Raiyuu

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Sounds like a winner. It's got that slightly twisted, sinister aspect that really draws me to a manga or anime. The main character sounds original enough to sustain the story almost by himself; he doesn't seem to fit any of the usual rubber-stamp hero stereotypes, he's not a butch action hero, a reluctant ordinary guy thrust into a situation or an antihero out for himself. The only thing I'd say is try not to define the characters too much by their respective kanjis, and give Sonzai some degree of free will over his actions, otherwise the story is just him being pulled around involuntarily by his kanjis, and he ceases to be an interesting, three-dimensional character. But from your descriptions it doesn't seem like you're in too much danger of falling into those traps. Good luck with it! [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]I'm still not sure I believe the sheer amount of work you've put into this project, Joko, it's staggering. It would have been easy to just rip off Solo's descriptions of places from [color=DarkSlateBlue][i]Enter the Net [/i][color=DarkGreen]but you've obviously made a conscious decision to sidestep that particular pitfall. Especial kudos for not just taking things like the Underground at face value, thinking about the character of each forum and subforum rather than just working from the name. You don't like making things easy for yourself, do you? Can't wait for this to start. And before anyone else gets there: I Call Shotgun On The Mech Arena! [/color][/color][/size][/color]

[color=Navy][size=1][b]Journal 0.1: Calm[/b] Open water. It felt ... liberating. Just [i]blue,[/i] as far as the eye could see, in every direction, and with the sun as high as it was in a cloudless sky, the horizon line blurred so it felt like being in a colossal blue bauble. A hot, utterly calm day. Nothing in view deserved to be called a wave. More like artistically stippled blue paint than the Mighty Ocean. Around three in the afternoon, when the sun was past its zenith, a crack appeared in the blue bauble. Minute at first, but gradually resolving itself into a red-and-white cruiser, large but aquadynamic, making its way unhurriedly towards the bauble's centre. Slouching on the helipad, she watched it approach. She chewed gum. There was little else to do; no news from the Eye in the Sky on their next destination, this field drained dry. The techs polished their shiny toys or kicked things that weren't working until they did. The maintenance crews were all wetside, checking the treads and the mechanisms for wear or, more likely, sabotage. Her ilk slept. You never knew when you were next going to get the chance. But she'd been singled out. No sleep for her this afternoon, not until later, and then not [i]natural[/i], not refreshing. The red-and-white cruiser was about halfway between her and the horizon now. If she bothered to grab a pair of binoculars she'd be able to see it clearly, but why? It'd get closer. [b]"Remind me again. First why at all, then why me." [/b]The captain unfolded himself from his leaning position on the rail. [b]"I've told you enough times."[/b] His crows' feet crinkled as he smiled. [b]"Pester [i]them[/i] about it, when they get here."[/b] The cruiser drew closer. She could make out the device on the side with her naked eyes now. White ship, red plus-sign. [b]"I hate doctors." [/b][/size][/color] [center][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color] [left][color=Navy][size=1][b]"As you know, our assets have been increasingly under fire by AZG Enterprises,"[/b] said the bureaucrat. His suit and his side parting were immaculate even at sea, but his little glasses - [i][b]they have to just be for show,[/b][/i] she thought, [i][b]they're far too small to have any actual effect on his field of vision[/b][/i] - kept sliding slightly down his nose. He pushed them back every time they reached a certain point on the bridge of his nose. She could have set her clock by the cycle - push, slip, slip, slip, push, slip, slip... [b]"Now with our slightly inferior resource pool, we simply cannot afford to match them unit to unit. Therefore we must use what funding we possess to maximise the efficiency of every unit we have, thereby counterbalancing the disparity between our numbers and theirs -" "So our pilots can kill more than theirs can,"[/b] she butted in wearily, tired of all the governmentese he was reeling off. [b]"You can just say it. I'm desensitised. That's what you call it, right?" [/b]He made a small movement of his head, as if settling his suit jacket more comfortably across his shoulders. [b]"Quite. Our researchers have determined that improving shell response time and optimising user-shell response rates are the best course of action. You have been selected to pioneer a revolutionary new shell-control interface." "But the long and short of it is, you're spiking my brain full of needles." "Two contacts only are required. The left and right cortical hemispheres must be equally involved in the interface." "Risks?" [/b]He opened his mouth to answer. [b]"No, wait; don't bother. I refuse, I lose my job, I lose my income. That's all the risk I need to know. Knock me out." [/b][/size][/color] [center][size=2][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color][/size] [left][color=Navy][size=1]Hazy light, swimming into existence behind her eyelids; the sun? No, not bright enough, different quality of light, whiter, more sterile, more ... surgical ... [i][b]oh, yeah.[/b][/i] Voices. [b]"She's coming around." "You're the surgeon; it's your responsibility." "Excuse me! You're the ones that forced her, you should do it." "Someone tell me,"[/b] she says, straining to make the words. She can't sit up. Must be the anaesthetic wearing off. [b]"You've got me all excited now." [/b]A shape blocks the light. White coat: doctor. Surgeon? Wringing his hands, glancing continually over to his right. Bureaucrat's voice from there. [b]"The, um ... the operation was a ... success,"[/b] wringing hands, glancing. Not telling her everything. [b]"And?"[/b] [b]"Yes, well. The shell-control interface works like a dream. You'll be up and piloting again in no time." "[i]And?[/i]" [/b]Like a rabbit in the headlights. [b]"The, um, the contacts. The, needles. They'll let you control the shell like it's your own body. But you can't ... control ... your own body ... any more. I'm sorry."[/b] [color=DarkGreen]This is the first of a few shorts I'm writing as background for the characters in my latest manga project (there's a thread in the Manga Workshop, [i]International Waters[/i]). The next one'll be more action-packed and introduce some more characters as well as the 'shells'. Feedback is welcome as are questions about the world it's set in.[/color] [/size][/color][/left] [/center] [/left] [/center]

