1. Oh hai Guest!

    Welcome to the RPF!

Historical Earth SAUCY JACK 2: Because No One Demanded It

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by Ramza, Mar 3, 2013.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
Moderators: Penguinator, Ramza
  1. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7
    In October of 1969, The Kinks released their seventh album, a concept LP entitled Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire) to nearly universal acclaim. The album opener, "Victoria," was chosen as the lead single for the US, and reached position 62 on the Billboard Hot 100 - their best showing in the states since 1966. In the UK, the song peaked at number 30.


    What does this have to do with anything? Not bloody much.

    It's 1 December 1888 and The Kinks won't even exist for 76 years - indeed, frontman Ray Davies will not be born until 21 June 1944. But the song is about Queen Vicky, and at the time of this writing she is very much alive and actually got the additional title of "Empress of India" twelve and a half years ago. Life's funny like that - nothing's really connected but you can nonetheless get from Ray Davies to Prince Albert in only two steps.

    Incidentally, he was a tall man for his day at 1.78 m and would not fit in any sort of canister, excepting perhaps in the event he were cremated. However, Prince Albert died 27 years ago less 13 days and was not cremated. So it goes.

    So it goes is an interesting expression. The author of this - I mean the author you know, not myself, I'm just a character - picked it up from a book by Kurt Vonnegut entitled Slaughterhouse-Five. He is not the first nor will he be the last person to read a book by Mr. Vonnegut, who on Earth is considered a classic author of some regard at the time of this writing, in 2013. But for me, it is not 2013, it is 1 December 1888.

    I have reiterated that date now, to add emphasis. Some of you may know what has happened in Whitechapel in the preceding months. I am writing this - and here I mean myself, not the actual author - as an apology. That was me.

    [IMG]

    Dreadfully sorry about the mess.

    - Catch me if you can.



    "This is the strangest goddamn letter I ever read in my life, Abberline," said Robert Anderson, who was not yet Sir Robert Anderson. He was the second Assistant Commissioner (Crime) of the London Metropolitan Police, and in real life was quite eloquent. This is not real life.

    [IMG]
    Robert Anderson

    "No kidding, Bob," replied Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline, who was remarkable for never solving the case and having some rocking sideburns. In real life, he would not have addressed Bob, who was his superior, as such. "But it just confirms what M Division has been saying."

    [IMG]
    Frederick Abberline

    "Oh, yeah, hey, a guy who carves up five prostitutes is maybe a bit off his rocker. Brilliant bleeding deduction. Next they'll publish a shocking expose revealing that the sky is blue."

    "It's night time," Abberline noted.

    "So?"

    "So the sky isn't blue right now."

    "What does that even mean?"

    "It means we're calling in M Division."

    Yes, M Division - Britannia's own crack steampunk investigative unit. Great for merchandising and also providing a niche appeal heretofore unseen in the otherwise prevalent genre of roleplaying games based around your own true loving friend.

    [IMG]
    Steampunk

    Robert Anderson's face grew severe. Stuff, he realized, was about to get real.



    Welcome to SAUCY JACK 2, a relaunch of a game where bad pulp writing meets the occult meets kung fu meets steam punk meets Jack the Ripper. Really. As an agent in the employ of M Division, it will be your job to find the culprit or culprits behind the Whitechapel murders, using any means necessary. Do not let frivolities like the law, physics, or common sense impede your pursuit of justice. You are judge, executioner, jury, executioner, and if need be - executioner.

    There really aren't many limits, save that it is 1888, your character is in London, and anything beyond the mechanical capabilities of the time is only acceptable if it is covered in pointless gears and machinery. The stranger and more out of place you are, the better. To that end, you can also go in the other direction and use mystical powers. Surprise me: I'm young and loaded up on caffeine. I can handle it.



    The Rules

    1. GM's word is law. Everything else is vaudeville.
    2. PM character sheets for approval. Everything else is vaudeville.
    3. Space is the place. Everything else is vaudeville.

    And that's it. Still no rule 6. Everything else is vaudeville.



