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Sir Exal

CBUB Match Judges
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Everything posted by Sir Exal

  1. Trust me when I say nobody wants that.
  2. First off the top of my head: Also, anyone who thinks the Digimon theme is good has never heard Butterfly, the Japanese version's theme.
  3. Makes me wish I had actually finished that terrible AoM character I came up with.
  4. Aurinko gaped. These people were idiots. Hadn't the simpletons listened to the slime-thing for one picosecond? They were rapidly cruising toward a dirt nap before they even had counted an hour on this god-forsaken continent. Aurinko considered for a second. Well, this wasn't the worst thing in the world. He, after all, had gone through pains to not directly associate with the group. And separating completely sounded like a splendid notion at the moment. Whether he'd be reunited with the trio later was up for debate, if they were going AWOL or actually doing what was asked of them. In any case... (Finn is going to slink off to the specified meeting spot, as subtly as a 5'9'' porcupine can.)
  5. Sir Exal

    Movies

    Sucker Punch was a combination of Mullholland Drive and Kill Bill. If you wouldn't watch either of those movies otherwise, than it's not a movie for you. I still think it had one of the most adrenaline-inducing fight scenes ever, but I suppose that may just mean I need to see more action movies.
  6. Just one more kick. It's amazing how much you're determined to not enjoy yourself. See you in a few months.
  7. Okay, great. I politely repeat: can you tell us what exactly it is about these characters you DO NOT want changed? I want to know so I can write these and not get called for messing up something. And aldo's been around for years, at least in the CBUB.
  8. I always miss Aldo when he's gone. He keeps things interesting around here Could you share what you consider to be the "Basic idea" of the characters? I'd hate to do this and then get called on a technicality.
  9. Personally, I'm not sure why you'd dress up for a dead one.
  10. Aurinko's rampant paranoia was calmed slightly by the familiar feelings in his occipital lobe indicating the attitudes those around him. The ichor creature had the excited, pleased feeling of want, of ambition. Of the salesman attempting to make a profit on his most recent venture. Not to be trusted, of course, but harmless. The two men reeked little more than confusion. The woman, however (attractive, but a tad old for Aurinko) returned nothing but the psycho-tactile-mental equivalent of static. Unnerving. Possibly meaningless, probably unconscious, conceivably unknown to the woman in question. Worth keeping a cautious eye on. There was a small flurry of activity around the xenoplasmic being. Apparently, the creature was willing to pay if some did some task. The others were volunteering (in crude American accents) before even knowing the task--like signing up for a class prior to reading the course description! Stunning what some would do in the quest for certainty. Aurinko had no interest whatsoever in this Smilthworth's "job." ...Still, it might not be a bad idea to stay with this bizarre group for a small while. Strength In Numbers, Buddy Up For Safety, Don't Split The Party, all that rot. (Aurinko will follow--at length--the group if they head anywhere. Otherwise, he's just monitoring the crew.)
  11. Professor Aurinko's spines quivered, tickling his skin. Realizing the bother was caused by his emotions, their slight shaking being a indication of his nervousness. He took a breath and exercised his self control a bit, calming down. The spikes ceased their vibration. Alright. Okay. It's not as if such a result wasn't foreseen, he knew the Union bastards would grab him eventually. All he had to do was build another laboratory. He had materials, he had resources (if such things were accepted in the outback). Besides, Australia had always been practically a biosphere unto itself; there were completely different animals and plants and such than those found in any other area...a cornucopia of new possibilities. It was dangerous, of course, but not that much more dangerous than the Manchester school environment. The more illicit chemicals he'd need for experiments were probably a lot easier to obtain, as well. All he needed was a new lab...in what remained of Canberra, say, or the suburbs. Yes, that should work. As for the others...untrustworthy, all of them. Prof. Aurinko had always had a healthy paranoia, and it had only heightened after Lyla...after she... Ahem. Well, there was very little reason to trust anyone, especially in this place. None of them looked particularly harmful, but if they were here, they didn't need six-inch-long spines to be dangerous. But the survival instinct should be normal. He could cooperate, if needed. (Finn is going to scan the horizon as well as those who are accompanying him, watching for trouble. Or at least a anomaly in the normal amount of trouble going on.)
