstairs are getting restless." He smirked, pulled out one of his revolvers and begun to twirl it around in his hand. Suddenly he fired one shot, ricocheting it off of the walls until it hit someone in the crowd, another Machine. "Missed one. Looks like they're on to us..." He joked as he holstered his gun.

Patrick gave Roy a smirk, that he was unimpressed with his threats of embarrassing moments. An offhand comment slipped in before the shot fired. "Embarrassing is walking in on a showering women, not being saved from death." After the shot fired, he took his time moving over, and prodded the machine with his shoe tip. It was dead, as far as he could tell, so he just turned and looked at the vessel they would be traveling in. With the taunting between the two women, he already knew that was going to be a point of conflict, and let his voice float back to try and defuse potential. "Please, mockery is unnecessary. We bring skills here, as much as it backfires in my previous commentary, Roy most likely will be of use. Now, in agreement with a few others already spoken, we should move before more machines decide to make themselves known. The sooner we render the just reward to the Creators, the soon the rest of the noble lives of many, and the scum lives of others, can continue forward again." With that, he strode calmly towards the vessel that would transport them, having little else to say at the moment. He would present his skills in due time, but now was not that time.

Elizabeth shrugs, letting it go. She didn't particuraly care for fights. She squats next to the Machine. "Seems like it was simply a recording device," she says to herself, looking at the wiring. "With all the time it took to conjure up something that walked mostly human, it doesn't seem like there was room for a radio and live-action listening...nice!" She says, pusing down her magnified goggles to look closer at one part of the machine. She takes a bootknife and rips it out, running it in her hand. It was a steam diffuser, that made the steam the engine was running on virturally invisible, not even sold yet. "I'll be keeping this handy piece of wiring." She looks up when she sees the second shot. "With all the time and effort it took to make these things and then plant them themselves, it would have just been easier to hire a human for a little spy work," she says, ripping out the recording device. She goes over to the other Machine, ripping out the same part, plus the recording itself. She noticed Patrick going over to their vessel, an old Transflex Hover 1.6 body with a more sophisticated engine she created herself from chop parts. Ran on steam for about six hours without stopping, at maybe thirty clicks an hour, transporting ten people plus supplies, a real gem from ashes. She goes over, putting her new parts in her bag, checking first for any trackers. Satisfied, she stores them away.