[i][b][color=DarkGreen][size=1]Well, we're airborne a bit earlier than expected, [/size][/color][/b][/i][color=DarkGreen][size=1]Jakob ckuckled to himself. [i][b]How hard could this possibly be? We were all accepted for this project, so we must have what it takes. And the guy's six foot eight, for goodness' sakes. He'll stick out like a sore thumb.[/b][/i] Satisfied that the ship was heading in the right direction and that the control panel wasn't just on the blink like the rest of the [i]Bebop, Jakob [/i]headed downstairs. Richard was standing in the lounge, his head on one side as if listening. [b][color=Purple]The ship's turning. We're changing course. Why? [color=DarkGreen]"The Abbadon drifter colony isn't there any more. Hasn't been for five, six years. Solar flare, they said on the news, but the papers reckoned it was a bomb or something ... all the survivors are in the Sunev colony, Venus orbit. We're headed there." [color=Purple]I see. [/color][/color][/color][/b][color=Purple][color=DarkGreen][color=Purple][color=DarkGreen]Jakob left Bane to brood. He glanced into the galley, where Jayme was preparing breakfast; he didn't dare go in to offer a hand. It looked like it might be a dull trip. But then, nobody except Bane seemed properly awake yet. Jakob went off to further explore the ship's deeper recesses.[/color] [/color][/color][/color][/size][/color]

[size=1][color=DarkGreen]Strains of Ryan Adams? ?Wonderwall? from the hi-fi. Beautiful. Ethereal.[/color][/size] [size=1][color=DarkGreen]Start up the laptop. Stupid Homestar bootup noise. Brush the touchpad, cursor over Firefox ?[/color][/size] [size=1][color=DarkGreen]Pointer veers towards Notepad. Pull it back; jumps back there by itself. Double click out of curiosity. Type: [i]is someone there?[/i][/color][/size] [size=1][color=DarkGreen]Two carriage returns. No touch from me.[/color][/size] [i][size=1][color=DarkGreen]Yes.[/color][/size][/i]

[size=1][color=DarkGreen]Jakob pulled himself out of bed as quietly as he could, trying his best not to wake Jayme, who was sprawled on the top of the bunk bed. The single on which Jakob had spent the night had a few springs missing, and it creaked and squeaked like it was infested with crickets, but he'd slept on worse. He'd slept on much better too, though. Once out of the room, Jakob briefly considered getting some breakfast, but the image of Jayme's face when he looked at Richard sprang to mind. Jakob didn't want to be the second to incur that kind of wrath. He decided to give the galley a miss. [i][b]Carmen mentioned another webscreen, one that supposedly works. She said Abram told her it was up here somewhere.[/b][/i] The first room he tried was another bathroom; there was something that looked like it might be distantly related to a spider glaring at him from the middle of the floor. He shut the door hurriedly. The next room had an easy-chair, a desk with one leg propped on a copy of [i]Cruiser Maintenance for Dummies,[/i] and a webscreen in one corner. It certainly looked in better condition than the one downstairs. Jakob slumped into the chair - it felt like it was padded with kitchen cutlery - and tentatively flipped the power toggle. The sound of the cooling fan whirring up to speed filled the room, and the screen, after a few frustrating seconds of strobing like the other one, flickered onto a 'Welcome' message. There were over seven hundred messages waiting. Sighing with resigned frustration at the poor housekeeping of the [i]Bebop[/i]'s last owner, Jakob set a filter to remove all the junkmail telling him he needed a college degree or more efficient sexual equipment. One message remained. He read it. He stuck his head out of the door. [b]"Is anyone else awake?" [i]Well, obviously they are NOW. [/i]"I think everyone needs to have a look at this."[/b] [/color][/size]

[QUOTE]A man arrives at a drinking establishment. He asks a question of the woman serving. When he knows the answer, he leaves once more.[/QUOTE] [color=DarkGreen][size=1]Here's a little experiment in the same sort of style as the rip-roaringly successful [i]55 Fiction[/i] thread. Above is a generic short story. The idea is, we see what works of literary art everyone can come up with based within the restrictions of those events. All you have to do is not stray outside the events outlined. So for instance, a woman can't enter and ask a question of a man. But the man could be anyone; the question could be anything; he could leave for any number of reasons. You can add other characters as long as the two mentioned don't stray outside their events. There are theoretically infinite ways in which this can be done; it could be horror, romance or sci-fi, the establishment could be a bar, a Wild West-style saloon or a drinking fountain. You can write in the style of your favourite author, make it a poem or a playscript, or insert your favourite anime or manga characters into it. It can be as long or as short as you like, but try not to describe events that take place before or after the event unless you use characters' memories. Here's one to start you off, in the style of William Gibson. [QUOTE][color=DimGray]Hathaway came in from the cold and rain of Akihabara to see Lani. Lani worked in one of Akihabara's theme bars, the ones the Japanese seemed fixated, fetishistic, about these days. This one, 'Live Forever', was a British Rock bar; the doors, Western saloon-style like those old movies, were LPs, mint, still sealed