  12. I, as usual, vote for a third-party candidate who has no chance whatsoever.
  13. Player: Exal Origin: Mutant Fighting: Standard Agility: Superior Strength: Superior Endurance: Supreme Reason: Standard Psyche: Superior Health: 7 Karma: 3 Resources: Superior Powers- Emotion Detection (Superior) Plant Control (Superior) Animal Control (Standard) Spines (Supreme) Flight (Superior) Talents: Genetics, Biology Lyla cautiously walked into Professor Finn Aurinko's private lab, the one on the southern quad of the uni, fifty feet from the nearest part of the main building. Prof. Aurinko said that he preferred privacy as he worked. The talk among the other professors was that, while Aurinko's old money basically let him have whatever he wanted, the uni didn't want his work anywhere near the building proper. Lyla suspected both were right. Besides, the whole place smelled of animal shite from his lab work. Prof. Aurinko turned from his work to glance at Lyla, and gave a quick, but earnest, smile. "Lyla," he said, quickly returning to whatever he was attending to on the counter. Aurinko frequently worked on several experiments at a time, sometimes experiments that required split-second timing, pushing his supernatural agility to its limit. The man was shirtless, his numerous spines jutting up to eight inches in the air, a shock of messy, prematurely graying hair tied into a ponytail. Before Lyla said anything more, Aurinko said, "You are nervous. Do you need to ask something of me?" Lyla's arm tightened on the duffel that still held her textbooks. “Er, nothing...” She received a backwards glance from Aurinko. It was so hard to hide things from him. “Well, er, it's just, when you're in one of these strops...it's kind of startling.” “Lyla,” said Aurinko, “it's fine, I'll be with you in a moment.” He paused, and both of them watched a lab rat with a third ear skitter across the table. “You're still uneasy,” he muttered as he gave the rat an injection, “you have to understand what is at stake here.” Nothing in particular happened to the rat, and it soon ran back to its cage. “What I do, Lyla, is for the good of everyone, not just me! Know that I'd get the bloody hell out of here if it wasn't for the good of all! I know what the whole ruddy campus is calling me, 'Professor Porcupine!' It doesn't even make sense, these things aren't barbed! They don't detatch! But no, this is more than me, it's for all of us mutants out there, all who can't be looked at without children being frightened, especially, especially us who aren't just a few, sensical powers, who can superhero all around, us—what are we called—oh, yes, us Patchworks!” Lyla had slowly, nervously, been backing up throughout his tirade. He stopped, met her eyes. “Oh--” he said, “Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just—I'm sorry, Lyla. Deeply. I'll just clean up here, then we can go down to the pub, and--” He stopped. He had glanced out the window, and saw a man quickly vanishing off to one side. Aurinko concentrated, and was suddenly aware of the emotional presence of numerous men around him. He looked at Lyla, astonished. Lyla met his gaze with sorrowful eyes. “I'm really, really sorry,” she breathed, “they...they said it was for the best...” As the men of The Union broke into the lab, Prof. Aurinko set his lab animals on them and attempted to have his houseplant block as much as possible. He grabbed whatever he could from the lab, stuffing it in his coat, assuming they'd let him keep it, which was doubtful His flight would have made it at least possible to get away, but, ultimately, he let himself be captured.