    Character Sheet

    Name: Wherein the character is provided with a moniker
    Age: Wherein the character is given a number of years they have been alive
    Appearance: Wherein a description, picture, or both allows the other players to know the look of the character
    Special Abilities/Gear: Wherein the inherent structural nonsensicalness of the game is provided for
    Brief Biography: Wherein we learn of how the character came to work for the M Division.
    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 4, 2013
  2. Nick of Time Jedi Knight

    Member Since:
    Jan 15, 2013
    star 1
    Approved by the venerable Ramza

    Name: John MacCoughlan
    Age: 38
    Appearance:
    [IMG]
    Special Abilities/Gear: Mechanical left arm from the bicep down, which grants John steadiness and precision. Semi-automatic rifle, with six shot cartridges. Bifocals with ultra-violet spectrum capability.
    Brief Biography: John MacCoughlan was born in Ireland to James and Elizabeth Coughlan. He grew up in Dublin, where he excelled in school. John was always a peculiar child, spending much of his time in a shed that he had converted into a makeshift laboratory. During this time, he gained considerable intrigue as an inventor and a physicist, publishing papers in scientific journals from the time he was aged sixteen years. He enlisted in the British Imperial Army when he was 20, mainly to test his prototype rifle. From 1879 to 1882, John was deployed in the African theater, fighting in South Africa, Afghanistan and Egypt. In the Battle of Tel el-Kebir, John was nearly killed, and he was forced to amputate his own arm. Discharged from service, John returned to Great Britain, where he purchased a workshop in London. During this time, he continued developing his inventions, while also working in the field of physics, astronomy, chemistry and engineering. He was able to create a replacement arm, as well as several other small inventions. Because of his service with the military, his newly replaced arm, and his work in the field of science, John was enlisted by M Division as an operative.
  3. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    Character Sheet - Ramza-permission to post




    Name: Rebecca Kensington

    Age: 27

    Appearance: Caucasian, shoulder-length straight black hair, slim and athletic.

    [IMG]

    White blouse, torso-hugging burgundy waistcoat, full tan-coloured floor-length skirt with the requisite petticoat layers. Cream Handbag has a discrete Torchwood logo, a red capital T inside a red circle.

    Special Abilities/Gear:



    Brief Biography: Miss Kensington is a 'floater'. A floating operative for the Torchwood Institute: chartered under Queen Victoria's authority to protect the British Empire from alien and supernatural threats.

    Her most recent assignment has been investigating the Jewish myth of the Golem, since a spate of slayings of British colonial diplomats has been attributed to the legend.

    Rebecca has been seconded at short notice to M Division for this case due to the latest developments.
  4. Penguinator RPF Modinator and Batmanager

    Manager
    Member Since:
    May 23, 2005
    star 6
    Name: Sir Hannibal H.H. Killian Wellesley
    Age: 33
    Appearance: [IMG]
    Special Abilities/Gear: Master numero-chaotic ritualist, expert on Cabalist academia and practice, crack shot, expert on cheese and wine pairings, gentleman, wields a revolver and a sword cane. Can hold his breath for two minutes.
    Brief Biography: The Empire's greatest expert on Numero-Chaotic Ritualism as well as a respected Cabalistic scholar, Sir Hannibal is very much the black sheep of the Wellesley family. This bothers him little, as he has no time for the concerns of the aristocracy (unless his reputation is involved). Sir Hannibal's early life was spent like most other children, save for a love of all things numerical. The idea of patterns appealed at a young age, and Sir Hannibal took to numerology like a fish takes to water. He then [REDACTED] until [REDACTED]. After this he attended [REDACTED] the marriage did not last [REDACTED] fossilized
  5. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7

    "איואת"

    "Gesundheit."

    "No, it's a name."

    "איואת"

    "Is a name."

    "BS."

    "No, it's true. Adds up to 418 and everything."

    "So it's a numerology thing."

    "No, it's a Thelema thing."

    "Ring-ring, Thelema thing?"

    "No, no, Aleister Crowley, like. 'Behold! it is revealed' The Book of Law and all that."

    "I thought Crowley was just a smarmy rich brat."

    "Oh, he was, make no mistake about that, but the fact that he gave something a name is of tremendous significance. Names have power. More power than the being they purport to describe. Do you think the Bible's authors don't want you writing something more nuanced than the Tetragrammaton for no reason? They know exactly what that's going to unleash."

    "But you and I both just said that name and it didn't do much more than a piss in an ocean."

    "That's because we didn't say it with the right conduit. Name power is not unlike alchemy or chemistry or physics - it needs a trade-off. The kicker is it doesn't need an equivalent one. Omnipotence can be achieved with a city."

    "Hence the bomb."

    "Absolutely. I am become death."

    [IMG]



    The Past.

    In the same month that saw the release of Arthur, cult experimental rock icon and emerging solo artist Frank Zappa releases his first 16-track recording, the now legendary Hot Rats. Best described as a six track experimental jazz odyssey, the album marked a radical departure from Zappa's usual musique concrète repertoire in favor of instrumental compositions - track two, "Willie the Pimp," excepted. The album's lead-off composition, Peaches en Regalia, has been covered by numerous artists from both the rock and jazz arenas alike. It is also the second shortest track on the album, at only three minutes, thirty eight seconds. But what a three and a half minutes they are.