clean in plastic Union Jacks. There were guitars on the walls, some of them these weird shapes like stars and hearts, that [i]need[/i] people had then, to stand out, not just be a face, only then they ended up just a guitar. The karaoke stage at one end, silent, its presence hardly acknowledged, like an embarrassing spot or sore on the face, noticed but by tacit agreement never mentioned. Lani, behind the bar, that purple forelock over her face the way he liked, except when she noticed him come in through the swinging LP saloon doors she pushed it up and around, behind her ear. Eye to eye now, but she just looked away, down towards the pump handles and the sawn-off he knew was down there because he'd seen it that time they'd made love down there, and she'd made him promise not to mention it to the law because they weren't meant to have that kind of firepower in here. "Well?" The word just there between them now, pinned where her eyes came up and met his. No reply, not even a gesture, a shake of the head, but her meaning clear and cold as snowmelt, cascading down over him. Hathaway knew her eyes weren't on him as he swung the LP saloon doors back again, but he told himself that he couldn't see, he couldn't see so she could be watching him leave. She could.[/color][/QUOTE] Over to all of you. Have fun with it! [/size][/color]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]Ah, back in the Manga Workshop. I had a thread in here a while ago about a manga project I was thinking of working on (I think you can still find it [URL=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=42418]here[/URL]), and it actually got off the ground (well, the site has the first strip up but the artist I'm collaborating with, myOtaku's xXxAlucardxXx, has had computer difficulties and so the next few, while drawn already, are taking ages to Photoshop). You can find it [URL=http://rapturecomic.keenspace.com]here, hosted on KeenSpace[/URL]; alternatively click the link in my sig, which I'll update every time a new strip goes up. Well, flushed with success (perhaps a little prematurely?) I've been working on another idea. Far more light-hearted this time, in that the world's population doesn't get wiped out in chapter one :rolleyes: I'm indulging my love of mecha but also trying to make a political point... The story takes place fifty or sixty years in the future. The world's oil supplies are seriously depleted; governments are in thrall to an oligopoly of oil companies. America, having cheesed off the Middle East somewhat in the early 21st century, wields little political power anymore. Governments rule in the letter of law only; oil companies can dictate policy pretty much as they please, holding whole countries to ransom by threatening to cut off oil supplies, and therefore the electricity the country needs to survive. Many governments have finally realised the truth; that renewable energy is the only way to go. Unfortunately it is too late. Installing windmills, geothermal plants, solar mills, takes time and money. The country needs power [I]while[/I] the windmills etc. are installed, and for that they need oil; unfortunately the price of oil, as set by the cartels, is so enormous that no government can afford to power their country while simultaneously paying for installation of new power sources. It's simply an economic impossibility. No oil wells exist on land anymore, they've all been drilled dry. The only places left are the vast expanses of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Around 2020 some bright spark in one of the oil companies had the idea of putting colossal caterpillar tracks on all their oil rigs, so when the rig drained a well, it could simply move - albeit [I]very[/I] slowly - to the next location the company's scientists recommended. Soon all the companies were doing it, and every time satellite imaging picked up another promising site it was a very ponderous race to see which company could claim the area first. Another bright spark decided it would be a good idea to blow up rival companies' rigs so they couldn't be beaten to it. Soon every rig doubled as a massive arms platform. A constant state of war has existed between the rival companies ever since. No armed forces intervene, because no government is wealthy enough to have armed forces anymore. An oil rig is an inhospitable place to do maintenance. High temperatures, high water pressures and dangerous machinery are all involved. Robotic exoskeletons were developed so that maintenance crews could operate relatively safely at massive depths to free the drill from blockages, replace parts, keep the caterpillar tracks running smoothly and free from barnacles, that sort of thing. Every oil company owns subsidiaries that manufacture these 'shells'. A third bright spark had the idea of kitting out some shells with armaments to help fight off attack from other rigs. So now, while maintenance shells are still used, combat models are far more prevalent and far more diverse. The story (got there in the end, phew) follows the crew of one rig. It's basically a light-hearted action mecha manga; they fight other rigs, eco-terrorists and pirates (forgot to mention pirates! Obviously rigs are fantastically valuable to their parent companies, so some individuals choose a life of roaming the seven seas hijacking them and ransoming them back to the company for an exorbitant sum). It will be a full story with a beginning, middle and end, not an ongoing series; the deeper plotlines will involve eco-terrorists, subaquatic cities, worldwide conspiracy and fighting back against the system, but all with a good healthy helping of mecha-on-mecha combat along the way. Nobody works on oil rigs unless they're running from something, so the crew is a gang of misfits, outcasts and shady weirdos. The main character will be a gunfighter with an intimate knowledge of the rig's inner workings, who just turns up one day in a speedboat and demands a job. He won't actually pilot a shell, though. The main shell pilot is a girl who has been paralysed from the neck downwards by the botched installation of a new, supposedly miraculous shell-control system