  14. Posted R. K. as an assassin. yayme.
  15. Player: Exal Origin: Mutant Fighting: Standard Agility: Superior Strength: Superior Endurance: Supreme Reason: Standard Psyche: Superior Health: 7 Karma: 3 Resources: Superior Powers- Emotion Detection (Superior) Plant Control (Superior) Animal Control (Standard) Spines (Supreme) Flight (Superior) Talents: Genetics, Biology
  16. Abbi was fleshed out. Very fleshed out. In. And will laugh when no one does anything.
  17. Vs. Jojo [Conversation: Between Klein and Derek, two other employees of the significant convenience store, while both are on duty] KLEIN: So I told you what happened last Sunday, right? DEREK: What about last Sunday? KLEIN: Dude, I didn't tell you? It was the shit, man! DEREK: No, you didn't tell me. KLEIN: Okay, okay, so it's 1:00 in the morning or whatever, and it's me and Kirsten, right? You know who Kirsten is, right? DEREK: Who? KLEIN: You know, Kirsten! Chick who does first shift, usually. Dawson bailed, so she was there for night shift. Long hair, nice rack, taller than me? DEREK: Everyone's taller than you are. KLEIN: *vulgarity* you! DEREK: But yeah, I know who you're talking about KLEIN: Okay, so it's just her and me, right? Empty store. And this chick comes in, and she is hot as shit, man. Killer body, great tits, good ass—I know you're into that—blonde hair, pouty lips, skintight jeans, no bra, swear to god, man, no bra, ten outta ten man, all the *vulgarity*ing way. DEREK: This is what happened? A hot chick came into the store? KLEIN: No, no, man, listen for a *vulgarity*ing second. So this chick comes in, and I'm like, “Whoa,” and go over to her then she whips out two pistols—like, cop guns—and just fires them into the ceiling. “This is a robbery,” she yells, “now get me some cash and no funny shit or I'm shooting your asses!” DEREK: Really? “Shooting your asses?” KLEIN: I don't know, I was kinda distracted, remember? With the cop guns? Anyway, she points me to the counter, and me and Kirsten start emptying the registers—and get this, dude, Kirsten's already hit the silent alarm when the bitch wasn't looking, I mean, I didn't know that then—anyway, so I'm putting the money in a plastic bag and I, like, trip or drop the money or something, I forget, and the blonde bitch gives me this glare, this, like, Samuel L. Jackson “I will end you” look, and-- DEREK: I thought that's how most women looked at you. KLEIN: Ha-*vulgarity*ing-ha, I'm the only one here who's getting some. So I'm almost pissing my pants here, she's got her guns on me, and Kirsten—swear to god, man—she just leaps over the counter, flying tackles the bitch, doesn't even touch the counter. Swear to god. DEREK: Bull-shit, man. The counter's, like, two feet wide. KLEIN: No bullshit, man! And here's the big thing—bitch saw it coming! I don't know how, but Kirsten's, like, IN THE AIR, and the bitch turns and fires, I swear I see Kirsten's hair ruffle as the bullets go by, and she takes the bitch down, the guns skid across the floor, and I run over there, she's holding the bitch down, Kirsten's like 105, 110, and just holding the bitch down, she's squirming and trying to get out, I can't *vulgarity*ing believe this-- DEREK: Sec, dude. ...Pump 5, pay inside when you're done. ...So then what. KLEIN: So the bitch is just facing Kirsten, like Street Fighter style, and-- DEREK: Wait, how the hell did she get up? KLEIN: What? DEREK: The bitch, how'd she get off the ground? KLEIN: Huh? I don't know, she like, got her wrist out or something! But, see, she like goes all Bruce Lee on Kirsten, all legs and shit, like, kicks her across the face like three times or something, a hit to her stomach, and Kirsten's just taking it, like she's afraid to hit the bitch or something! So the bitch kicks her a couple more times and then—and then, swear to god, man, and, and... DEREK: And? KLEIN: The bitch, like goes for one of the guns and Kirsten just BACKHANDS her, bitchslaps her across the face, and it, like just knocks her across the room, into the counter, knocks her out cold. And then-- DEREK: Dude, I call bullshit on all this. KLEIN: What? DEREK: You got her kicked in the face three dozen times--I saw Kirsten yesterday! And her nose wasn't broken or bruised or anything! Her face was just as perfect as it ever is. KLEIN: But-- DEREK: Dude, next time you want to blow off work, don't do it by making up shit and telling it to me. I want this job. Excuse me, I think there's some mopping you've made me ignore. KLEIN: Hey! I didn't...It's all-- ….Dammit, yeah, just the gas then?