    To-day is 3 December 1888, and I am not getting any younger. But I am not sure that I am still getting older. The author assures me that I will be remembered well past the current age. In 1976 a fool named Stephen Knight will suggest I am Sir William Gull. This idea is nonsense, but the public desires a good story and will latch onto it. My work is misattributed to the man who helped legitimize paraplegia research. A dark stain on his record. So it goes.

    I have yet to acquire Prince Albert's tin storage receptacle. I will release him when it is found, but it may be difficult. I know that you have authorized the M Division to track me down. I know because the author has told me these things - he considers it more sporting. It is 1888 and I converse regularly with a man from 2013. A sign of the times. May the sun never set on the wonders of Victoria!

    I once met a man who told me that as he was going up the stair, he met a man who wasn't there, wasn't there again today, and I forget the rest. The author tells me that it matters only that I say that first bit. It is from a poem by William Hughes Mearns, who was born thirteen years ago but will not write the poem for another eleven. At that time he will be twenty four years old. When Frederick Abberline was twenty four years old, he investigated Irish rebels as a plainclothes copper.

    Frederick Abberline is now forty five years old, and he is not getting any younger. But I am not sure that he is still getting older.

    - Catch me if you can.



    "He's onto us, Abberline. Whoever this author contact he keeps referring to is, he's damn good. Damn good," observed Chief Inspector Donald Swanson - no relation - who, let's face it, looked kind of like Teddy Roosevelt with a comb over. Or a walrus.

    [IMG]
    Donald Swanson


    [IMG]
    A walrus

    "I'm especially perturbed that he already knows about M Division, Donny baby," agreed Frederick Abberline, whose running shtick will be calling superiors names he should not be calling them. He stroked his bitching sideburns with a hint of apprehension. "They're supposed to be top secret. This goes up to the very top. The very top. And this bit about Walter Sickert-"

    "Sir William Gull."

    "Right, what'd I say?"

    "Walter Sickert."

    "Like, as in the painter?"

    "I guess."

    "What a stupid idea that would be. Walter Sickert. Connected with these grisly murders. Anyway, this bit about Gull, and... 1976. Schizophrenic delusions, maybe?"

    "Could very well be, Abberline." Teddy Roosevelt Donny baby Swanson looked at his watch. Quarter past. "When was the the team from M Division supposed to get here, anyway?"

    "Could you stop saying that?"

    "What?"

    "M Division. It's such a waste of time. We should shorten it. To... like... MDiv. Or just M." He shuddered involuntarily. "No, not just M. MDiv."

    "So where are they?"

    "Well, hopefully whatever's holding them up is important, and not something stupid."

    "Something stupid, Fred?"

    "Y'know, like… fighting twin kung fu masters whose powers are amplified when they're in close proximity to one another, or something equally moronic."




    "You cannot hope to defeat us!"

    "For individually, we are strong…"

    "But united?"

    "We are stronger!" The two kung fu masters, whose powers were amplified when they were in close proximity to one another (Or something equally moronic), boasted in unison. Together with their small strike force consisting of three ninjas and a guitar, they had managed to preoccupy John MacCoughlan, Rebecca Kensington, and Sir Wellesley to a sufficient extent as to cause considerable delay to their scheduled meetings.

    These perils were typical on the West Side, y'see.

    But now, the ninjas were dispatched; the guitar, detuned. This left only the combined forces of Ramba and Ral, who had learned the forbidden secrets of Twin Scorpion Kung Fu at the feet of Master Chan of the infamous Chan Clan. Their stances left no openings; their blows, no weak points; their outfits, no runs.

    "Come then,"

    "Have a free hit on us."

    "We are keen to see…"

    "If M Division is all…"

    "It's cracked up to be." They finished again in unison.

    Would their hubris be their downfall?

    No man could say. Fortunately, due to the prevalence of Death of the Author as a criterion for literary interpretation, it is perfectly acceptable to perceive the narrator as a woman, an alien, a sentient Winnebago, or a very large macadamia nut, depending on your favorite loophole for that sentence.

    TAG: @Nick of Time @Sith-I-5 @Penguinator



    GM OOC: And we're off! Players still keen to join may feel free to do so, I just felt compelled to update and acted on it.
    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 7, 2013
  6. Nick of Time Jedi Knight

    Member Since:
    Jan 15, 2013
    star 1
    John MacCoughlan
    Now

    John MacCoughlan stood, imposingly tall, just behind his colleagues Miss Kensington and Sir Wellesley. With his sleeves rolled twice, his mechanical arm was visible and his metallic digits tapped rhythm on the forend of his wooden rifle. John’s suit, a beige three piece was worse for the wear. His jacket was in tatters, discarded at his feet, torn apart by ninja stars. His white shirt had a bloodstain, though thankfully of ninja origin. John sighed, utterly weary, at the predicament in which his compatriots and he found themselves.