in her brain; piloting her mech is the only way she can actually move. Her fellow combat pilots include her overly-protective best friend; a sickeningly macho man with connections high up in the company; a nervous guy who's always trying to stop them goofing around in firefights; and the rig's captain, a violent man who's slightly unhinged and more concerned with socking it to the other companies than actually drilling oil. The maintenance shell crew consists of a dullard obsessed with the rules and regulations, who obeys the captain's every command, however insane; a dangerously inept work-experience kid whose work experience placement expired years ago, but nobody remembers that except him; and a practical joker who takes every opportunity to needle them both. Also technically a maintenance man is the rig's mech tech, a laid-back rastafarian who looks after the shells and configures them for their pilots. Finally (so far) is a mysterious man who spends all his time lounging in the canteen with his feet up on the table eating effeminate cakes. Nobody seems to know what he actually [I]does[/I] on the rig, but there's this sort of feeling around him ... you don't want to ask him ... you don't know what he might do ... The project has the working title of [I]International Waters[/I], but i'm not happy enough with that to use it as the final title. I'm looking for feedback and any interest from artists; if I can get one interested then I could possibly run this parallel to my current comic, instead of having to either a) wait for the story to end before starting this one or b) work my artist's fingers to the bone.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkGreen][B]"Wouldn't want her to miss out ... I'll go wake her up,"[/B] Jakob volunteered. [B]"Just don't finish off both our shares yourselves, okay?"[/B] Everyone chuckled a little as Jakob left. [B][I]Yes! A bit of light-heartedness. Maybe we can gel as a crew after all.[/I][/B] He'd sat in his new zip craft for about half an hour, working out the control configuration. It was simple enough, but he'd taken ages searching for the undercarriage retraction, only to find that in this particular ship it was a tiny lever hidden away under the main console. He was confident he could fly the ship when the time came, but maybe he'd get some practice in once the [I]Bebop[/I] was airborne, while they were waiting for a bounty to come up. He knocked firmly on Natalie's door. Getting no response, he pushed it open slightly. The blue-haired girl was still fast asleep on the top bunk. Jakob moved into the room and shook her gently. [B]"Natalie...? Natalie, wake up. There's food downstairs."[/B] She woke up with a start and grabbed the front of his shirt.[/COLOR] [COLOR=RoyalBlue][B]"Oh, it's just you."[/B][/COLOR][COLOR=DarkGreen] She released his shirt and relaxed. [I][B]What's that supposed to mean?[/I][/B] She must have noticed his affronted expression, because she clarified, [/COLOR][COLOR=RoyalBlue][B]"I mean, as opposed to Bane. You say something about food?"[/B][/COLOR] [COLOR=DarkGreen][B]"Yeah, Jayme made clam chowder. They've probably started on our portions by now."[/B][/COLOR] [COLOR=RoyalBlue][B]"Well then, what are you waiting for?"[/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1][b][i]That'll teach me not to make assumptions about people. Maybe Richard isn't so bad after all. And Jayme's angrier about his kitchen getting messed up than he is about getting my gun in his face or a crate on his foot. Maybe I didn't get off to as bad a start as I thought![/i][/b] Jakob finished the can of pudding and went back to repairing his holster strap. He'd stitched it in a hurry in his hotel room after it got sliced, but this time he had longer and could be more careful about it. Once it was done to his satisfaction, he took off his jacket and strapped the holster on. He checked the flechette pistol's double magazine - he had equal amounts of tranquiliser and explosive darts, with a shot-selector switch on the dartgun's grip, just in easy reach of his thumb - and re-slotted it, checking that the 'ready' and 'safety' LEDs were both green. He thrust the fletcher hard into the holster, and this time there was no crackle of stitches parting. Shrugging his jacket back on, Jakob picked up his plate and the empty pudding can and headed downstairs to the galley. Jayme was in there, with the oven and the hob on and all the cupboards and the fridge wide open. Jakob put his can in the waste disposal and his plate in the sink; he started running some water to wash it up, but Jayme rounded on him irritably.[/size][/color] [size=1][b][color=Navy]"This place isn't big enough for both of us, especially while I'm trying to cook stuff. Just ... wash that up later with everything else."[/color] [/b] [color=DarkGreen]Jakob didn't argue. He'd seen what Jayme was like when people messed him around about his kitchen. He headed to the hangar, more on autopilot than for any particular reason. Carmen, looking bedraggled, was just leaving - [b][i]to dry herself off, I guess[/i][/b] - and he went to have a look over his new zip craft. Close up, it was even more obvious that Carmen was right about the white needle's manoeuvrability. Its thrusters were a fair size compared to how big the ship was overall, so it would get a decent turn of speed, but its wings and tailfin were little more than stabilising fins to stop it from rolling uncontrollably. The ailerons were skinny and didn't move beyond forty-five degrees. With the speeds the craft looked like it could potentially reach, its turning circle would be enormous. [b][i]But that's no problem, really. I don't plan to do any aerobatics, just outrun anyone that tries to follow me.[/i][/b] He found the cockpit hatch release and vaulted into the pilot's seat. He'd been planning to buy one of these for a while, so he'd done pilot tuition sims so that he'd know how to fly one as soon as he got it. The controls were in a slightly different layout to the way the sim had taught them, so he pulled the hatch closed and concentrated on figuring out exactly how to fly the thing.