  18. Oh, fine, you convinced me. More fic than character, probably, but I'll do my best on both. And feel free to spam my inbox if I space.
  19. Vs. Perish The sans-serif lettering above the bar instructed 'PULL.' Dr. Baker, as he always did, moved to push on the door, as he would on his condominium's entrance, for a half-second before pulling. As he entered the convenience store, he looked briefly at the exit door, which similarly ordered 'PULL,' in its white-against-color Arial font. This was a odd anomaly, considered Baker; the vast majority of public buildings had doors that opened out, as fire codes dictated, due to tragic New Year's Eve parties and other buildings where fires had broken out, and a mob of people would move en masse to the exits, which the very power and force of the crowd attempting egress would render unable to open.1 Thusly (and aforementionedly), the swinging in of the door so clearly labeled 'EXIT' was, store-wise, aberrant, to say the least. He supposed the door was posed such as it was, that in a frequently-robbed establishment like the convenience store, a exit that opened into the store, forcing one to pull and slightly sidestep out of the way of the steel-and-metal barrier briefly, would delay the hypothetical bandit for a precious second, and furthermore forcing them, in their involuntary do-si-do with the door, to possibly reveal part of their face to the security camera. It occurred to Baker next that, in an emergency situation, if put in the utterly unenviable position of nearest person to the door, one would be required to perform the utterly unintuitive act of pushing the 'IN' door to exit, rather than attempting to open the 'OUT' door via pulling and likely dooming yourself and the patrons directly behind you to the crushing weight of the other panicking customers, although what situation would possibly result in a crowd of that magnitude in a convenience store was beyond Baker's conceiving. By the time Baker had contemplated all this, he had already picked up his regular sugary purchases and approached the counter, the convenience store girl, his convenience store girl (though not in any way that would dare to imply ownership) behind it, flashing a smile and saying “Good morning Mr. Baker,”2 a statement of regard made all the sweeter by her ignorance of what he knew.. As she turned to file his purchases on the touch-screen register, Baker noticed three small blemishes on her cheek, that on a quick second glance, were patches of skinned-ness, the topmost layer of skin sloughed off in the same manner as one's palms and knees were after a bad fall onto smooth concrete. Baker hesitated for an instant, but only one, and as she turned back, asked, “Did you scratch your face or something?” attempting an air of candidity. When she only looked puzzled, Baker indicated the same area on his own cheek. The girl touched the suspect spot gingerly with her fingers, then leaned over the counter, making a try at inspecting the reflection in the glass on the counter positioned to display the scratch-off lottery tickets to potential gamblers and simultaneously almost rubbing her hair against Baker's stomach. Baker inhaled at the near-contact. “Shoot!” gasped the convenience store girl, apparently discovering the blemishes, “have I been like this all morning?”3 She briefly vanished beneath the counter, then rose again with a maroon makeup compact in one hand. She offered it towards Baker. “The mirror's lost,” the convenience store girl said, “I hate to ask, but could you pat some on for me?” Baker took the compact and opened it, then hesitated as the girl leaned slightly forward, displaying her damaged cheek. He had touched countless people's skin previously, but never done something like putting cosmetics on it, the closest he'd come to it being scrawling notes and arrows with a ballpoint pen. He took the tiny, worn-down powder-puff in hand, batted it three times against the compact, kicking up pink dust, and moved it towards her proffered face. Just before the puff made contact, it occurred to Baker how the skinnings were positioned and shaped just right to be finger marks. They were alone in the store. As Baker rubbed the pad down her cheek, he was struck by how intimate the action was; the girl had her eyes closed, a certain sign of trust. He caressed her cheek twice more, then touched it back into its desert of concealer for replenishment, creating another pastel sandstorm. Baker, his heart rate climbing, placed three more strokes of makeup on her cheek, and it occurred to him, for a second, that the marks must be related to her super derring-dos, that nothing else could blemish her skin in such a way—let us not forget her superpower! He was struck by a nanosecond of brief, unaccountable rage at whomever could blemish the convenience store girl's skin in such a way, but it