    Though his rifle was loaded and cocked, he hadn’t yet deigned to raise it. Kung Fu, as it seemed, required a lengthy, trite and rather exhausting introduction. The ever constant throbbing behind John’s eyes beat along with his heart. His eye twitched. His leg quivered. They were side effects of trauma, so his physician had warned him. John took a glance at his pocket watch. Late, he proclaimed within his mind.

    When the twins finished their colloquy, John looked towards Sir Wellesley. Exhaling loudly in a rather passive-aggressive manner, John asked, “Shall I shoot them?”

    The taint of Irish English was evident.

    Tag: @Sith-I-5, @Penguinator, @Ramza
  7. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    IC: Rebecca Kensington


    The two Kung Fu masters, if their black silk pyjamas were anything to go by, continued to take turns to speak, as Rebecca squatted to grasp the black handle of ninjato, the straight-bladed equivalent of a samurai's katana, main sword, that the downed ninja had wielded, and brought it up in a two handed grip to the right of her chest, with the polished metal blade extended horizontally in front of her.

    The whole Japanese thing of catching the blade of a sword between your palms sounded okay, and looked fine on paper, but she had almost joined Mister MacCoughlan in the mono-armed stakes, before stepping to the side of her assailant grabbing his actual arms, and managing to throw him over her bustle while the men dealt with the other ninja.

    In fact, she was surprised they had gained the upper hand, unless those men had not been true ninja.

    "Come then,"

    "Have a free hit on us."

    "We are keen to see…"

    "If M Division is all…"

    "It's cracked up to be."


    Behind her, Mister MacCoughlan enquired, after a heavy sigh, "Shall I shoot them?"

    Rebecca did not like the idea of bringing a gun, or any weapon, to a fistfight, but after the hassle with the earlier ninja, and the guitar, she would have been only too pleased to lay on a lead-jacketted welcome to the British Empire, but Caitlin, her Webley revolver, was in her handbag, dropped on the floor with a throwing star embedded in the front flap.

    "You gentlemen might want to draw lots." Rebecca spoke slowly, "First leg that comes near me, gets chopped!"

    If it came to hand-to-hand again, she was not dressed for it, and might have to take some seconds out to use the ninja weapon to cut away her skirts to free her legs up for the judo moves that needed them, eg. most of them!

    Tag: All
  8. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7

    "So he says to me, he says: 'nuke it from orbit.'"

    "So you nuked it."

    "You bet your ass I nuked it. Nuked the snot out of it. There's a big fat ****ing crater where London used to be standing, and I feel great."

    "How great are we talking?"

    "Better than sex."

    "So like having a good-"

    "No, I mean, we're talking an indescribable rush, here. Absolute destruction and all because I pushed a button. That's a high, man. And it's all natural - you don't need any chemicals when you've got the bomb."

    "Sounds like it."

    "What did the president have to say about it?"

    "Same thing the president says about everything: 'The American people understand the need for sacrifice in these difficult times.'"

    "Gotta love that Democrat spin."

    "I thought the president was a Republican?"

    "Whatever, it's all a pretty show anyway. La. Li. Lu. Le. Lo."

    "... ... ... Nuke it from orbit."

    "Nuke it from orbit!"

    [IMG]




    Thus have I heard.

    Consider your hand. It is just a hand. Consider now your hand if it were not a hand. It is still a hand, you ignoramus. Consider your hand if you were dead. It is still a hand. Consider your hand if you were a god.

    You are not a god, you just have a hand.

    Such arrogance.



    "Looks like a fake to me, Walrus Magoo," Abberline grumbled, crumpling up the letter.

    "... Walrus Magoo?" asked Teddy Roosevelt, his expression one of utter puzzlement.

    "You look like a walrus, Donny baby, I'm sorry you had to hear it from me first. Me, I've been told I look like an American Civil War general."

    [IMG]
    Ambrose Burnside

    [IMG]
    Frederick Abbe... wait. ****!

    [IMG]
    A scene from Thunderbird 6

    "My god, that's uncanny, Freddie-weddie. How do you do it?"

    "That's my secret, Teddy Roosevelt, I'm always doing it."

    "Scandalous."

    "Where the blue bloody ****ing **** is M... div. Mdiv. Where the blue bloody ****ing **** is Mdiv?"

    "... ... ... Haven't the slightest."

    "Haven't the slightest!"