[/color][/size]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]I have a few friends who are into Dream Theater. I'd say they fit pretty neatly into the 'prog' category, myself. I've never really liked them: I find their operatic concept albums pretentious, I don't like the singer's voice (he sounds like either he's constantly straining or he's wearing really tight underwear) and I don't find shredding to be a particularly entertaining form of guitar playing. Okay, it proves that in terms of technical guitar playing he's only surpassed by Joe 'biggest-selling-instrumental-guitar-album-ever' Satriani* and Steve 'thirty-notes-a-SECOND' Vai, but I've always maintained that 'difficult to play' does not always equate to 'good music'. Lots of notes very quickly makes me say 'wow, he can really play the guitar', but when I listen to music I'd far rather react with 'wow, that's a really catchy/moving/danceable riff'. *I do quite like Satriani, because he makes music that's technically amazing [I]as well as[/I] being fun to listen to, not technically amazing [I]at the cost of[/I] being fun to listen to. If you like Dream Theater, Satriani's a good one to get into as well.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1][B][I]Oh god, oh god, oh god, I was right on the money, he IS a psychopath...[/I] "Ummm ... no, I'm not hungry, really, I ..."[/B] Bane just stared as Jakob stammered. He cast about for an excuse to get away - it had seemed like a good idea to introduce himself at first, but now his suspicions (well, fears, if he was honest with himself) had been confirmed, he didn't really want to hang around and share a bowl of chicken soup with the man. He was very conscious of the fletcher in his trouser pocket - thrust there for want of a holster - mainly because he couldn't, in the heat of the moment, exactly remember whether he'd safed it or not, and his mind kept filling with the vision of it going off in there... [B]"I really need to fix this,"[/B] he finished lamely, picking the snapped holster up off the coffee table. Bane just stared at him as he left. [B][I]Okay, so now EVERYONE on the team thinks I'm the weak link. Jayme thinks I've got an itchy trigger finger, and now I've dropped a sodding food crate on his foot. I've insulted Carmen's zip craft, and she saw the trigger-happy incident too. This Bane guy has me written off as a wet-behind-the-ears pacifistic wannabe tryhard with no potential and limited social skills. And I've not even spoken to Natalie yet, but she saw me pull a gun on Jayme, and now she's seen me dropping stuff on him as well ... yep, she thinks I'm an idiot too.[/I][/B] Jakob realised he was moping. Feeling sorry for himself. He pulled himself together, heading off toward the staircase, trying to carry his coffee and his holster in the same hand so he could hold the bannister rail. [B][I]I'm pretty sure I found the crew's quarters while I was exploring earlier. I'll go relax and mend this strap, properly this time.[/I][/B] Up the staircase, whose welds and rivets looked about ready to pull out of the wall, and a short way along a corridor were the crew's quarters. One of the doors was wide open, Natalie quietly asleep on the top bunk. Jakob reached in carefully and pulled the door shut. [B][I]She must have been knackered, to be asleep already. She must have just collapsed without even bothering to shut the door. She's only a bit older than me, a couple of years at the most. That little smile when she looked in and saw me drop the crate on Jayme ... was that 'I'm-laughing-at-how-clumsy-you-are', or 'I'm-stifling-a-little-grin-because-I-find-your-antics-cute'? Is it my instincts telling me it's the second one, or is it just wishful thinking? At least we haven't been properly introduced yet. Hopefully I can make a bit of a better impression on her than I did on the others.[/I][/B] There were three bunks in the next room, a single and a double-decker. Jakob hoped like hell that didn't mean they expected him and Jayme to bunk up with Richard Bane. He sank down on the single, took the fletcher out of his pocket (just for peace of mind) and pulled the hotel sewing kit from his jacket. He set to work mending his holster strap.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkGreen]The webscreen didn't even [I]work.[/I] All the power toggle did was make the screen strobe a whole spectrum of fluorescents, and Jakob didn't dare try and fiddle with any of the dangerously exposed wiring. He gave up and moved to the kitchen. He left his fletcher with its broken holster on the coffee table. He could fix it later. The galley was disappointing: a fridge (empty), an oven (greasy), a sink (slimy) and a few cupboards with wobbly doors, containing a few chipped plates and mugs. [B]"They don't expect us to fast, thankfully,"[/B] said a voice from the doorway. Jakob turned to see the guy he'd threatened leaning casually on the doorframe. [B]"There're supplies in the hold. Abram wants us two to start unloading."[/B] He turned and started striding away. Jakob scrambled to follow him. [B]"Uh, I think we got off on the wrong ... I mean, I'm sorry for threatening you earlier. I was a bit highly-strung after they brought that psycho aboard..."[/B] Slow, assured footsteps made the two of them turn around. There was a bald man with bright red skin and purple eyes just entering the galley. He made eye contact with Jakob for just a moment, and Jakob flinched away. The man had the ultimate poker face, there was nothing there for Jakob to read. He was a closed book. One of those ones with a lock on the cover. [B]"They let him out?"[/B] Jakob's voice caught and he coughed to clear his throat. [B]"Just who is he anyway?"[/B] [B]"They called him Bane, I think, Richard Bane. He's a con. Had to keep him in the cooler while his body temperature got up to normal."[/B] The tall guy moved off in the direction of the hold. [CENTER]~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/CENTER] Once they reached the hold, finding a disappointingly small pallet of supply crates, Jakob bit the bullet and stuck out an awkward hand. [B]"Jakob Colway,"[/B] he said. [B]"I'm not normally in the habit of pointing guns at strangers. Unless there's a chance I'll get paid for it, that's why we're..."