vanished as quickly as it occurred. “There we go,” said Baker rather pointlessly as he returned the puff to its powdery pond and closed the compact's porcelain shell. The girl leaned over the counter again, examining her cheek and the mars now invisible under the layers of peach particulate, her hair again just missing Baker's body. She straightened, took her compact from Baker's palm. “Thanks!” she whispered happily, then looked towards the screen to her right. “Oh, right! Twenty-one sixty-three,” she said.4 For the rest of the week, the skins of all Dr. Baker's patients seemed to have implacably lost some tiny factor of their luster.5 1 Doors opening out also allowed gentlemen approaching doors to hold it open for a woman, child, or sometimes even another male to step back briefly and hold the door open in the matter of a doorman, although, to Baker's displeasure, this practice seemed to be getting rarer in modern times, and he understood the occasional woman even found it offensive, some sort of anti-feminist insult at their abilities to open doors for themselves. However, perhaps this was another reason for doors to open to the outside—to keep doormen employed! 2 Baker was never offended by people preceding his name by “Mister” rather than “Doctor,” and in fact still signed some letters that way, though the urge to reply with the Austin Powers allusion “I didn't go to four years of evil medical school to be called 'Mister'” was often strong. 3 The time being 9:44 a.m., Baker's morning had just started, but it was completely possible that the girl had been working since 5:00 or whatever other ungodly hour of the morning the clerks' shifts started. 4 That is, $21.63, this being the price of one donut, one medium-sized fountain drink, and exactly twenty dollars and three cents of gasoline, Baker having been unable that day to stop the digital numbers of pump seven to stop at twenty even. 5 Incidentally, there's a rather large continuity error between this story and The Convenience Store Girl's acutal character sheet, but I'm not revealing it in order to retain some dignity.
  20. The problem with having the two universes' forces fighting is the wildly different forms of space travel. If the Trekkian forces entered the Mass Effect galaxy, they'd be hampered by their ships' complete inability to utilize the Mass Relays and other Protean technology (settlements in Mass Effect being generations away even with normal FTL drives. Well, unless they're asari generations). If the Council's Finest entered the Star Trek Milky Way, they'd fall victim very quickly to the absolute lack of Element Zero in Federation space. Either way, it's like dropping a regiment of tanks on Mars; no matter how destructive you are, you aren't gonna get much done once you run out of fuel. My main issue here is that I don't see any reason in two universes why they'd fight. Both forces are aiming for the same goddamn thing--galactic peace among all races (and that the more warlike species are quiet). It's likely if they met up, the Star Trek Federation would utilize large-scale replicators to help the Mass Effectors create unlimited amounts of eezo (to attempt to get them to reach the same uneconomic utopia they have) in exchange for Protean tech to finally get them past those damn overloading Dilithium crystals. But I suppose I'm missing the point. Let's say Q decides he wants to see who would win in a straight-up battle and sets your preferred Normandy and your preferred Enterprise, both with a flotilla of ships in some corner of deep space. I read the codex, dudes, and Mass Effect spacebattles are held over enormous distances. Star Trek battles...aren't. The Mass Effectors will punch holes in the Trekkoids' ranks from a huge distance, with shields ineffective against the shells and engines relatively vulnerable. 3 times Fat Man's payload on one point, bitches. Once the perhaps decimated Starfleet ships reach melee range, the fight is much fairer. It's even money between the Effectors' Turian shells and the steady stream of phaser fire and photon torpedoes, neither of which the Effectors' relatively redundant shields are built to protect against. Beyond all that, however, is the Star Trekkois' ace in the hole--transporters. Send in a few away squadrons onto the ships themselves, which I can promise you will take even Shepard him/herself by surprise, and the USSers are right back in the battle. I can't think even an Asari Commando's barrier will do a hell of a lot against a phaser on "kill." And who cares if they get killed themselves? We've got plenty more redshirts willing to die for the Federation. And of course, that leads to the requisite Captain/Commander face off, but that's a different thread altogether.
  21. I think Something*Positive makes the point better than I can.
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