    [IMG]




    "So you do not..."

    "Wish to take us up..."

    "On our generous offer?!" the Kung Fu masters who... eh, you know the rest - taunted. "Very well then!"

    "We shall..."

    "Make the..."

    "FIRST STRIKE!" And like the disciplined masters of an ancient combat art they were, they proceeded to pose.

    [IMG]

    And pose.

    [IMG]

    And release a language discretion advised rap single.

    Language Warning
    [IMG]
    Language Warning

    And pose.

    [IMG]

    And it appeared they were going to keep posing for a while, really, so it would probably behoove our heroes to make the first strike.

    You know, when they felt like it. There was really no real pressure, the GM just felt like updating because he had had a burst of creative energy.

    TAG: @Sith-I-5 @Nick of Time @Penguinator

























    [IMG]
    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 10, 2013
  9. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    OOC: Not in a position where I can listen to any of that, so I hope it wasn't important.

    IC: Rebecca Kingston

    The Torchwood operative glanced behind herself to see which of the two men held the firearm.

    "Aren't we expected somewhere?" She looked back at the posers. "If Sir Wellesley, being un-armed, would like to withdraw, and keep the appointment, we can hold them here; perhaps determine if they are all mouth and no trousers."

    Tag: All
  10. Nick of Time Jedi Knight

    Member Since:
    Jan 15, 2013
    star 1
    John MacCoughlan
    Now

    John felt a stinging sensation in the remainder of his left arm. It was brief and painful, but John suffered on stoically. He had been dealing with the fallout from his time in Africa for long enough to handle pain. The stinging was a result of a slip of his hand, when he had performed his amputation. Oddly enough, it was difficult to perform an advanced medical procedure in the middle of war zone.

    The pain subsided and John exhaled a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. Miss Kensington said something that was understandably benign. He recalled that her firearm was several feet away in a star riddled handbag. John glanced at Sir Wellesley for a second time. He seemed to be frozen by the abnormality being exhibited in front of them. The kung fu twins were posing for what John could only assume was a hallucination-induced imaginary photo shoot. John took a deep breath.

    Far be it from him to interrupt their show, but given they had already missed their meeting John made a decision. If this show was ever going to get on the road, it was going to be initiated by one of the gentlemen it seemed.

    In a fluid, lightning quick motion that could only be achieved by a machine, John raised the stock of his rifle to his shoulder. He exhaled. He fired once, then again, aiming for both twins.

    Tag: @Ramza, @Sith-I-5, @Penguinator
  11. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    IC: Rebecca Kensington


    Rebecca caught the slight movement from behind her that belied Mister MacCoughlan's intentions, and ducked away from the impending retort from the rifle and at the twin explosions, dropped the ninjato and dove in the direction of her handbag, managing one of those recently learned rolling breakfalls that her judo teachers had been keen for her to learn before they had her doing throws and being thrown.

    Arriving next to her handbag on both knees, she clutched at it, trying to tear the star-pinned flap open so that she could get at Caitlin, and bring her to bear.

    Tag: @Nick, @Ramza, @Penguinator
  12. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7

    "Stop! You're under arrest!"

    "I'm under arrest? What does that even mean?"

    "What do you mean, 'what does that even mean'? It means you're bloody well under arrest, doesn't it?"

    "Look around you. London is burning, a tribute to the name power of a fake angel. Leaders sit in their bunkers and laugh at destruction, and they're just puppets. Then you think that pointing a gun at me on a dock puts me under arrest."

    "Absolutely. There's still law back where we come from. And I'm going to drag you back there whether you like it or not."

    "With just one gun? With just one bullet? I think you overestimate your chances. You're just a cop who's in the wrong time. I'm a god."

    "Not a god of any religion I'm concerned with."

    "I am Ozymandias, King of Kings."

    "On three I shoot."

    "Look on my works,"

    "Three."

    "Ye mighty,"

    "Two."

    "And despair."

    "One."

    "Happy new year!"

    [IMG]




    WE

    HAVE

    HEAVEN




    [IMG]
    Tetsujin 28-gou with unidentified suspected fascist.




    The strange reverberations affecting two other timelines had not yet reached nor would they ever reach our protagonists, who had rather effectively kickstarted the action. The rapports of two shotgun shots from John MacCoughlin reverberated in the open air of the city street, and while both shots were deflected by the two martial artists, they were not so lucky as to avoid the follow-up shot from Rebecca Kensington, which managed to hit one of them square in the arm.

    This being a ridiculous, over-the-top, semi-metafictional utterly insane goddamn mess of tropes being blended together at the speed of light moreso than an accurate depiction of historical events, this registered as "painful" although not "debilitating."