[/B] Realising he was doing the whole 'nervous gushing' thing he usually took to mean the speaker was a complete social retard, he trailed off. The tall guy looked at him for a moment, then took the hand and shook it once, as if just for appearances. [B]"Jayme,"[/B] he replied, [B]"now help me shift these."[/B] [CENTER]~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/CENTER] Jakob nearly dropped his end of the crate when he and Jayme got back to the lounge. Richard Bane was sitting on the couch, his posture and every movement radiating strength and control, holding Jakob's fletcher.[/COLOR] [COLOR=Purple]This,[/COLOR][COLOR=DarkGreen] Bane said evenly, without taking his eyes from the gun,[/COLOR] [COLOR=Purple]is a pathetic weapon. A gun for the man with no conviction.[/COLOR] [COLOR=DarkGreen]He looked around, purple eyes locking onto Jakob's where he and Jayme stood frozen in the doorway.[/COLOR] [COLOR=Purple]There had better be some coffee in that crate.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkGreen]OOC: I called the racer, Domon. Read my post. [SIZE=1][CENTER]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/CENTER] [B][I]The bald guy looks like one to steer clear of,[/I][/B] decided Jakob, wandering the [I]Bebop[/I]. [B][I]If he needs that much security, if he's that dangerous, why'd they even let him on this project?[/I][/B] He was in a lounge area, with a couple of battered sofas, a coffee table and a weblink screen in one corner. Even that looked beat-up: there was little insulation on the wiring and there was what looked suspiciously like a ricochet mark on the screen's dirty plastic casing. [B][I]Who owned this hunk of junk last? And what exactly did they DO with it, it leave it in this state?[/I][/B] A tall guy with auburn-brown hair stooped under the doorway and came down the steps into the lounge, looking around with distaste at the surroundings. He kept sniffing, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant smell lodged in his nostrils. [B]"You know where the kitchen is?"[/B] the guy asked Jakob. [B]"It's through there,"[/B] Jakob replied, gesturing through a doorway towards the [I]Bebop[/I]'s excuse for a galley. [B]"Are you on the Project?"[/B] [B]"Sure. I think we're all here now."[/B] [B]"Great. What ship'd you pick?"[/B] [B]"The white one. Cool, isn't it?"[/B] The guy started towards the galley, but Jakob stopped him, placing a hand on his chest. [B][I]What am I doing? This guy's huge. I'm a shrimp. But there's kind of a matter of principle here. And I'm NOT getting lumbered with that 'Fish Eye' piece of crap![/I][/B] [B]"I think there's been a mix-up,"[/B] suggested Jakob amiably. [B]"I called the racer."[/B] [B]"So did I. Abram didn't seem to care."[/B] [B]"I care."[/B] Jakob felt his hand take out his fletcher. It was almost involuntary. Everything had been going so well - unexpectedly accepted for the project, great rate of pay, free zip craft - but then they'd brought that bald psycho aboard, and the whole thing stopped seeming quite so much fun, and now this guy was making trouble, trying to cheat him out of [I]his[/I] ship. He wasn't having it. [B]"I was here first. I called it."[/B] [B]"Ease up, yeah?"[/B] said the tall guy, staring cross-eyed at the dartgun's barrel. [B]"It's just a mix-up. We can sort it."[/B] [B]"What's going on?"[/B] Abram had appeared at the top of the stairs. Suddenly self-conscious, Jakob hastily holstered the fletcher; the badly-stitched strap gave way under the strain and the holster and gun both clattered to the floor. The redhead he'd annoyed earlier appeared behind Abram. There was another woman, with black hair - wait, no, when the light caught it [I]just so[/I] it was really dark blue - also in the doorway with her. [B]"Don't sweat it, Lieutenant,"[/B] the redhead said around her cigarette. [B]"It's just boys arguing over their toys."[/B] [B][I]Not the best of starts to this gig,[/I][/B] Jakob thought morosely. [B][I]Is there anyone on the project I HAVEN'T pissed off yet? And I've been here what, ten minutes? Maybe I should just try and make friends with the psycho...[/I][/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1][I][B]The pay on this thing better be as good as they said it was,[/B][/I] Jakob thought, staring morosely at the lonely couple of bills left in his wallet. [I][B]It's taken half the money I saved from working at the casino just to buy the shuttle trip planetside![/B][/I] Dealing blackjack had been fun, he had to admit. With the knack he had for reading people's expressions, body language, telltale habits, he'd made sure the house pretty much always won. Just a pity the house hadn't rewarded him particularly well for it. [I][B]Ah well,[/B][/I] he thought as he looked up from his wallet at the pier numbers going past, [I][B]if this works out I'm set for life. Finally a bit of recognition![/B][/I] Jakob put his wallet away, making sure as he did so that the flechette pistol was still safely in its holster inside his jacket. Some idiot had cut the strap in an attempt to steal the fletcher, holster and all, and he'd had to sew it back together himself. It wasn't the most secure join ever made, and Jakob felt constantly as if the pistol was going to fall out onto the street at any moment. There was nobody waiting at Pier 243. Jakob walked down the steps onto the jetty and surveyed the hulking rustbucket docked there. It looked like ... like it had history, but that it hadn't seen much repair after any of the history had happened to it. Jakob knocked on the hull, half-expecting his knuckles to crunch through the rust. After a few moments a man with a clipboard came out onto the jetty. Jakob had met men with clipboards before. He knew what they wanted. [B]"Colway,"[/B] he informed the man, [B]Jakob."[/B] The man was unflustered. [B]"Abram,"[/B] he replied, [B]"Lieutenant Daniel. Come aboard. I notice you don't currently own a zip craft?"[/B] [B]"Is that going to count against me?"[/B] [B]"Not at all, not at all,"[/B] Abram assured Jakob as they descended into the hold. [B]"As you're the first here without one, you get first call on the four we have."