    "Hmph, more impressive…"

    "Than we had…"

    "Assumed you'd be!"

    [IMG]
    An annoying gimmick.

    They needlessly somersaulted into reversed positions, arms - save for the one rendered mostly useless by a bullet, outstretched. Truly, this would be only the opening salvo in a long, tedious fight which would stretch out over multiple pages as blow and counterblow were exchanged in a whirlwind of impossible lacks of injury.

    Or so it seemed.

    For unbeknownst to anyone save the GM, the twin shotgun blasts previously deflected had been sent careening into the sky by the force of the raw kung fu. Up they travelled - up, up, and up some more! Until at last they cleared Earth's atmosphere entirely!

    And promptly crashed headlong into the large robot from the previous timeline.

    Down, down tumbled the mighty Tetsujin 28-gou until it landed with a loud, meaty yet metallic yet cobblestone KERSPLAWHACKACRACK on the two kung fu experts who, even in death, had their powers amplified by staying in proximity to one another.

    So it goes.




    "Look, Donny baby, all I'm saying is that if you consider the metaphysical implications of the question, we can't really definitively know that this desk is here." Abberline crossed his arms in triumph.

    [IMG]
    A desk.

    "Know? Know? You speak to me of knowledge, puny mortal? Your feeble conception of the word cannot encompass the full breadth of the secrets that have been made known to me in my travels. The is, the was, the will be, are laid before me at all times like a map yolked by thought alone. I have stared into the machine that brings god and looked as the fire at its heart stared back unblinking. Every second to you is like an eternity to me owing to the vastness of the scope of my experiences. I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob."

    "Beggin' your pardon?"

    "If you say so about the desk, Freddy-weddy, I never had much of a head for metaphysics."

    "Oh, right, yes, of course."

    The door to Frederick Abberline's impossibly large save for the sake of convenience office creaked open, and Rebecca Kensington, John MacCoughlin, and Sir Wellesley entered.

    "Ah, you must be the agents from M Divisi- Mdiv. Pleasure to see you've finally showed up," the walrus observed, stroking his great tusks. said Donald, twirling his mustache.

    [IMG]
    A narwhal.

    "Any particularly interesting reasons for the hold-up?" Frederick inquired.

    TAG: @Sith-I-5 @Nick of Time @Penguinator



    OOC: Do note that you may choose the embellish or respond to the scene in "Now" in addition to the one in "Slightly More Now" depending on your preferences - though certainly the latter should be given a sort of professional acknowledgement and priority.

    And remember, the secret phrase of the week is "Mackerel Sinus Lavage"! If you see the secret phrase anywhere in this or any game's updates: stand on your head, recite the collected works of Emily Dickinson, have a refreshing sip of a carbonated soda pop, and then walk over to your front door, open the door, get on the floor, and walk the dinosaur.
    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 14, 2013
  13. Penguinator RPF Modinator and Batmanager

    Manager
    Member Since:
    May 23, 2005
    star 6
    Sir Hannibal H.H. Killian Wellesley
    Then

    His mind faded back into itself and his shoulders slumped with the weight of consciousness. He'd missed a few things, such as it was, but all was number, and number would reveal all in time. If not that, then a simple sigil would serve.

    "Any particularly interesting reasons for the hold-up?" Abberline inquired.

    Sir Hannibal smiled, affecting a polite yawn. "So many, my good man, so many. Three lumps of sugar in three cups of tea before three in the afternoon, and you'll be right as rain. Believe me."

    He leaned on the desk, determining its existence, and continued.

    "As for our tardiness, I believe there was an encounter; I don't recall, as I was communing with the roots of divine emanation and was thus preoccupied."

    TAG: All
  14. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    IC: Rebecca Kensington

    The Torchwood agent had seen a lot of strange stuff during her time, but until now, things had at least demonstrated some kind of noticeable cause and effect.

    Not so here, she mused silently as she led the trio through the heavy wooden door into the drawing room of their host.

    "Ah, you must be the agents from M Divisi- Mdiv. Pleasure to see you've finally showed up" Someone twirling their moustache, greeted jovially. He looked unlike a walrus, with those sideburns, she considered, looking round for a bin that she could use, eventually spying the abbreviated grey leather cylinder of a hollowed-out elephant's foot, placed near to the ornate fireplace.

    Sir Wellesley crossed to a desk, and leaned on it, facing the Walrus fellow. "As for our tardiness, I believe there was an encounter; I don't recall, as I was communing with the roots of divine emanation and was thus preoccupied."

    "There most certainly was an encounter," She revealed, retrieving Caitlin, gloves, and a handful of bullets from her handbag, then pointedly dropping the ruined adornment into the bin.

    THUD

    She had apparently shot one of the Kung Fu masters without taking Caitlin out of the handbag first. Her shells clattered and rolled across the desk next to Sir Wellesley's hip.

    "Though I still cannot work out why Chinese Kung Fu masters are working with Japanese ninjas. I was led to believe the two races were less than friends. Oh well. Don't mind me." She turned from the men, lifted the front of her skirts, and proceeded to rip off the hemline from the more diaphonous - and she was just making up words here - to get a length of cloth to tie to her Webley so that she could loop it over her head and one arm.

    Something that Sir Wellesley said earlier bubbled up in her memory. She turned, "Did someone mention tea?"

    Tag: All
  15. Nick of Time Jedi Knight

    Member Since:
    Jan 15, 2013
    star 1
    John MacCoughlan
    The Most Now

    Having found time to take his medicine on the sojourn to the station, John was in as pleasant a state as was manageable after the war. The constant throb had dulled to the intensity of his heartbeat reverberating somewhere behind his eyes. Eyes that were clear, despite the pain. John could use a whiskey.

    Rifle resting on his shoulder, John stood, once again, slightly behind his fellows. As the Inspector and his companions discussed the peculiar circumstances surrounding their delay, John considered how both of his shots had been deflected. He made a mental note to work on improving the firing velocity of his rifle when refreshments were mentioned. Something about tea. Now, John had never really taken to tea. He knew, that as an upstanding member of the British Empire, he had an obligation to appreciate a cup of cha, but there was nothing for it today.

    “If we’re pausing for drinks, could I trouble you for a whiskey, neat.”

    Tag: @Penguinator, @Sith-I-5, @Ramza
  16. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7

    "Spare a buck, mister?"

    "Ain't got a buck. Filthy ****ing hobo."

    "No need to be mean, mister."

    "Didn't say nothing you basehead ****. Piss off."

    "Merry Christmas to you, too, sir."

    "Piss off."

    "Spare a buck, ma'am?"

    "**** off."

    "Merry Christmas, ma'am."

    "Spare a buck, Santa?"

    "Sorry, this money's going to the Salvation Army."

    "I'm poor, I'm right here, c'mon man. It's Christmas."

    "You're scaring away the donors, man."

    "Just a buck. Please."

    "I can't get in the bucket. Please, go away."

    "Merry Christmas, Santa."

    "I said go away."

    "And then what?"

    "I dunno what, how many people can you have a hobo talk to before it gets old?"

    "How's that a relevant inquiry? You're writing about a hobo at Christmas and it's goddamn March."

    "Hey, don't use that kind of language around me. Not at this time of year."

    "What time of year is it?"

    "Christmas."

    "Spare a buck, author?"

    "**** off."

    [IMG]



    All men have secrets and here is mine
    So let it be known
    For we have been through hell and high tide
    I think I can rely on you...
    And yet you start to recoil
    Heavy words are so lightly thrown
    But still I'd leap in front of a flying bullet for you

    So, what difference does it make?
    So, what difference does it make?
    It makes none
    But now you have gone
    And you must be looking very old tonight


    The devil will find work for idle hands to do
    I stole and I lied, and why?
    Because you asked me to!
    But now you make me feel so ashamed
    Because I've only got two hands
    Well, I'm still fond of you, oh-ho-oh


    So, what difference does it make?
    Oh, what difference does it make?
    Oh, it makes none
    But now you have gone
    And your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight


    Oh, the devil will find work for idle hands to do
    I stole, and then I lied
    Just because you asked me to
    But now you know the truth about me
    You won't see me anymore
    Well, I'm still fond of you, oh-ho-oh


    But no more apologies
    No more, no more apologies
    Oh, I'm too tired
    I'm so sick and tired
    And I'm feeling very sick and I'll today
    But I'm still fond of you, oh-ho-oh


    Oh, my sacred one...
    Oh...

    [IMG]
    Morrissey

    - The Smiths



    "Why on Earth would you think Chinese Kung Fu masters and Japanese ninjas didn't get along?" asked Theodore Donald quizzically.

    "Oh, actually, I think I have an explanation for that one," Abberline explained, pulling out a black dossier. "One of the agents we were sent is a transfer from Torchwood."

    "Aha. And Torchwood only has level two clearance."

    "Precisely."

    "Well, that clears that up then. But now for the matter of drinks." The walrus pressed a button on the desk. "Edmund, can you be a dear and bring us - one, two… five cups of tea and a whiskey, neat."

    "Whiskey tea, sir?" came a voice from outside the door.