[/B] [B][I]Oh yes,[/I][/B] thought Jakob, [B][I]this is definitely worth it. I'd have had to save for at least another six months before I could afford a craft, and here they are just giving me one![/I][/B] Jakob inspected the four craft in the hold. After briefly considering the green ship purely for its brand-new armament, he decided that really wasn't his style. Get in, take down quickly, quietly and [I]alive,[/I] that was more the right idea. [B]"That one,"[/B] he said, pointing to the white dart. [B]"Not a bad choice, I guess."[/B] A red-headed woman emerged from behind the green ship, smoking a cigarette. [B]"It won't corner, though. No good in a dogfight."[/B] Dogfights weren't Jakob's style either. That sort of thing could get you killed, and all you really needed was to pick up your bounty head and get the hell out of there. The white ship looked the best at getting the hell out of there. [B]"Which one'd you pick?"[/B] he asked. [B]"Brought my own. It's the cab out on the pier."[/B] [B]"The cab?"[/B] Jakob turned to Abram. [B]"I assumed that was just how you got here."[/B] Jakob looked back to the woman to find a cold stare piercing the rising blue cigarette smoke. He didn't need to be an expert at reading people to know he'd just pissed her off. [B]"I'll be looking round the cruiser, if you need me..."[/B][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Jakob Colway [B]Age:[/B] 19 [B]D.O.B.:[/B] January 2nd, 2080 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Ethnic background:[/B] Caucasian; English with some Irish/Spanish heritage [B]Eye colour:[/B] Blue-grey [B]Hair colour:[/B] dark brown [B]Height:[/B] 5' 7" (170cm) [B]Location:[/B] Deimos [B]Alternative occupation:[/B] blackjack dealer [B]Years of hunting experience:[/B] one. A new kid on the block, a fresh face on the scene. [B]Registered weapons:[/B] flechette (dart) pistol, bolas [B]Training:[/B] competent enough in karate for self-defence, but not offence or takedowns. Naturally gifted at reading people and their moods, as well as spotting the signs or 'tells' that give away when people are lying or hiding something. [B]Registered craft:[/B] none. Yet. [B]Do you have a past criminal record?[/B] one charge of Affray. When pursuing a bounty head, a couple of darts went astray, causing minor injury to the patrons of a bar in the area. The fine ate up the reward for [I]that[/I] bounty hit. [B]In fifty words or less, please describe what you have been doing for the past few years:[/B] since taking up bounty hunting professionally, Jakob has spent most of his time dealing blackjack, pursuing occasional bounty heads and saving up for a zip craft. Being confined to Deimos seriously limits his options as far as bounty heads are concerned, so he is desperate to get off-world.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]I feel like Rob in [I]High Fidelity![/I] [list] [*]The Music [*]The Cooper Temple Clause [*]R.E.M. [*]Coldplay [*]Ryan Adams [/list] But for me, my top five are not set in stone or written in blood. They change all the time. I need to mention Muse and the Red Hot Chili Peppers too, because they creep in and out of the top five depending on my mood.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]To be honest I prefer Jokopoko's idea for the Inn, of having screens around the dome displaying the RPGs open for signups. And this is going to sound like I'm ingratiating myself with Jokopoko now, but I prefer his idea for the Underground too. Think outside the box, people, it doesn't have to [I]literally[/I] be underground - the idea of a sort of 'black market', underground in the sense of not being entirely legitimate, sounds more like the way I imagine that board. I'm setting my mind to the arsenal for this RPG, starting now. Mod-rods are the obvious ones, but hopefully in a couple of days I'll be back here with a post full o'shiny, blasty OB-style weaponry. Hope I can help.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]I would [I]love[/I] to say I'm a humanist. I really would. For those that don't know, humanism is a philosophy where one believes that people have enough essential goodness inside that they don't [I]need[/I] to believe in a deity figure in order to behave in a respectable way towards other people and things. Now I believe that everyone does have that potential inside them. But I had to hit 'Atheist' instead, because I just can't follow humanism on the evidence of people's behaviour today. It isn't enough to have to potential, people have to [I]want[/I] to unlock it and use it, and a fair percentage of the world's population today clearly doesn't want to. Humanism is like Communism; it's a beautiful concept, a fantastic ideal. It just doesn't work in practice. Shame.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]He settles the halo across her brow, metal circlet clicking quietly against the metal contacts at her temples. He secures her wrists to the armrests. Seals her in. She closes her eyes. Long-disused synapses fire. Her own limbs are paralysed, useless, but those of the machine respond, exultant. The robot is her [I]real[/I] body. [CENTER]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/CENTER] I decided there wasn't nearly enough mecha in this thread :D [/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]I look straight upwards, whirring white fins spinning above. ?So ? the rig runs on wind? Renewable?? ?Yeah, that and solar. It?d take half the stuff we drill to power the tracks from here to port.? The rig crawls onward, gargantuan caterpillar treads stirring up seabed silt. ?Don?t you think that?s a bit ? ironic??