    "No," the walrus clarified, slapping a flipper on the button, "five teas and one whiskey."

    "You know that button doesn't actually do anything," Frederick "Freddy Weddy" Abberline whispered to the three Mdiv agents.

    "Five teas and one whiskey, neat. Got it." The voice was still coming from the other end of the door.

    A few moments passed. "So, how about those local cricket teams?"

    "Smashing stuff," Abberline replied. "Definitely not a cover-up for cabalistic rituals headed by the cults of Yog-Sothoth."

    "Undoubtably."

    The door opened, and in walked Edmund Reid - head of the CID in H Division. He was a bearded man dressed in a practical and masculine adaptation of a French maid's uniform. It was practical and masculine because transvestitism is kind of a sticky subject on these boards and consequently Edmund Reid was not a transvestite.

    Practical. And. Masculine.

    [IMG]
    Edmund Reid

    [IMG]
    The Smith

    [IMG]
    Practical and masculine

    "Tea and whiskey, Donny baby."

    "Fantastic work, Edmund."

    Frederick Abberline waited until the drinks had been distributed. "Now, Scotland Yard's in a bigger mess than a mackerel sinus lavage on a Wednesday. But before I go into details, I forget how much they let you types in on. Any of you know any details on this Ripper case? I might need to dispel some myths."

    He had no idea he had just said the secret phrase of the week.

    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 21, 2013
  17. Sith-I-5 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 14, 2002
    star 5
    IC: Rebecca Kingston

    Rebecca pursed her lips and bristled at the exchange between Inspector Abberline and the US President(?) that her organisation, created by Queen Victoria herself to combat extra-terrestrial and supernatural threats to the British Empire, only had Level Two Clearance!

    Maintaining her composure, Kingston looped the lacy bandolier over her head, and felt the weight of Caitlin on the more horizontal of her skirts, then looking round as the door opened, and the requested refreshments were rolled in.

    Rebecca nodded a silent greeting to Mr Ried, whome she recognised. Head of H Division.

    Torchwood One - London, and H Div had crossed paths before.

    Interesting...outfit.

    When the trolley stopped, and drinks cups handed out, she thanbked Mr Reid, picked one of the cups, pouring in her tea and milk, then selecting a sugar lump with a silver tong.

    I suppose the Tong are working with the ninjas too! She thought, sarcastically.

    Abberline announced, "Now, Scotland Yard's in a bigger mess than a mackerel sinus lavage on a Wednesday. But before I go into details, I forget how much they let you types in on. Any of you know any details on this Ripper case? I might need to dispel some myths."

    Rebecca took a sip of her tea, welcoming the heat coursing through her chest after all that hassle with the Eastern assassins. "What the papers of Fleet Street, and therefore the people, know. That prostitutes have been getting cut up on the streets of Whitechapel, and the Metropolitan Police have little clue as to who is doing it. However, an apparent perpetrator has sent a letter in to the Authorities, and the contents, which I have not yet seen, indicate either a fevered mind, or, time travel." She did not go on to mention the Doctor, whom the Empress of India had knighted, declared an enemy of the Empire, and subsequently created Torchwood to combat. "That latter part ought to bring it under Torchwood's remit; however, you have assigned M Division."

    She raised an eyebrow in query, and took another sip of her tea, her little pinky finger delicately astray as she lifted the cup to her lips.

    Tag: All
  18. Ramza JC Head Admin and RPF Manager

    Administrator
    Member Since:
    Jul 13, 2008
    star 7
    NOW

    "Well, now, that's definitely not Torchwood's area, because you see-" Frederick Abberline was interrupted by the sound of an air raid siren.

    "Another raid, Freddie-weddy," Donnie baby said with a groan.

    "Last one, I expect," Edmund Reid noted, shaking his head.

    "Who put the bomb in the bomb de bomb de bomb anyway?"

    "J. Robert Oppenheimer."

    "Valid point. Do you suppose we've just got a mi-"















    [IMG]


























    [IMG]

    THE END




    Final Notice: And that's all she wrote. I'm glad we were able to see this plotline through to its satisfying and sadly inevitably conclusion, and I think you'll agree with me when I say that, while it broke my heart to end things this way, it was the only possible finale. The characters made the choices they made, and they had to be stuck with. I'd like to thank @Nick of Time, @Penguinator, and @Sith-I-5 for staying onboard for this whole, crazy ride, I couldn't have done it without you guys and your ability to put up with my utter nonsense for as long as you did. It's the players that make the game, after all, and your relentless pace certainly kept me on my toes.

    All in all, a great run.

    Until next time:

    Last edited by Ramza, Mar 31, 2013
Moderators: Penguinator, Ramza
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.