[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]I've heard DrunkDuck is quite good, but having browsed a few of their sites while deciding on hosting for my comic, I found that they're quite prescriptive with a lot of the stuff that goes in your site; that is, when people hit a link to your site, they can immediately say, "hey, it's one of those DrunkDuck sites". Personally I preferred to have a bit more freedom to adapt my site: the only things KeenSpace insists on are the ad banner at the top and the "this site hosted by KeenSpace" plug at the bottom. As I told you before, it's true that KeenSpace ask for personal details, but a lot of people have the same reservations as you do so they're pretty lenient. Take a look at the Help Centre on the [URL=http://forums.keenspace.com]KeenSpace Forums[/URL] and you'll find that Kisai doesn't really mind people putting zeroes for their phone number and '101 Imaginary Road' for their address, so long as that person doesn't then land themselves in legal trouble. KeenSpace does have a lot of bugs in the signup system, but if you grit your teeth and trawl through the ENTIRE signup problems thread in the help centre it should arm you against any and all problems that come your way. And finally, yes, you do need an FTP client to upload your comics, but [URL=http://gear.keenspace.com]KeenSpace Gear[/URL] has really good straightforward tutorials for that. I picked it up in about twenty minutes. I heartily recommend [URL=http://www.coreftp.com]Core FTP[/URL]; it's free and really simple to use. Hope all that helps. :Edit: RUN AND HIDE from any service that claims to offer unlimited bandwidth. It quite simply isn't possible and they're trying to fleece you.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1][QUOTE][I]Originally posted by Albane[/I] Also, I loved every episode of Hellsing EXCEPT the last one. It just wasn't as good as any of the others.[/QUOTE] It's always the danger that the final, climactic episode of a series doesn't live up to the expectation built up in fans by the rest of the series. I've known people put off watching the last episode of a series they're really enjoying for months because they're scared it's going to be rubbish and leave a nasty taste in their ... eyes, I guess, souring the whole series for them. However, I thought the last episode of Hellsing lived up to expectations. [SPOILER]Big apocalyptic-style battles like the one between Alucard and Set[/SPOILER] can often leave a lot to be desired in animated series, but as a half-series the animators presumably had extra time per episode, because it looks fantastic. And I like that it left a lot of loose ends flapping about too - it means you can continue enjoying the series afterwards as you ponder what would happen next. Here's hoping for a sequel! [QUOTE][I]Originally posted by Livingsoul[/I] ...what is up with the style in Hellsing changing all the time?[/QUOTE] This is even more noticeable in the manga. Alucard changes considerably from volume to volume.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]Gossamer flitted through the misty streets of Thanatos, still a little dizzy with the high from sending his first soul. Was it like a hard drug, he wondered, and would he need more and more soul energy each time to achieve the same level of ecstasy? Or would every time feel this way? It was like a dance. None of the souls in Thanatos could see him or sense his presence, that was his gift as a Reaper. [B][I]Invisible in life, invisible in death[/I][/B], he thought and grinned, though of course no one saw him. All entirely oblivious to him, the plane's other denizens simply stared straight through him and, more often than not, tried to walk through him too. He had to dodge and weave through the crowd, pirouetting and do-si-do-ing and occasionally flattening himself against walls to avoid crowds or particularly large people. Of course, he didn't [I]have[/I] to walk Thanatos invisible, but he was like a child with a new toy, insisting on playing with it as much as possible for as long as possible. Silversoul was already in the Blackened Scythe, obviously. Silversoul was [I]never[/I] late. Still riding the high and not thinking entirely straight, Gossamer sneaked up and tapped the senior Reaper on the shoulder. [B]"I'll forgive you this time because I know you're still on a high," [/B] Silversoul said evenly without looking up from his drink, [B]"but let this be a lesson, okay? Keep your head even when you're tripping, or you could get yourself into trouble."[/B] Gossamer appeared as if a dense cloud of smoke in front of him had been shredded by a sudden gust of wind. He sat down sheepishly at a bar stool. [B]"How did you know?"[/B] [B]"You can fool my eyes, but I could hear you sniggering like a five-year-old all the way from the door."[/B][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1]Jackson was confused, but ... pleasantly so. His death, his transformation from Jackson Holloway into the Reaper, Gossamer, had not been the dead-end road he had expected and feared when faced with the flames; instead, thanks to Death's decision, it had opened up a wealth of new opportunities. For a start, he could change his appearance. He'd got rid of the weedy, bespectacled figure of his life and made himself taller, more impressive, with a lean figure and a shock of red hair. And he'd been assured that further new abilities would open up to him once he completed this task. Once he took his first soul. [B][I]I'm not killing her,[/I][/B] he kept repeating over to himself in his head. [I][B]She's dying anyway, I'm just delivering her essence to the next stop on the line.[/B][/I] [I][B]But she's so damn[/I] young...[/B] He watched as the girl, younger even than he'd been, hurried along the road towards ... wherever it was she was going. School? Dance class? Friend's place? It all ceased to matter when she dashed out between two parked cars and somersaulted untidily over the roof-rails of a metallic blue family estate car. A strange feeling overtook Jackson. Not unlike elation, but he couldn't be feeling that at a death, could he? He felt the girl's essence swirl in the ether before him. [I][B]She's like me,[/B][/I] he thought. [I][B]This is another one for Death to judge.[/B][/I] He spun and swung the bladed steel wind and fire wheels, directed the severed soul to Thanatos and his master. As the energy flowed to the ethereal plane, it flowed through him. He felt new power course through him. It was the best feeling he'd ever experienced. Knowing immediately the new power gifted to him, Gossamer grinned. Given his lot in life, it was pure poetry.[/SIZE][/COLOR]